Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Catherine should have realized as soon as Willis brought the baby home that something was horribly wrong.

Willis wasn’t exactly what someone would call paternal. He was a rough man, had little patience for things, and sometimes explosive anger. But he was a good man, honest. Or at least, he had been then. Or maybe he hadn’t, and Catherine had been too blinded by love to see it.

But one night in September, he brought home a baby. “It’s mine,” he said. “Mom didn’t want him.”

While she’d been mildly upset at him admitting to sleeping with someone else, she also knew they’d been having an on again off again relationship for close to a year now. It made sense he’d done other stuff during their frequent “off again” moments. But it was fine, if this baby didn’t have a mother, Catherine would happily provide herself. She’d always loved kids anyways, and maybe with a baby around Willis would be less inclined to leave.

So Catherine accepted the child with few questions and open arms, immediately falling in love with his dark hair and bright blue eyes.

“Name’s Jason,” Willis offered. Catherine’s smile grew.

“Hi Jason,” she cooed, tickling his soft round cheeks. “Jason Todd. A handsome name for a handsome boy.” The baby gurgled up at her, pudgy hands flailing around to grasp at her finger. If it was even possible, Catherine fell more in love.

She was so distracted with the babe she didn’t see Willis off to the side shooting someone a text, a small smirk on his face.

Maybe if they’d had a TV, or read the news, she would have caught on sooner, noticed something was wrong. Maybe then she would have known that billionaire Bruce Wayne’s infant son had just been stolen away from him that very night.

    On the night of September third, 1999, Jason Thomas Wayne disappeared from Gotham Memorial Hospital. Born prematurely just two weeks ago on August sixteenth, the baby had been staying in the NICU until stable enough to go home with his father, billionaire Bruce Wayne. Reports say that it was most likely an inside job, as there was no evidence of tampering with security or personnel.

    So far there have been few leads into the disappearance, but police have detained a paramedic under allegations of aiding and abetting. Security cameras show him entering and exiting the NICU within the time frame Jason Wayne went missing. So far the police have not released a statement on the matter.

    The father, Mr. Wayne, refused to give a comment upon reaching out. However, sources close to the man confirm his desperation to get his infant son back. Jason’s mother, Sheila Haywood, gave a brief quote, stating: “I gave Bruce full custody. Whatever happened after is not my business.”

    If anyone has any information on the disappearance, we urge you to reach out to the authorities.

    Vicki Vale, Gotham Gazette

Bruce Wayne was a wreck.

Empty bottles and shattered tumblers littered the study of the young billionaire. The twenty-three year old was slouched on the floor in front of his desk, head in his hands, as bourbon seeped into the carpet at his feet. Next to him lay the newspaper clipping published that morning. He must have read it ten times by now, each time his vision getting cloudier with tears till the words were nothing but smudges of ink. Or maybe all his crying really was making the ink run.

He had barely even had the chance to hold the boy. Sheila went into labor prematurely, and as such Jason had been confined to the NICU. He’d wanted to hold him so bad, to kiss his downy little head, to see those big blue eyes stare up at him. Eyes so like Bruce’s own.

Bruce had been hesitant when Sheila had first told him. She’d been a one night stand months ago, and now here she was, heavily pregnant with no interest in keeping the baby. But then Bruce had thought about it and had grown more excited. A family. A child. Something bright in his gloomy life. Someone to truly fight for. And not as the Bat-Man. But as Bruce Wayne.

And now he was gone. Taken. The only good thing life had given him in the last fifteen years and he was gone .

In a moment of blind agony, Bruce picked up the tipped over bottle next to him and threw it at the wall. It shattered against the old wood, raining glass and drops of alcohol onto the floor below.

Some distant part of Brice recognized that this wasn’t healthy, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The sound of the door creaking open broke him of his revery.

“I see you found your fathers liquor stash,” the voice of his butler sounded through the haze of his mind.

“Not now, Alfred,” Bruce slurred.

He felt more than saw the older man crouch down beside him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sure a ransom will be posted,” the man attempted. And wasn’t that sad, that that was the best case scenario. Sometimes Bruce wished he wasn’t so far in the public eye. It would definitely make his life easier. It would make it safer .

“Yeah.”

It was just….

Jason was so young . How would he survive outside of that little incubator he’d been living in for the past two weeks. Who would feed him? Burp him? Play with him? Bruce’s mind ran through every fact those parenting books had given him, certain that whoever stole him hadn’t done the same.

Another round of tears welled up in his eyes, hot and clogging up his throat. A sob tore unbidden from his throat. Immediately the hand on his shoulder snaked around to encompass his whole side, pulling him into a hug.

“I just want him back, Alfred. ” He sobbed. “ I just want him back. ”

At first it was great. Catherine loved Jason. Whatever mother had given him up was a fool. The baby was inquisitive and bubbly, always ready with a smile on his face whenever he saw his new mother.

He was sickly though, but only at first. He might have been born premature, Catherine figured. He was small after all. Well, smaller than a normal one month old should be. There were many nights spent up with him, making sure his cough didn’t get worse, that that sniffle wasn’t anything serious. Willis never helped with that, but Catherine didn’t mind.

When Jason turned one she wanted to throw him the biggest party possible. Willis didn’t allow it.

“It would just be a few friends,” she argued, not understanding his aversion to a child’s birthday party . “Cake, presents, that’s it. Maybe some drinks for the adults, I don’t see what the issue is!”

“Don’t want no people poking their noses in our business,” he growled. And that didn’t make any sense to Catherine.

Eventually they dropped the argument, Catherine agreed not to throw a party, but secretly took him to the zoo a day or two after, not that Willis knew. They shared a cupcake in the park and he got frosting all over his pudgy cheeks. Catherine wanted to save that image in her mind forever.

She remembered walking home a few days later and seeing a clipping in a news article about a memorial service for Bruce Wayne’s missing son, who’d be a year old next week according to the paper. She felt bad, but forgot about it upon arriving home.

She should have paid attention.

Two years had passed and no news of Jason. Bruce has scoured every inch of Gotham looking for him. Practically torn apart the gangs of the East End and the mobsters in Crime Alley. Yet nothing had come of the fruits of his labor.

The Batman was now a symbol of fear to the lowlifes he fought. Less forgiving, especially when it came to kids. He wasn’t sure if the traffickers he’d faced could ever walk right again, but truthfully he didn’t care. He once apprehended a child molestor. Last he’d heard the man was still eating through a tube.

And then the circus came to town, and Bruce found himself taking in an eight year old named Dick. He was angry, and rightfully so. His parents had been murdered and he wanted justice. Bruce gave him that in the form of Robin.

They were having breakfast when the topic finally came up.

“I know you lost your son,” Dick said one day. Bruce stilled where he had his coffee mug raised to his lips. “It was all over the news. Did you take me in because you miss him?”

Nothing could be as blunt as a child, Bruce figured.

Slowly, he lowered his mug to the table, clearing his throat before trying to speak. “Yes and no,” he admitted. “I saw myself in you. And I knew the anger and the hurt you were feeling. I couldn’t just abandon that.”

Dick watched him expectantly, spoon frozen over his bowl of cereal.

“But I would be lying if I said it wasn’t also because of Jason.”

In that insensitive yet earnest way only kids could manage, Dick asked, “How’d you lose him?”

Bruce needed to take a moment before answering.

“He was born prematurely,” he started. “Early,” he amended, noting the confused look on the boy's face. “He wasn’t healthy enough to come home yet so he had to stay at the hospital until he could. Then one night….” The worst night of his life. “Someone took him. We still don’t know why.”

“Maybe they just wanted a baby of their own,” Dick offered guilelessly.  Bruce forced a wane smile onto his lips at that. How did one explain hostage situations to an eight year old? Or how people in power are often targeted for their money in ways that would sicken most others. That kidnapping a baby for money wasn’t beyond the purview of those desperate or sick enough to try.

Instead he just ruffled the kids' hair. “Maybe,” he said.

“Well, if you ever find him, I swear to be the best big brother for him. No one's gonna wanna touch him with Robin looking after him!” He jammed a thumb proudly into his chest to complete the statement. This time Bruce’s smile was real.

“I’m sure you will, chum. Now finish your cheerios before they get soggy.”

Jason was six the first time Willis ever hit his mom.

He’d been hiding in his room at the time, not wanting to listen to his parents shouting at each other. They were arguing about him again. It was always about him.

It had started because Mom had wanted to see if they could enlist him in one of those fancier schools on a scholarship. Jason was smart, like really smart, so Mom had no doubt he would pass the entrance exam. When she’d brought it up to Willis though he’d freaked out. As soon as they’d started arguing Jason had scrambled to his room, hiding in his closet with his copy of Percy Jackson, pretending to block out the screams coming through the paper thin walls.

“I told ya, I don’t want nobody messing with our business!” Willis shouted.

“He deserves more than what we can give him, Willis,” Mom argued. “This can give him so many opportunities-”

SMACK!

Jason sucked in a breath.

“I told you dammit,” Willis growled deeply, the sound sending shivers up Jason’s spine. “He stays where we can keep an eye on ‘im, got it woman?”

Jason couldn’t hear if Mom had responded, but Willis made a hum of approval before stalking off, door slamming behind him.

Silence hung in the apartment like an oppressive cloud. All he could hear was his own heart beat thundering in his ears and the occasional hitch of his breath. Was Mom okay? He couldn’t hear her walking around. He should check on her. Why wasn’t he moving? Why couldn’t he leave?

A moment later the door of the closet opened and he was greeted with the sight of his mom, a large red mark swelling on the side of her face. She was crying.

“Hi baby,” she said softly, tears seemingly forgotten as she crouched down to be at his height. “I’m sorry. That was scary, wasn’t it?”

Jason could only nod.

“Daddy’s not always like that, I promise,” she soothed, pulling him into a hug. He let himself be, too shocked to do anything else. He felt a hand start rubbing circles in his back, the other gently petting his hair. “Daddy loves us, he just has trouble showing it sometimes.”

If Willis loved them, why had he never hugged Jason? Why had he never bought him ice cream after school like Mom did, or even smiled at him?

“He hit you,” he finally breathed out.

His mom stilled in her ministrations. “He was angry, baby. People do bad things when they’re angry, but they don’t mean them.”

Was Willis angry when he threw Jason’s comic book collection away? Was he angry when he refused to let Jason hang out with his friends? When he threw that bottle of beer at the wall last week, then made Jason clean it up?

“I promise you, Jay-jay, it’s gonna be alright.”

Somehow, Jason knew deep down that it wasn’t. That this was only the start.

Chapter Text

The beatings didn’t stop. Neither did the fighting. If anything they got worse. Any time it started Jason would either grab a book and hide in his closet or take to the streets. While the streets weren’t exactly safe for a kid in Crime Alley, it sure beat the nauseating fear of being near Willis when he was in a rage.

His mom also started taking “medicine”. At least that’s what she called it, but Jason knew better. Medicine didn’t make people's eyes glaze over like they did with Mom. And she wasn’t even sick. Or hadn’t been before she started taking it. Jason found himself out of the apartment a lot whenever she was doing that, too.

And then eventually his luck ran out.

Jason was seven the first time Willis hit him.

He’d just gotten home to find his parents fighting again. He’d seen Willis pull back to hit his mom and rushed forward without thinking, smacking the hand away before it could touch Mom. Willis’ face when he did that was one of pure, blazing fury. The next thing Jason knew he was on the floor with pain blooming across his face.

Stars danced across his vision and he could hear screaming from above him. Someone grabbed him by the scruff and dragged him up, pulling him into view of Willis' face.

“After all I’ve done for you this is how you act!” The man shouted. “You don’t know half the shit I’ve sacrificed for you, you ungrateful whelp!”

He was shoved back down to the ground, bony elbows knocking against the threadbare carpet.

“Fuckin’ waste a space,” the man growled.

He stalked away, leaving Jason on the ground, reeling in pain.

It wasn’t until after the door slammed behind him did his mom help him up off the floor, fretting over the blossoming bruise on his face. Distantly, Jason was aware of the slew of apologies pouring from her mouth, and the promises that everything would be okay. But he wasn’t focused on that. He was focused on the sharp fear coursing through him, the fear that Willis would turn around and storm back in to finish the job.

They would never be safe with Willis around, he realized.

Jason was woken up by gunshots outside his window.

He shot up in bed, immediately going to check the window. It wasn’t smart- actually it was the opposite of what he should be doing- but he just had to see. Through what light the few street lamps provided he saw a group of armed figures shooting towards an alleyway across the street. Jason squinted to see what they were shooting at, but all he could make out was an old dumpster.

Suddenly, a figure clad in bright colors swooped down from a rooftop and knocked over one of the gunmen. In a move quicker than Jason’s eyes could follow, the figure had disarmed two more of the men before springing into a backflip to avoid gunfire from the last guy.

The figure finally passed under a streetlight, providing Jason with enough light to make out-

Robin!

And if he was here, that meant that….

Something dark sprung from the shadows of the ally and incapacitated the last guy in one fell swoop.

Batman!

Jason watched in awe as the dark knight secured the scene, moving fluidly through the debris and carnage like smoke. He’d never seen the bat in real life before, so this felt like seeing a rare animal in the wild. He definitely fought like an animal at any rate….

Now, being a crime alley kid, Jason had mixed feelings about the bat and his sidekick. The guy was responsible for half the injuries in the alley, known for being near merciless with some of the thugs.

But on the other hand, he was even more merciless to people who hurt kids. And Jason was living with one of those people.

For half a second Jason wanted to burst out onto the street and start spilling everything to the man. To make sure that Willis would never lay another hand on him or his mom ever again.

His hand was on the window sill when he stopped.

If his dad was arrested, that meant Mom would have to support them with no help. Then CPS would get involved. And with her addiction…

By the time Jason had made up his mind, the bat was already gone, leaving the street empty save for the cuffed criminals and bullet casings.

But, being an excitable seven year old, he brought it up the next day.

“-and then Robin swooped in, Mom. Robin ! Then he was like, pow pow, whoosh, and took out the dudes.” Jason did his best to recreate the moves he’d seen Robin perform last night to little success. Undeterred, he continued to regale the tale to his mother. “And then Batman showed up and finished ‘em off. Left ‘em cuffed to a lamp post an’ everything!”

A crash from the kitchen had them both turning around.

Willis stood stock still with an ashen expression, lips pulled into a thin line.

“You say the bat was here las’ night?” He growled. Jason shrunk back in reflex.

“Yeah,” he said, the prior enthusiasm now gone from his voice. “He an’ Robin-“

“Fuck.”

Jason flinched.

“Pack your shit,” Willis demanded. “We’re leavin’. Can’t let that fuckin’ bat get in the way a things.”

Jason didn’t know what he was talking about, but he was too scared to ask. It was never good to get in Willis’ way when he was like this.

“Willis, what-?” Mom started, but was cut off with a fierce glare from the man.

“I said pack your fucking things, Catherine,” he snarled. His tone left no room for argument.

Reluctantly, his mom took him back to his room and started packing their things away, preparing to flee for a reason beyond the both of them.

Jason was starting to wish he’d kept his mouth shut.

They moved to Crime Ally. It was dinger, more dangerous, definitely not kid friendly. Women wearing cheap makeup and short clothes loutered on the street corners, and he barely ever saw a car without some dent or scratch roll past.

Their apartment was worse too. There was a leak in his bedroom ceiling, dripping into a cup he’d placed when they first moved in. The superintendent always smelled like tobacco, and Jason was fairly sure he was missing a few teeth. His new school was worse too. Too many kids and not enough teachers or textbooks. All in all, it was pretty shitty.

His dad started working for Two-Face. It had its perks. They had food on the table, water running through their pipes, and a roof above their head. But now Jason had to be sure to avoid the cops, even more so than before. He couldn’t linger long in the streets like he used to to avoid his parents’ fights. It felt like someone was breathing down his neck, just waiting for him to make a wrong move.

It wasn’t an incorrect assumption either. The one time he had stayed over with a friend Willis had beat him black and blue, screaming about how he’d nearly ruined everything. What exactly he was threatening to ruin eluded Jason, but he’d stopped asking a while ago. Willis was a paranoid bastard, and the less Jason tried to understand it the better.

His mom's addiction got worse. Where she usually spent one or two nights a week doped up, now it was closer to five. Any day Willis was home. Jason wanted more than anything for her to stop, but he knew his pleas would fall on deaf ears. His mom was sick, so he was going to take care of her the best he could. Not like Willis was going to.

He learned quickly that running “errands” for gangs was a good way to make dough. He never told either of his parents. Mom would just freak out and fuss over him while Willis would most likely beat him up, telling him to stay out of it.

It was fine. He made decent money, and he was smart enough and fast enough to avoid both the cops and the bat.

Part of him though wanted the Batman to swoop in and put a stop to Willis. But it was the same part that believed in the tooth fairy for years. It was wishful and idealistic at best. Painfully and bloody at worse.

If the cops or the bat ever caught wind of Willis’ behavior, it would be taken out on either Mom or Jason, or both. It was best to just avoid that altogether. Were things bad? Hell yeah they were. Would they be worse without Willis’ “income” or “protection”? Most definitely. So Jason bit his tongue and waited. Waited through each flow to his ribs or sting across his cheek. Waited until he could finally do something about it and save him and his mom from this hell.

So he hid money. Hid food. Hid everything away until he knew it would be safe. He just hoped it didn’t take too long.

“Hey Jay,” his classmate, Nicole, started, sliding over to him. They were in the library at one of the summer programs funded by the Wayne Foundation. The only reason his dad even let him go was because it meant he didn’t have to see him during the day. Honestly it was a win-win for Jason.

“Hey,” he greeted politely.

“Are ya doin’ anythin’ for your birthday next week?” She asked. Jason frowned, his birthday was last week. He said as much.

Nicole just rolled her eyes in response. “Duh,” she drawed out. “But it’s that missing Wayne kid’s birthday next week, and we could totally pretend you're him to get some free food or money or somethin’.”

Jason scoffed. “As if I could be Bruce Wayne’s long lost precious son.” Another snort. “Get real. Besides, what are you gonna do when they do figure it out?”

Nicole just shrugged. “We’ll deal with that when we get to it.”

“No one’s gonna believe a crime alley kid is Bruce Wayne’s son.”

“No one believed in aliens until Superman showed up,” she countered.

“Tons of people believed in aliens before that guy,” he pointed out dryly. “They were just seen as weirdos.”

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re just a buzz kill.”

“You’re the one saying we should play Cinderella to some rich dude,” he argued lightly.

She huffed, crossing her arms in an overly dramatic way. “Fine, if you don’t want to celebrate your birthday late by mooching off Brucie Wayne, who am I to stop you?”

Across the room, one of the library attendants shushed them. They both reluctantly settled down.

It sounded nice though. Jason had never really had a chance to celebrate his birthday before. Mom told him she used to take him out for something special a few days after, but that had been when he was really little. Now though they’d maybe have a cake and a gift or two, none from Willis. Mom would take a corny photo on some old polaroid she’d had for years. But that was it. Jason didn’t even think he’d had a party.

After a moment, he leaned over to her and whispered, “If you still want to celebrate my birthday I’d be happy if you bought my ice cream.”

She shouldered him playfully, and the topic was dropped.

One night he overheard his dad talking to someone.

From the volume and the carelessness, Jason figured he thought he and his mom must either be out of the house or asleep. It was well past midnight after all. Even so, Jason hunkered down to listen, curiosity and fear driving him.

“I’m tellin’ you,” Willis said, voice slightly slurred from alcohol. “This kid’s our ticket to some real bank.” Silence. He must be on the phone.

“Yes I’m sure, ya fuckin’ kidding me? Think I’d waste all this time on a nobody?”

Cold settled in Jason’s gut. Was his dad involved in trafficking? He hadn’t heard of Two-Face being involved in that kind of stuff, but he couldn’t exactly put it past the man. Gotham was full of weirdos after all. Weirdos and fuck ups.

Jason heard him pace the kitchen.

“Yeah. Wayne’s kid. Yes, that Wayne.”

Wayne? Bruce Wayne? Jason didn’t know any other Wayne’s in Gotham. What did his father want with that circus orphan?

“No she doesn’ know, and I ain’t gonna tell her, ya hear?”

Jason needed to warn someone. He couldn’t just sit by and let Bruce Wayne’s ward be taken by Willis . Hadn’t the kid been through enough?

“Look,” Willis said, interrupting his train of thought. “I’ll tell you more about it at the deal tomorrow.” Silence. “No, it was changed to the docks, the ones on River Road.”

More silence.

“Whatever,” Willis scoffed. “See ya then.” It was followed by the sound of a phone snapped shut and Willis trailing off to the living room, the popping of a bear can echoing after him.

Jason knew he shouldn’t. He and his mom couldn’t make enough to survive on their own. But he was not going to live with a child trafficker. If the guy was willing to fuck with billionaire Bruce Wayne , what hope did his own son have? When would Willis finally grow tired of Jason and throw him to the wolves for a quick buck? Mom wouldn’t be able to stop him, no one would. Jason was at the whim of his father, and he fucking hated it.

The docks. A deal. Tomorrow.

Jason had a tip to drop.

Chapter Text

A knock at the door is what woke Jason up.

Shifting in his bed (if one could call it that), he turned to look at his $10 watch he kept at his bedside. Pressing the button to light up the display, it read 1:16 AM. Who would be knocking on the door at this hour? Had Willis lost his keys or something?

Willis!

With a jolt Jason shot up in his mattress. Willis had gone to that deal at the docks earlier, and Jason had dropped an anonymous tip to the GCPD. Did they catch him? Was he arrested? Did he find out and now he was here to beat Jason for snitching?

No, if it was Willis he wouldn’t be politely knocking.

Jason listened as his mom left her room to answer the door, waiting with bated breath to hear who was on the other side.

The door opened.

“Mrs. Todd?”

That wasn’t Willis’ voice.

“We’re with the GCPD about an incident that occurred earlier tonight regarding your husband.”

Tension coiled in his gut like a loaded spring. Was it good news? Had his dad been arrested? Or had he gotten away? We’re they looking for him?

“Your husband was involved in an illegal weapons deal tonight,” the cop continued. “We arrested him but have reason to believe he left condemning evidence at his place of residence. We have a warrant to search the premises.”

Jason couldn’t tell if the feeling inside his chest was anxiety or relief. Willis was arrested. He was gonna go to jail. But the cops were here! If they looked around they were gonna see Mom’s drugs, then they would take him away from her!

Panicking, he slunk out of his room and into his mothers, turning over her mattress as stealthily as he could, he crammed the unused stash into his pockets, careful to avoid the needles. Once he was sure he’d gotten all the stuff, he crept over to the window, slowly lifting it enough to weasel out onto the fire escape.

If the pigs did manage to find some of his mom's stuff, he didn’t want to give them reason to think she was an unfit mother. Hard to be a mother when you can’t find a kid in the apartment.

It was possible the bastards already knew about him, but he wasn’t gonna risk it. Willis had already ingrained a deep sense of paranoia when it came to cops in Jason, and try as he might, he couldn’t shake it.

He heard the police searching the two bedroom behind the glass. His mothers slightly panicked voice explaining how her husband could never and how he just wasn’t that kind of man.

Jason would disagree.

He hid on that rusted fire escape for half an hour, shivering in the cold night air. He would have nodded off if not for the anxiety bubbling in his gut.

Eventually the pigs left, the information came by the sound of Mom breaking down in sobs just behind the window. Jason took that as his cue to return.

Lifting the pane slowly, he looked inside to see his mom leaning against the door to her and Willis’ room, head hung and shoulders shaking with sobs.

“Mom?”

Her head shot up. Relief flooded into her eyes as she made eye contact with him. Rushing forward he pulled him into the room and into a crushing hug.

“Jason I was so worried, I didn’t see you anywhere. The cops they- they-“

“I’m okay Mom,” he reassured, clutching onto her just as tightly. Then, “Is he really gone?” He asked breathlessly. “He’s not coming back?”

“Oh baby,” his mom breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

Jason opened his mouth to clarify before thinking better of it. He wasn’t sad that Willis was gone. Hell, he was the reason . But seeing his mom's distraught face, the blotchiness in her eyes, he knew that wasn’t what she needed to hear. So instead, he shut his mouth and pressed himself further into the hug.

Willis was finally gone, but his mom still needed him. Now more than ever.

The first time she OD’d Jason had been at school. He didn’t know anything was wrong till he came home to their new one bedroom to the putrid smell of vomit stinking up their new one bedroom. The sight of her unresponsive body splayed out on their shared mattress would be seared into his mind for years to come. He was barely even nine years old.

He knew why it was happening. Ever since Willis’ arrest her addiction had gotten worse. She spent more of their money on drugs, and less time sober. It hurt to know he’d been the cause of it, but what was he supposed to do? Let them live with a potential kidnapper? If he’d been caught what would that have meant for them? He knew he couldn’t let that happen, but it still hurt to see Mom like this, to see her waste away in front of his very eyes.

The second time she’d OD’d he’d called 911. He was gone when they arrived, too scared they would take him away from her because of her addiction. He made sure to run more “errands” for the gangs to cover the medical bills. It still wasn’t enough.

The third time it happened was the last straw.

Their neighbor had been the one to find her. Luckily they used to be an EMT before they wound up in Crime Alley. They managed to stabilize Catherine enough that by the time Jason got home she was semi coherent.

The sight was still burned in his eyes.

Vomit dripping down her front, eyes utterly bloodshot and vacant. Her skin was pale and clammy, like a monster from an old horror movie he’d seen. She looked like a corpse more than a mother.

Jason had had enough.

“Mom please, you're killing yourself!” He shouted. Tears flowed freely down his face, eyes swollen and red. “Please, I don’t wanna lose you. Please !”

His mom stared at him, finally lucid enough to come to terms with what had happened. She was wearing a clean shirt now, one of Willis’ old band tees. It hung off her bony frame in a way that made Jason even more scared for his mom.

“I know you’re sick, I know you have’ta take it,” he gestured to the used needle on the ground. “But please mom, please don’t make me lose you!” He tried to say more but found his throat was clogged. Instead he just let out a sob, the sound ripping from his mouth like a wounded animal.

Immediately his mom's face morphed into fear and she pulled him in, thin arms wrapped around him in a vice grip. He automatically wrapped his own around her, starters when he realized just how thin she was. Seeing it was one thing. Feeling it….

Hands came up and started stroking his hair.

“I’m so sorry baby,” a watery voice sounded from above. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He could feel tear drops landing in his hair. He felt her hands start to tremble. “Baby, I’m so sorry .”

Jason just choked out another sob. His nose itched as snot started to dribble down. Disgusting.

“Sweetie, I'm so sorry,” his mom continued. “I’ll stop. I promise I’ll stop. This was the last time.”

A large part of Jason wondered if that really was the truth.

“For real?” He asked in a small voice. Mom nodded.

“You can even help me throw it all out,” she offered weakly. “All of it. Down the drain, right now.”

Jason helped her up onto shaky legs and followed her to her bedroom, helping her scour the room for every stash she kept in there. Once finished they made their way to the bathroom.

He stood by her side and watched as she dumped all her unused stash into the toilet and flushed. She snapped the syringe, tossing that in the trash too. Then he held her as she broke down again. Just the two of them on the bathroom floor in their dingy one bedroom in Crime Alley.

Dick always hated this time of year.

He was a kid. Summer was supposed to be fun and exciting and full of possibilities and limitless trouble to get into. But every August a dark cloud hung above the Wayne manor.

This year would mark Jason’s tenth birthday, and Bruce was not handling it well.

When Dick had first come to live with Bruce, part of him had wondered if he was just acting as a replacement for the son the billionaire had lost. Like someone adopting a dog after their old one had died, but that wasn’t quite the case.

Bruce still had a room prepared for Jason. It had a bed, a dresser and children's books on the shelves. The walls were still painted with that cheesy dinosaur mural Bruce had made all those years ago. There was a box of toys covered in dust, including Dick’s old elephant Zitka. He’d figured that Jason would need it more than him when he’d turned twelve. Jason would have been six at that time.

And now Jason was turning ten. Or, would have turned ten.

Bruce was taking it harder than usual this year.

He’d locked himself away in the cave three days ago, not coming out to eat or sleep. Dick knew he wasn’t going out as the Batman either cuz he hadn’t seen anything in the news about it. Alfred was understandably worried, but he was also taking it harder this year.

Maybe it was because it was a milestone birthday. Ten years old was super important for a kid after all. It had been for Dick anyway.

Not for the first time, Dick wished Jason was home with them now, for nothing if not for Bruce to stop wallowing in his grief.

“Hey Alf, any sign of Bruce?”

The butler, who’d been dusting off one of the portraits in the hall, just sighed. “Afraid not Master Dick. I fear he’s still in his cave.”

Dick fought not to sigh in resignation. “Thanks Alfred.”

“Of course, Master Dick.”

Trudging forward, he changed course for the bat cave, descending the lone stone steps into the dark fortress below.

He knew Bruce was aware of his arrival when he stepped into the main area. Bruce always knew these things, so he wasn’t worried about startling him when he spoke up.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice flat.

Bruce, hunched over the bat computer, looked up from his case file.

Dick immediately took note of the redness rimming his father’s eyes. He’d been crying again. Days old stubble painted his chin, and his eyes looked a little sunken from sleep deprivation and lack of a decent meal. Had he slept at all since coming down here?

“Dick, hey.” His voice was hoarse from disuse.

“Um,” Dick glanced around, tring to think of something to say. “Alfred wanted to know if you’d be joining us for dinner.” It was a lie, Alfred hadn’t asked that. In fact, the butler had been planning on bringing Bruce some soup.

“Oh, um, probably not, chum,” Bruce rasped. “I have a case….” He trailed off, turning back to the open casefile at his desk.

“Could it wait a few hours?” Dick tried anyway. “It’s kinda lonely up there without you.” Yeah, it was mean to pull the guilt trip card, but Dick was sixteen. He was allowed to.

“Sorry, Dick. Not tonight.”

Dick hid the grimace, pushing back the slight annoyance that was starting to build inside. He knew he shouldn’t, that Bruce was dealing with something no parent should. But still… some selfish part of him just wanted his dad.

He turned around to head back up the stairs, but was stopped by Bruce's voice.

“Did you ever resent him?” Bruce asked suddenly. Dick blinked, taken aback.

“What?”

Bruce turned to him, expression tired but level. “Jason. Did you ever resent him?

Dick worried his lip, trying to think of how to answer.  Self consciously, he looked down towards his shoes, scuffing the soles against the floor of the cave. “A little at first,” he admitted. “It sorta felt like I had to compete for your attention, even though he wasn’t there.” It didn’t feel good to say, but Bruce would know if he lied. Even if it was a white lie. “But now I just, I wish he was here. I’d get to have a little brother, and you…” He trailed off, thinking. Finally, “I think you lost some part of you the day he went missing,” he decided. “And I want to see you whole again. Cuz like, you’re my dad, or whatever.”

Glancing back up at Bruce, Dick was surprised to see tears in his eyes. The man hardly ever smiled let alone emote like this! It took him by surprise.

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way, Dick,” he said. And holy crap, Bruce was apologizing ? It really was the end of times. “I never meant to make you feel unwelcome.”

Dick scuffed his foot again, uncomfortable. “It’s whatever,” he tried.

“No,” Bruce said, standing up from the computer. “I neglected you because I was wallowing in my grief, and that wasn’t fair to you.” The billionaire approached, shoes clicking against the stone floor. Once he reached Dick he lay a large hand on his shoulder. It felt warm. Comforting.

“I still believe Jason is out there,” he continued. “But that doesn’t mean I should ignore the son in front of me.”

Dick blinked, a mixture of emotions welling up inside.

“Son?”

A small, tentative smile grew on Bruce’s face. “Yes,” he replied evenly. “Son.”

Hardly a second had passed before the teen had launched himself at Bruce. The man caught him in a big embrace, holding his son as he sobbed. Bruce may have cried as well, but Dick didn’t need to know that.

Jason was turning ten soon. It would be his first birthday since Willis was put in jail and Catherine was clean. They could finally celebrate properly without fear of her husband breathing down their necks, or the haze of opioids clouding her mind.

She was going to throw him the best birthday their money could buy. Now that she was no longer using and had a relatively stable job, she’d started putting away a little every month so she could get him something nice. She’d shaved up nearly a hundred dollars in the last six months, and the possibilities seemed limitless.

She could get him that book set he’d always wanted, or maybe an old Game Boy. She could take them to the zoo like she had for his first birthday. Or visit that nice theater in the entertainment district that had those recliner seats and pizzas. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen a movie in theaters.

She was perusing the dollar store for cake mix when she saw the tabloid.

Wayne Foundation to host Jason Wayne Memorial Gala.

Catherine blinked.

The cover showed a photo of Bruce Wayne and his ward Richard Greyson all dolled up in nice suites. Both their expressions were somber, and judging by their poses and the cropping of the photo, it had been taken during a press conference. Out of morbid curiosity she grabbed the magazine from the shelf and flicked through it, skimming to the page listed on the front.

In honor of Bruce Wayne’s son Jason Wayne’s upcoming tenth birthday, Bruce Wayne has come out and announced that the Wayne Foundation will be hosting a memorial gala in support of child trafficking and abuse victims. All proceeds will go towards child welfare acts throughout the city, with Wayne promising to pledge nearly two million dollars himself.

Jason Wayne was announced missing September third ten years ago, with no further leads in the case he was pronounced dead in absentia three years ago. When reached out to, Wayne said he still had hope for his missing son. Said son would be turning ten this August-

Catherine dropped the magazine.

September third? That had been the night that…. She scrambled to pick the tabloid back up, flipping to the cover to the picture of the billionaire himself, scouring his face.

His dark hair with the cow lick in the front, the jaw shape, the blue eyes. Thinking back on the old newspapers she’d seen as a kid, Jason was the spitting image of a young Bruce Wayne.

How had she never seen it before? How could she have been so stupid? Willis had never wanted kids. He’d never even mentioned the mothers name. It couldn’t be because-

Catherine was gonna be sick.

Did Willis kidnap a child? And make her believe it was his ? Oh god, she was an accessory to kidnapping. And he’d just let her play house with him all these years. God, he must have been laughing the entire time.

And Jason- oh gods Jason .

Her baby boy. She loved him so much, but she’d stolen him away from his father. His father who had loved him and wanted him. He could have been safe and happy up in that big manner all these years instead of barely scraping by next to drug dens and brothels. All she’d ever wanted was what was best for him, and somehow she’d been keeping that from him this whole time.

A sob ripped from her throat.

She made a beeline out of the store, hurrying down the busy sidewalks until she eventually had to stop and lean against a wall, dizzy and nauseous.

What was she going to do? What was she supposed to do?

More sobs bubbles up from her throat.

Willis. Willis would be able to confirm it. Not on his own, she knew. But seeing his face, looking in his eyes, then she’d know. He’d been a good lier when it counted, but he had a terrible poker face, that was how he’d ended up with some of his debts to begin with. And Catherine knew all his tells.

Sucking in a breath, she forced herself to pull it together. She had a prison to visit.

Blackgate was just as intimidating as it seemed in the newspaper. Towering walls wrapping in barbed wire circled a cement fortress, guard towers peppered along the wall in quarter mile intervals. Catherine was reminded for a moment of the brutalist architecture of WWII Germany.

She was buzzed in after a thorough security scan. She’d had to empty all her pockets and go through a pat down, a metal detector, and some sort of body scan she was sure airports didn’t have yet. Then she was moved along to a receptionist of sorts.

“Who are ya visiting?” The rough woman behind the counter asked, teeth stain a gross yellow. Catherine could practically taste the cigarette smoke from behind the glass.

“My husband, Willis Todd,” she replied. The woman went and checked something in her computer for a minute before turning back to her.

“You have twenty minutes.” She pressed something out of sight and the door next to them buzzed open. “First visit, huh?”

Catering attempted a smile. It probably looked more like a grimace though. “Yeah. Too busy to, before.”

The woman shrugged. Catherine took that as her cue to leave, and pushed into the hall beyond the metal door.

She was led to a room lined with windows with phones attached to them. She was instructed to wait while someone fetched Willis, and directed to which station she should wait at. Catherine wasn’t sure if she was glad for the wait or not. On one hand, it delayed the inevitable confrontation. On the other, it gave her time to sit and stew in her anxiety.

Was it a bad idea coming here? What was she hoping to get out of it anyway? She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear Willis confirm her fears or not. If he did, that meant she’d been an accessory in kidnapping for the past ten years. If he didn’t, that meant something else was at play, and they’d both been an accessory in kidnapping, and that wasn’t going to help his sentence any.

Although, Catherine would be lying if she said a big part of her didn’t believe he already knew, that he’d had at least some part in it. Willis had never really been a loving father to the boy, despite taking him in as he’d claimed. His anger at her for suggesting they try to enroll him in better schools, how he hated having to sign those legal documents for medical check ups….

God, how had Catherine been so stupid?

A door buzzed open on the opposite side of the dividers, and Catherine looked up to see Willis being escorted to one of the booths. Dread and relief both started swirling in her gut at the sight of him. For however bad he’d treated her and Jason, she still loved him. But she wasn’t here for a social call.

It was now or never.

Stealing herself, she joined him at the opposite side of the glass, sitting down and picking up the phone to talk.

The first thing she noticed was his appearance. Prison hadn’t been kind to him. He’d lost weight. Where there used to be a pleasant five o’ clock shadow there was now patchy stubble, like he hadn’t had access to a decent shaving kit in months. Since it was prison, he probably hadn’t, she figured. She also noted bruises and newer scars peeking out from under his jumpsuit. So he wasn’t at the top of the pecking order either, huh.

“Bought damn time you showed up,” he growled into the receiver.

Catherine stiffened on reflex.

“You look like shit,” was all she said. Instead of an outburst like she expected, he merely raised a tired eyebrow.

“And you look clean.”

As far as pleasantries go, that was about as good as she was gonna get. “Seven months now,” she confirmed. “Jason’s the reason I stopped.”

A desperate glint shone in his eye at the mention of their son. “You still got the boy, then?” He asked. “Good, good.”

Her jaw tightened, anger welling inside her.

“I know what you did,” she hissed, making sure to stay quiet so the guard watching didn’t overhear. “To Jason.”

Willis frowned. “The fuck you talkin’ about.”

“Wayne,” was all she said.

Immediately WIllis’ eyes widened, expression sobering quickly. He leaned forward, pressing the receiver closer to his mouth, tension building in his frame. “You don’t know what the fuck is goin’ on, Cathe,” he whispered. “That boy is gonna make us rich, ya hear?”

Tears welled in her eyes. “You stole him from his father,” she breathed. “And you lied to me . For years .”

“And it was gonna be the best bank we ever made,” he insisted, an urgency creeping into his voice. “Babe we could go anywhere, get away from all this. You could finally go to school-”

“I’m turning him in,” she cut off. Willis froze in his rambling. “We’ve already stolen enough from him. He deserves better.” He deserves a loving father. A safe home. Not having to wonder when his next meal would be. It hurt her heart to think these things, but they were true. Jason deserved more than she could give him.

A fist banged on the glass. Catherine flinched back violently, fear welling inside as Willis leaned towards the divider. “You don’t know what you’re messin’ with,” he growled. “Catherine I swear to God if you-”

She cut him off. “Goodbye, Willis.”

Slamming the phone back in the cradle, she got up and stormed out of the room, Willis’ muffled cries of outrage echoing behind her.

Chapter Text

Catherine waited until she was a block away from her apartment before dialing 911.

She didn’t want to do it in the prison, too many people watching her every move, good and bad alike. And she couldn’t do it on the bus for the same reason. Only when she was sure no one would be actively listening did she pull out her phone.

The wait for the ringing to stop was hell.

The line crackled to life. “ 9-1-1, what’s your emergency? ”

Catherine drew in a shaky breath. She was really going to do this. It was really happening. “Hi, my name is Catherine Todd and I believe I have information regarding a missing persons case.” She rushed out. “Jason Wayne’s case.”

“Alright ma’am, one moment please.” She could hear movement over the line, the lady presumably sorting through something.

“Alright, please go ahead.”

Catherine forced herself to take a deep breath, slowing her heart. Calm down, this was for Jason’s good.

Then her phone beeped, signaling she was running out of minutes. “Look, I don’t have much time, can I just give you my address and you can send people over?” The women on the other side agreed. Catherine listed off her address.

“Thank you ma’am,” the woman said. “ Police should be there in twenty minutes .”

“Thank you,” she nearly sobbed.

Her baby was going to be safe. He was going to finally go home to his father.

This time a sob did tear through her.

She was giving up her baby. A baby that she could no longer lay claim to. A baby she had clothed and fed and loved. A baby she had stolen .

Damn Willis. Damn him to whatever hell would take him.

No, she couldn’t think about him right now. She needed to tell Jason. He deserves to know. His life was going to be changing a lot soon and he had to be ready. He might not ever see her again, and as much as that hurt, she knew it was the right thing to do.

Jason came first, no matter what.

Jason knew something was wrong the moment Mom walked into the apartment.

He’d been sitting against the wall reading an old Jane Eyre book, waiting for his mom to come back so he could start making lunch. He’d just found this new stir fry recipe he wanted to try for them. But something was wrong. There was an urgent air to her, a fear simmering just in the background as she came in.

He set the book down. “Mom?”

Her eyes flashed to him and something like relief or pity flashed through them. Immediately she walked over to him.

“Okay baby, listen to me,” she said, crouching to his level, hands grasping his shoulders. “Something happened today that’s very important, and it’s going to change a lot of things around here, okay?”

Jason perked up. Did his mom get a new job? A better paying one? If that was the case shouldn’t she be happy? He could practically feel the tension bleeding off her as it was.

Seemingly sensing his anxiety, she continued. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you. But it’s going to be very confusing and maybe even scary. But I want you to remember that no matter what, I have alway, and will always love you no matter what, do you understand?”

Jason nodded slowly, concern bubbling up inside.

“I’ve only ever wanted the best for you,” she continued. Emotion started to choke up her voice. “If I had known I- I swear I would’ve fixed it.”

“Mom, you’re scaring me,” Jason mumbled.

A sad smile split across her face, a hand reaching up to brush his cheek. “Don’t be scared baby,” she tried. “I swear everything’s gonna be better for you, now.”

But not for her, he thought to himself. The thought made him tense up.

“Mom, what’s going on?” He demanded.

“Your father is coming to get you,” she said, voice straining to stay level.

“Willis!” He cried, jumping to his feet. “No Mom, I don’t wanna go with him, please don’t-“

“No, no, no, baby, no. Not Willis,” she rushed to reassure. “Not Willis.”

But, who else could she be talking about?

“Willis was a very bad man, Jason, and you’ll never have to see him again,” she told him. “He did something unforgivable, and I called the police as soon as I found out.” She brushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. “Baby I swear, I never meant to hurt you. And I am so sorry .”

Sorry for WHAT? What wasn’t she saying? What had Willis done? Why had she called the police?

“Mom, what aren’t you telling me?” He demanded, ignoring the way tears had started choking up his voice.

Catherine opened her mouth to respond.

A knock at the door interrupted them.

“One moment baby,” she said. “I swear this will all make sense soon.” She gave him a quick peck in the forehead before heading to answer it.

Two men stood in the hall when she opened the door. “Catherine Todd?”

“Yes, thank you for-”

BANG!

Blood sprayed through the air behind her as a bullet went into her head.

Jason’s heart stopped.

He watched dumbly as his mom fell to the floor, eyes already vacant. Blood started spreading through the graying carpet at an alarming rate, creating a crimson halo around her head. Red flecks had also speckled the area behind her, even reaching Jason.

No. No she wasn’t- this wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

His heart thundered in his ears. Was he breathing? He couldn’t tell if he was breathing. His mom wasn’t breathing; Oh god, she wasn’t breathing. He had to help her. He had to- he needed-

The man at the door lowered his gun- which Jason hadn’t even seen him draw- tucking it back into his waistband. “Grab the kid.”

What?

The other man stalked forward, but Jason wasn’t seeing him. His eyes were glued to his mom, who was still lying on the floor .

She wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be dead. This was a nightmare. He’d wake up and his mom would be right there and-

“Come on brat.” Someone tugged at his arm.

That was all the kick Jason needed to get his mind functioning again.

“NO!” He cried, lurching back.

He stumbled back onto the floor, landing in part of the growing puddle next to his mom. The guy who’d grabbed him lunged for him again, but Jason rolled out of the way, scrambling to his feet.

“Get back here you brat!” He called.

Suddenly hands were on his shirt collar, yanking him backwards.

“He said you were a fighter,” the man sneered. 

Rough hands encircled him, picking him up and carrying him off to-

He sunk his teeth into the nearest flesh he could reach.

“FUCK!”

The arms released him, letting him fall to the floor. Jason spat out the blood that had got in his mouth and once again scrambled for the nearest exit.

Down the hall, through the door, past the mattress, the window-

“Get the fuckin’ kid, Mac!” He heard behind him.

His heart thundered in his ears.

Jason slammed into the window in the shared bedroom, hands fumbling for the latch. They kept slipping, red smearing wherever he touched.

That was blood.

That was his mom’s blood .

“He’s in the bedroom!”

Oh fuck .

Thundering footsteps echoed behind him. With one final twist he undid the latch and thrust the window open, shoving himself through and out onto the fire escape.

Tumbling onto rusted metal, Jason pushed himself up and flew towards the stairs. He heard the mens angry shouts behind him, struggling to squeeze out the window.

Not bothering with the stairs, he flung himself over the side, hands clinging to the guard rail like a gymnast on the bars. He dropped to the next one.

The rust grated on his palms. He refused to cry out.

Then the next, and the-

He missed the last one. Heart in his throat, he hit the pavement. Hard.

Pain lanced up his leg and he crumpled like a marionette. He couldn’t breathe, pain like a vice around his lungs. Above him he heard more shouting, followed by the sound of a gunshot.

“-fucking idiot we need him alive!”

He had to get outta here. Rolling onto his stomach he pushed himself to his feet, ankle protesting the entire time.

He had to run. Had to get away.

The sound of banging followed him from the fire escape. Risking a glance back he saw the two men racing down the rickety metal, taking the steps two at a time.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Stumbling to his feet Jason dashed out of the alley, the pain in his ankle practically forgotten as adrenaline pumped through him. He was small, he was fast, he knew these alleys better than anyone. That had to be enough.

The sound of footsteps behind him was getting louder.

Careening out of the alley and onto the main road he scoured the layout until he spotted what he was looking for.

There!

Up ahead, past the bodega on the corner. There was an old garbage chute that led straight into a condemned office building.

He weaved through the street crowd, not even bothering to apologize when he crashed into someone.

Heart in his throat, bare feet slapping against the hot July pavement, he dove into the alley just before a hand could grab him.

“MotherFUCKER!”

He dove up the chute, leveraging his size to wiggle up. There was banging behind him as the men attempted to follow, but Jason knew they wouldn’t fit.

Something slick on his hands made him nearly lose his footing and fall all the way down, but he kept it at the last second. An agonizing minute and a half later, he tumbled out into the building.

There was a service door to the roof, and from there he managed to get another two blocks before finally coming to a stop in an alleyway.

Back slamming against the brick wall, Jason sank down to the ground. The alley was smelly, and he could see pieces of glass and old needles littering the ground, but he didn’t care. The only thing he could feel was fear. Fear and confusion.

Those men, why had they chased him? Jason was a nobody, his old man made sure of that. The gangs he worked with never told him anything about the jobs he did, so what would be the point in nabbing him?

His ankle throbbed. His wrist where that guy had grabbed him was turning purple. His hands-

They were still covered in red. Now tacky and browning, it was still there. Oh God, that was blood.

Looking down Jason saw it covered the whole front of his shirt  and part of his shorts. He vaguely recalled rolling through the puddle, but he wasn’t sure.

Tears started leaking from his eyes. He wanted them to stop, to just go away, but they kept falling. Hiccuping sobs rattled in his chest, and all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and disappear.

Why was this happening? Why him? He buried his head in his knees, arms wrapped around his legs like a lifeline. His fingers clenched on the fabric of his shorts until the knuckles turned white. Distantly he felt nails break the skin of his palms, but he couldn’t be sure.

His mom, she-

Glassy eyes staring at him from the floor.

And the men had-

Crimson soaking into the carpet.

He couldn’t-

Rough hands grasping for him.

He didn’t know what-

A lifeless, blooded corpse with brains sprayed all across the apartment.

Jason threw up.

Chapter Text

The alert came in at 1:49 in the afternoon. When Dick heard the ding on his smartphone he’d been confused for a second. Bruce wasn’t one to text him while he was at work, and it’s not like he had many friends from school who wanted to hang out with him, even in the summer.

That all slipped from his mind though when he saw the alert.

It was from the program he’d set up last year, the one meant to alert him if anything about his little brother came up.

Someone had called 911 about Jason Wayne.

Summer reading forgotten, Dick bolted up and rushed out of his room. He didn’t bother with the stairs, instead sliding down the banister the way Bruce hated.

The batcave was mercifully empty when Dick barreled down to it. It was the middle of the day, so Bruce was probably at a board meeting or whatever he did as CEO. It was also Tuesday which meant Alfred wasn’t around to ask questions.

The call had come from Crime Alley, which would take about twenty minutes to get to driving at Batman speeds. He could listen to the recording on the way to get more information so as to be better prepared. After all, why would Robin be interested in a ten year old missing persons case?

Dick was going full speed through changing when he realized something, freezing in the middle of pulling a boot on.

How the fuck was he gonna get there?

Technically Dick wasn’t allowed to drive the bat mobile without Bruce accompanying him. And Batman wasn’t here.

He glanced towards the garage section of the cave. A loophole formed in his mind.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t drive the bike though….

Oh, Bruce was gonna kill him if he found out.

Snatching the keys off the rack he hightailed it for the bike, kicking it into gear and revving the engine. The tires screeched to life and he was out of the cave before anyone could come down to investigate the commotion.

Listening to the recording of the 911 call on the drive gave him an address in Crime Alley. Driving at legal speeds he could get there in maybe forty five minutes. Driving at Batman speeds, he could get there in twenty. Driving the batbike (Bruce refused to call it that), he managed to shave the time down a little more, weaving between traffic with the grace of a serpent.

The drive through the city though was spent with Dick’s mind racing a million miles an hour.

How had new evidence come to light after so long? It’d been nearly ten years, Jason being pronounced dead three years ago. Who was this Catherine Todd and how had she stumbled across evidence? Or had she been in on it? If that was the case why wait so long?

The questions kept piling up and Dick had no way to answer them. He needed to get to Catherine Todd.

Making it to Crime Alley, he parked the bike in an out of the way crevice a block away from the apartment Catherine had listed, making sure to switch the anti-theft deterrent on. Bruce would kill him if anything happened to his precious batbike. Not like he couldn’t afford to buy another, or anything. He turned the corner and froze.

There were at least five cop cards in front of the building, lights flashing. He could see an ambulance pulling up as well.

Something was wrong.

Not one for walking through the front door, Dick pakoured his way up the side of the building till he found a window into the hall on the floor he assumed Catherine’s apartment was. Using a batarang, he shimmed the lock open and threw up the window, sliding inside.

The good news: this was the right floor.

The bad news: it reeked of blood.

A bit of a ways down the hall, one of the apartment doors was open. Police were milling about it, talking in low, serious tones, a look of defeat about them. From where he stood DIck could see the telltale flashes of a camera going off from inside the apartment.

Dick moved forward.

“What happened?” He demanded, finally reaching the doorway.

The police still standing outside the apartment looked at him, bemused expressions painted on their faces.

“The fuck is the bat doin’ about in daytime?” One of them asked, looking Dick up and down.

Ignoring the man’s question, Dick looked behind him into the apartment.

There was a woman lying dead on the floor just beyond the doorway, blood surrounding her in a bloody halo.

“Jesus kid, don’t look at that,” the other cop sighed, stepping in to block his view. Dick scowled at the man. “Look, get outta here. You shouldn’t be seein’ this. Wait for the bat to get here.”

Yeah, uh, no.

Grunting, Dick shoved past the pair, forcing his way into the apartment.

The place was a mess. First there were all the cops and CSI milling around, noting evidence and inspecting every last inch of the place. Then there was the actual mess. A flipped coffee table, blood smears across the walls, dirt tracks from what Dick could only assume were boots.

Oh yeah, and the dead woman on the floor.

“Who is she?” He asked, questions directed at no one in particular. Part of him already knew the answer, but he prayed he was wrong.

It was Gordan’s voice who answered him. “Catherine Todd.”

Fuck.

Looking up, Dick watched the commissioner approach him from where he’d been talking to a CSI in the corner. The young vigilante tried not to let the disappointment be too evident on his face, but judging from Gordan’s expression he was failing.

“You intercepted the call, huh?” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement of fact. Sighing, the commissioner started giving the rundown. “We got the call thirty minutes ago. Arrived ten minutes ago to find this. No leads yet.”

Of course no leads, she hadn’t even been dead an hour.

“Any signs of forced entry?” Dick forced out, shoving the welling pit in his stomach down.

“None that we’ve found,” Gordan sighed. 

“Do you mind if I look around?”

A shrug. “Just don’t tamper with anything, kid.”

Dick took that as permission enough and turned away. He had to take a second though to master his breathing, clenching and unclenching his hands in an attempt to rid himself of the bubbling frustration. He had been so close. So fucking close. The one lead on his brother he’d found and it was gone. Fuck.

Focus, Greyson , he chastised himself. Emotions later, info now.

If only the fucking cops weren’t here.

“Does the bat know you’re here?” He heard a beat cop tease. Grinding his teeth, Dick forced himself to keep his cool. Bruce wasn’t his goddamn baby sitter. These guys should know that.

“Does your wife know your fucking her sister?” He shot back. He was not in the mood for this shit right now.

The cop shut up real quick. Dick smirked to himself, triumphant. Yes he kept files on all GPCD. Yes he was willing to use that for childish comebacks. So what? He was fifteen, sue him.

He swore he heard Gordon snort under his breath. But it might have been a cough.

Turning around he started his own search for evidence. It barely took a minute before he found something.

“Where’s the kid?” He asked. The blank stairs he received from the officers was a little more than disheartening. These were really Gotham’s best?

“What kid,” one of the cops- Marcos- asked.

He reached down and picked something up off the floor, holding it for all the rest to see. “I doubt a thirty something year old woman was wearing Cars skechers,” he stated.

From the blank looks on their faces, Dick figured they hadn’t pieced that info together. Seriously, these were Gotham’s best and brightest? No wonder they needed the Batman.

“I’ll ask the neighbors,” Marcos offered, already heading out of the apartment. If this Todd woman had a kid, they might know something Catherine knew. It was a long shot, but it was better than nothing. Besides, someone had to tell the kid their mom was dead, if they didn’t already know.

God, he hoped the kid didn’t know. Witnessing this kinda shit… No kid should have to go through that.

Dick turned back to the matter at hand. Gordan was standing to the side, looking at a message on his phone.

“You gonna call Wayne?” He asked.

The commissioner let out a heavy sigh, dragging a tired hand down his face. His wrinkles were getting deeper, Dick noticed.

“I should,” he admitted. “A break in a ten year old case? Hell, I know I’d wanna know anything if my kid went missing.”

Dick sensed a ‘but’ coming.

“But,” Gordan added. There it was. “We don’t really have anything. It’d be kinda cruel to dangle this in front of a grieving father. ‘specially after ten years with no leads”

It would be cruel. Which was why Dick hadn’t told Bruce where he’d gone, or even that he’d gone in the first place.

“Wayne funds all your gadgets though, right?” He continued in a low whisper. Dick felt himself stiffen slightly. It wasn’t exactly wrong, but it certainly would be trouble if anyone knew. Sensing his worry, Gordan added, “Look, I’m not gonna tell anybody. I kinda figured out Wayne was partially involved a while ago. How else could you afford all those thingymajigs?”

Dick needed to have a talk with Bruce about finances soon.

“You don’t gotta answer,” Gordan continued. “I just know that there’s at least some personal stake for you in this.”

That was an understatement, but it wasn’t like Dick was going to correct him.

“Just, for now, keep this between us okay? Until we get more solid evidence.”

Good thing Dick hadn’t planned on it. Instead of admitting to that, he just gave a nod. Best to let the man think he was agreeing with an adult rather than hide evidence.

In classic bat fashion, Dick left the conversation with as much poise as a drunkard. “I’m gonna take a look around.”

Goran nodded, stepping back to let him do his thing.

The body was still there. A woman in her early thirties, possibly younger, lay in a pool of still drying blood, expression frozen in shock. It didn’t take much to figure out the cause of death, the hole in her forehead and the blood splattered across the apartment was evidence enough. He’d still look at the autopsy report though, just to be safe. Bruce had taught him to cover all his bases, after all, even if they seemed redundant.

Following the blood trail, Dick noted red smeared across the carpet a bit of a ways away, leading further into the apartment. It was shaped in loose crescents, like someone had taken their hand and smeared it haphazardly. Slowly he followed the smears, eventually finding himself in the bedroom, where a large smear covered the open window.

Someone with blood soaked hands had crawled out that window. Someone small, judging by the one clear handprint he could see.

Well, there was the proof a kid was here. Now where the hell were they?

Dick ducked through the window and out onto the fire escape. Had the kid gone up or down once they’d gotten out here? He scoured the landing for clues, eventually finding success in a small bloody handprint on the railing, as well as a bullet casing. They’d been shot at.

Leaning over the side, Dick checked the next railing down, he could just make out another handprint.

They’d gone down, and quickly. Probably had dropped from one railing to the next, which was an impressive feat for a young kid. Well, a young kid who hadn’t been raised in the circus like Dick.

No kid would make that kind of jump without good reason. They’d been running from something, most likely the shooter. Judging by the bullet casing, the shooter had followed.

Something tight squeezed in his stomach. The kid had definitely seen everything.

No kid should have to witness their parents death, especially one this gruesome. He wasn’t exactly one to talk though, and neither was Bruce for that matter. But it was still fucked up.

After scouring the alley for any clues or leads, he frustratingly had to admit defeat after half an hour. There weren’t any further bullet casings or blood spatters for a block radius. As far as the kid was cornered, they were long gone.

Fuck.

Growling, Dick swung around and headed back to the batbike. At least he had another lead to follow up on.

Bruce would probably be upset that Dick had taken his bike to go to Blackgate- actually he’d probably be more upset he’d even gone to Blackgate- but he didn’t particularly care at the moment. He was doing this for Bruce, and if the lead was good, it would all turn out fine anyways.

He idled the motorcycle to a stop in front of the penitentiary, flipping the ignition off before setting the lock. He stood out horribly in his brightly colored uniform up against the monotonous tones of the building. Not for the first time was he self conscious about his choice in attire, it looked almost ridiculous in the day.

The guards let him in easy enough, used to the bats’ comings and goings. It was when he met with the warden where things went wrong.

“What do you mean dead ?”

Around them the sounds of prison buzzed through the air. Inmates called out to each other, doors buzzed open and closed, occasionally a guard would shout something. It was all background noise, but it was starting to grate on Dick’s nerves, especially after what the warden had just said.

The man in question, Bill or something, just shrugged.

“Like I said,” he replied. “We found him in the showers thirty minutes ago, neck snapped. Don’t know what to tell ya, kid.”

Dick forced down another growl of anger.

“Why you wanna know anyway?” Bill asked. “Usually you and the bat get all the info they have before throwin’ ‘em in here.”

“His wife was murder just over an hour ago,” Dick admitted. “We thought it was foul play but,” he sighed heavily, a touch of anger lacing his voice. “Guess not.”

Bill frowned. “You’re tellin’ me a husband and wife were murdered within the hour and that ain’t foul play?”

A rough laugh escaped Dick. His thoughts exactly.

Their conversation was cut short by his burner phone buzzing in his pocket. He turned away from the warden, apologizing for cutting their time short. Checking the caller ID he saw it was Gordan.

“Hey,’ he said, flipping it open.

“Tried callin’ the bat but it went straight to voicemail ,” he heard Gordan say over the line. “We found some info on that kid you mentioned. Their son, Jason Todd. Neighbor’s said they didn’t see him leave so he was probably at the scene when it went down .” Well that Dick already knew. “We’re gonna try and see if we can find him. Let you know if we do .”

“Thanks,” Dick replied. “I’ll let the bat know.” He wasn’t.

“Thanks kid .” The line went dead.

Well, at least he had a name now.

The warden spoke up from behind him. “Anythin’ more I can help with, kid?”

Actually… There might be.

“Who visited him last? Perhaps someone had said something or an old contact had showed up and then things had gone south. It was a good a lead as any. 

Willis had had one visitor in the eleven months he’d been incarcerated. Catherine Todd. And she’d visited earlier today, an hour before making the 911 call.

He went to find the guard who’s overseen the meeting.

“Did you hear any part of their conversation?” He asked.

The guard just shrugged. “Wasn’t a very long talk. They were pretty quiet for the most part,” he told him. “Pretty sure she said something that upset him though, cuz he got all agitated. Banged on the glass like he wanted ta hit her.”

“Anything else?”

“Jus’ that she seemed pretty mad at him as well. Not uncommon to see couples fight like that here.”

“No chance you guys record the conversations, is there?” He tried.

The guard just scoffed. “Kid, we might violate privacy, but we ain't that cruel.”

Well, at least they admitted it.

Eventually Dick had to come to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t find anything else here. Giving his thanks to the guards for letting him in and talking to him, he begrudgingly left, bike keys twirling agitatedly on his finger.

Catherine Todd was murdered because she knew something. Then her husband, who she’d spoken too earlier that day, was murdered. Too convenient to be a coincidence. And too sudden to be dismissed.

There might actually be a lead here, he figured. At least one of these people had to know something about Jason Wayne. And someone had wanted to shut them up. Unfortunately they’d succeeded, and as it was Dick didn’t have any way to talk to the dead.

There was still one person connected to the two though, someone who might know what it was his parents died for.

Dick needed to find Jason Todd.

Chapter Text

Jason didn’t know how his body still had water left for tears at this point.

It had been a day- maybe two, he hadn’t kept track- since… since That. He wasn’t sure where he was or how he’d gotten there, some old abandoned building in the Bowery by the look of it. The last thing he remembered was running from those men. It scared him that he couldn’t remember how he’d ended up here, but judging by the lack and any additional injuries, he was probably fine.

Well, as fine as he could be.

Part of him was still convinced it was a bad dream. That he'd wake up and Mom would be there rubbing his back like she always did, smoothing his wolf hair down to no avail.

The longer he went without waking though, the more scared he got.

It was when he went to use the bathroom and saw himself in the mirror that it finally all came crashing down.

There was blood on his clothes. It took him an embarrassingly long time to remember who’s.

Blood spraying through the air, pooling on the floor, the men chasing him, Mom….

Mom was dead.

Mom was dead.

Something broke inside and he found himself doubled over on the cold tile. He couldn’t breathe. Pain lanced through his chest like someone had taken a knife to it, twisting it around his heart.

Why did it feel like this? Why couldn’t he get in air? Gasps tore from his mouth but no relief came of it. It felt like there was a hand squeezing his throat, trying to suffocate him.

Was he going to die? Just like Mom?

Blood sinking into the carpet-

No, no, no. Not again.

Vacant eyes staring through him-

Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!

A sob ripped from him, tears following immediately after. Distantly he was aware that he was pulling at his hair. It hurt, but it felt good. Grounding.

More sobs wracked his body. Why was this happening? Why was his mom gone? Why couldn’t he stop crying ? He wasn’t a baby. He wasn’t.

He was fine. He was fine. He was okay.

The pain in his chest seemed to double.

He wasn’t fine.

He would never see his mother smile again. Never hear her off key humming when she would make them meals, not hear the shutter of that old Polaroid she only pulled out for special occasions.

The way her shampoo smelled. Her laugh. That smirk she’d get when he cracked a bad joke.

It was all gone .

He could something as powerful as that just be snuffed out? All the life she’d brought to everything, all the love in her heart. His chest felt it was going to burst with all the emotions roiling within, so what happened to hers ? It couldn't have evaporated, it felt too heavy. Too real . So where did it go? Why was it gone?

Why couldn’t he just have her back?

A fresh wave of tears rolled over him as he finished that thought, practically drowning him.

He just wanted his mom.

Please . He silently begged, head now pressed to his knees as he crouched there on the floor in that grimy office bathroom. Please just give her back.

By the next day Jason just felt empty.

His head hurt, and his throat felt like he’d gargled nails. He was hungry too, but he didn’t care about that as much. Honestly the thought of eating made him sick.

It felt like there was a film over everything, too. All his emotions felt muted. Whereas the day before felt like a raging inferno, now he felt like dying embers. Was that bad? Logically he knew he should be feeling, well, anything. But instead it just felt like he was watching himself from the outside, utterly disconnected. It should be worrying.

Jason found he didn’t really care.

What was he supposed to do anyways? He couldn’t go home, those guys might still be looking for him. Mom was dead, Willis was in jail (good riddance)... There wasn’t really anything left for him.

He stubbornly tried not to think of the old shoebox full of pictures his mom had taken over the years. Willis probably hadn’t known about them, thinking the box was one of her heroine stashes. She’d kept it behind the air duct in the bedroom, so it wasn’t like he could stumble across it by accident.

Jason wished he had at least that with him, if nothing else.

Actually, shoes might be good too. He hadn’t exactly had time to put them on while running for his life.

Eventually the pain in his stomach forced him to get up and find food.

Numbly he walked through the streets, bare feet scalding on the pavement. He didn’t exactly like it, but he nabbed some clothing from a second hand shop, surprised he didn’t get caught. Or maybe he did and the owner just took pity on him. Either way, Jason wasn’t gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. At least now he wasn’t wearing clothing covered in blood.

Food was easier to come by.

Some street vender selling hot dogs or whatever who wasn’t paying enough attention was an easy target. He wished he could at least tip the guy, but he had literally nothing to his name except the clothes on him. And they weren’t even his .

Jason supposed he could still run “errands” for the gangs, but he was also wary of them. Those guys who had tried to nab him, he didn’t know who they worked for. Until he did, nowhere was safe for him. Hell, he probably shouldn’t even be using his name.

But how the fuck was he supposed to make money? Petty theft? Willis had been a small-time crook before he’d gotten involved with Two-Face, and look how well that had worked out for him. No, Jason didn’t want that. But what other options did he have? Go into the system? Jason had heard stories of how the foster system in Gotham worked. Half the homes were fronts for either child trafficking or sweatshops. No, he’d be better off on his own.

Reluctantly, Jason accepted that if he wanted to eat, he’d have to resort to less than savory methods of earning cash.

He also found he was still numb through all of this. Yes there was mild frustration, some guilt, annoyance. But overall it just felt… empty. He was watching himself do all these things, things he wouldn’t do otherwise. He should probably be worried. He didn’t like the floaty feeling that surrounded him as he walked the alleys of Gotham, hiding in various abandoned or condemned buildings. But he also knew, distantly, that if that detached feeling was gone, all that would be there was pain.

He didn’t want pain. He didn’t want to cry anymore. If he didn’t think about it, it was fine. Everything was fine. So what if he slept on newspapers with a stolen hoodie for a blanket. It didn’t matter. Life sucked and he just had to deal with it.

Maybe going to grab more newspaper for his “bed” wasn’t such a good idea.

Jason saw the date on the newspaper. August fourteenth. Cold washed over him.

That fog that had lingered in his mind for the past two weeks dissipated in a sudden snap. Reality crashed into him, forming a thick knot in his throat. He’d missed his own birthday.

He wanted to cry all over again.

Dick’s research had yielded both enlightening and frustratingly little results.

Jason Todd, born to Catherine and Willis Todd on August 2nd 1999 according to his birth certificate. Both school and medical records were sparse, most likely attributed to the poor record keeping of the low income area he’d grown up in. Father had a record of misdemeanors going back to the 80’s, the mother  a record of substance abuse. Most recently a hospital stay due to a drug overdose.

None of that helped Dick find the kid.

There was an elementary school listed, but when checking the attendance records he was forcefully reminded it was still summer break, and he’d have no way of tracking him through there.

Well, the next step was CPS. They’d had to be alerted by someone . A neighbor, a friend, anybody. Someone had to have known that Jason was out there all alone, what with both parents now dead. And if it had been called in, hopefully CPS had found him and placed him in a foster home.

Dick should have known better than to rely on the social workers of Gotham.

There had been a report filed. A neighbor in the apartment had reported Jason missing, and there had been a file started on him by social services. But so far no luck. The GCPD had also listed him as a person of interest, but Dick highly doubted they would find anything if they hadn't already.

Fuck. Why couldn’t things just be easy?

Well, Dick mused, if things were easy he wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. Whether that be as Robin or him looking for his baby brother.

Okay. Step one; track down Jason Todd (easier said than done). Step two; sees if he knows anything about Jason Wayne. Step three; laugh at the morose irony that both missing boys were named Jason.

Unfortunately his research was cut short when Bruce knocked on his door.

Dick hurriedly slammed his laptop shot before turning around in his chair. “Come in!” He called.

The door swung open to reveal a tentative Bruce Wayne looking like he just walked in on something he shouldn’t have. The man's eyes flicked between Dick and the hastily closed laptop for a moment before saying anything.

“I used to be fifteen too, you know,” Bruce offered with a small smirk. Dick frowned. What was he…?

Oh.

Dick was sitting in front of a closed laptop with a somewhat embarrassed look on his face. Yeah. Yeah, he could see what Bruce thought was happening.

“So… did you want me for something?” Dick asked, trying to shift away from the mortifying implications Bruce had suggested.

Bruce’s face immediately shifted to a more somber expression. “Ah, right.” The man pulled up a spare chair, the one Dick mostly used to pile dirty clothes on, and sat down beside him. “I wanted to talk about the upcoming Gala.”

Right. The Jason Wayne memorial gala. It had been all over the news recently, as well as social media. It was in two days, held  on Jason’s birthday. Honestly, it felt like a pretty shitty thing to do in Dick’s opinion; throw a party for a kid who couldn’t even attend. Usually they just spent the day at home or attended a memorial service  or something. This year though….

“You think you’ll be okay?” Dick asked. The question elicited a frown from his dad.

“I… don’t know.” He dragged a hand down his face, reminding Dick a bit of Gordon whenever the commissioner was in over his head. “This feels like the right thing to do,” he continued. “There’s a lot of kids this will benefit. But….” He trailed off, a lost look in his eye.

“But it feels like an insult to his memory,” Dick finished. “Like celebrating a tragedy.”

The tired look he was given was more than enough answer for Dick.

“Look, Bruce,” he tried. “No one would blame you if you left early or whatever. You don’t have to stick around the whole night.” He rarely did anyways, often disappearing part of the way through with some model or pretending to get drunk and be “escorted” home.

But he wasn’t Brucie Wayne for this event. He was a grieving father.

A large hand reached over and ruffled his hair. “I appreciate the thought, chum,” Bruce tried, wry smile on his lips. “But no. I want to see this through.”

Dick couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed.

“Bruce….”

What was he supposed to say? Wasn’t it usually the parent who comforted the child? But how many children were the adopted son of a billionaire vigilante who’d lost his first kid? It felt like a pretty small sample size, if Dick was being honest. What was the right thing to do here? What was he supposed to say?

“Hey.” Bruce’s voice cut through Dick’s musings like a batarang. Dick looked up to see the man giving him a leveled, but soft, stare. It was the kind that meant he was seeing past all the facade and bluster and into the core of the problem. “I can see you thinking a mile a minute, chum,” he smiled. “Don’t worry about me, that’s Alfred’s job.”

That man deserved a raise.

“But-”

“No ‘but’s’,” Bruce cut off. “All I need from you is to be present. That alone is going to help so much .”

A heavy hand fell onto his shoulder, callused fingers giving a comforting squeeze.

“Think you can do that?”

Dick tried hard not to think about the files pulled up on the laptop behind him. About Catherine and Willis Todd. About the lead he still hadn’t shared with Bruce.

“Yeah,” he finally replied. “Yeah, I can do that.”

The gala sucked.

It was held at the manor, just like most gala’s Bruce sponsored. Practically the entire first floor was decorated and filled with people wearing clothing more expensive than a month's rent in New York. Dick was dressed up in one of his nicer suits for the evening, one of the super starchy ones with the tie tied too tight. Alfred had insisted.

Too many people had come up and introduced themselves, offered their condolences, then made boring small talk. Only half the condolences were sincere though, which just further annoyed Dick. Seriously, if all you wanted was to rub elbows, go to a freakin country club or something.

After nearly thirty minutes of standing at Bruce’s side, greeting people, Dick couldn’t take it anymore. He asked to be excused.

“Of course,” Bruce aquiested. “Thank you for sticking it out so long.” Dick felt a little bad at that. Tonight was about Jason, and here he was ditching his still grieving father just cuz he didn’t have the patience to deal with people.

Bruce’s voice cut through his thoughts. “I know that look, Richard,” he admonished. “It’s fine. Go on.”

Well… If Bruce said it was fine.

With a quick hug goodbye, Dick scampered off to somewhere less public. He was starting to get hungry, maybe the buffet table had something good.

He was worming his way through the crowds when a snippet of conversation caught his attention.

“-been ten years,” he heard. “You’d think by now he’d have given up.”

Dick froze in his tracks.

A second voice replied. “Don’t say things like that, Janet. Imagine if your son was taken like that.”

The first voice- Janet- merely scoffed. “As if anyone could take our boy,” she chortled. “He’s much too smart to fall for those things.”

Rage started burning in Dick’s guts. Jason didn’t fall for anything. He’d been a baby ! Unknowingly his fists curled against his thigh, nails biting into the skin of his palms.

“If Bruce Wayne wants to drag out his failures like this, then who am I to stop him?” Janet drawled. “I’m only saying it’s about time he gave up. It’s embarrassing at this point.”

Dick didn’t bother to listen to any more. If he did, he was gonna hit somebody.

He found his salvation on the buffet table. The food was good, as always, if slightly weird. There were mini sandwiches and veggies and such. But there was also the Weird weird stuff. What was it with rich people? Seriously, fish eggs? Gross.

Dick didn’t think he would ever get used to it.

Turning away from the food table in disgust, he let his eyes roam the ballroom. Half in part due to his Robin brain not being turned off. He was scouting the area for threats and exits, making note of everyone in attendance. The other reason was cuz he was hoping there was at least someone in his age range he could talk to. Adults got tiresome after a while, especially the rich ones. It was like they’d never spoken to a child before.

Dick had had enough of people pinching his cheeks, thank you very much.

Was this why there were never any other kids at these events? Did they just all have the sense to stay home? Dick wished he’d gotten that memo before agreeing to be adopted by Bruce.

Scouring the room again, Dick’s eye’s landed on a mop of black hair fair shorter than the rest of the attendees. Looking closer, the vigilante noticed it belonged to a young boy, maybe six. Well, he figured, he wasn’t alone after all.

The boy looked thoroughly bored, but like he was trying to put up a front. He was doing fairly well, all things considered. But as it was, Dick had been taught how to read body language, and the poor kid was giving off serious boredom vibes.

Might as well step in and save him. That was what Robin did after all.

He strode up to the boy in question.

“Hi,” he offered. He remembered to smile, too, despite the social exhaustion of dealing with people the entire night. Instead of smiling back, the younger boy just blinked at him owlishly.

“I’m Dick,” he tried again, this time holding out his hand. Thankfully the boy took it.

“Timothy Drake,” the boy supplied.

Drake… why did that name sound familiar?

“Oh!” Dick snapped. “You’re our neighbor!” If one could call it that, considering how big the manor was. But yes, the Drake’s were the closest residence to the Wayne’s, ergo, making them neighbors.

“So…” Dick started, fighting the urge to shove his hands into his pockets like an awkward teen. He was not awkward! No siree. “Whatcha doing here, Tim?”

He might need to rethink that previous statement.

“My parents asked me to come along,” Tim answered. “They said it was time I join society.”

He was clearly parroting what his parents had said, Dick noted. He doubted the kid even knew what that all meant.

“How old are you?”

“Seven!” He proudly announced. He even held up the correct amount of fingers as if to prove it. Then a look of panic brushed over his face and he returned to the calm neutrality Dick had noticed before. Jeez, was he not allowed to be excited by things?

Dick made a snap decision. “Hey, you wanna get out of here, Tim?” He offered. The seven year old squinted in confusion.

“I have a Wii in my room,” he continued. “It’s got Super Smash Bros.”

That made the boy's face light up. “Sure!” He cried, then immediately froze before schooling his expression. “I mean, that sounds fun.”

This kid was way too uptight.

Dick led him up the stairs and out of the busy party below. As soon as they reached the landing it was like they’d entered a bubble of silence. A weight Dick hadn’t even known he was carrying was lifted off his shoulders. And judging by Tim’s expression, he felt the same.

Dick led him down the hall to his room. “Not a fan?” he teased. Tim made a face like he’d accidentally swallowed a warhead.

“No one told me it was gonna be so…” He fought to find the right word. “Boring.”

Ain’t that the truth.

Suddenly his companion stopped in the middle of the hall. “Is that Jason’s room?”

Dick practically tripped as he froze in place. Looking over to where Tim was pointing, he saw it was indeed Jason’s room.

It was right next to Bruce’s, set up that way so Bruce could get to crying baby Jason as soon as possible, as the man had once told him. Bruce had offered it to Dick when he’d moved in, but the acrobat had declined. He’d known even at eight that Bruce wouldn’t be able to handle losing that last thing that proved he’d even had a son.

“Yeah,” Dick finally replied. “It’s kinda dusty though. None of us ever use it.”

That was a lie. Dick had caught Bruce going in from time to time. He never knew what the man did, but he figured it was best not to ask.

“What’s in it?” Tim asked.

Dick shrugged. “Some kiddie books. Some toys.” A four poster bed with dinosaur sheets Bruce had picked out. Glow in the dark stars Dick had put up when he was ten, insisting they be there “so Jason gets to see the sky”. The mural Bruce had painted ten years ago was still on the walls, now accompanied by posters of planets and other things young boys liked.

For a kid who’s never stepped foot in his room, it sure had a lot of love in it.

“Can we go in?”

Dick blinked, startled back to the present by Tim’s innocent question. He looked down at the boy. There was an open, curious look in his eyes, nothing like all the pitying ones from the adults downstairs. The ones who whispered behind Bruce’s back saying what a poor dear he was and how he should just move on.

No, Tim was just a curious boy who wanted to see another boy's room. A boy who in another life could have been his friend.

Could still be his friend , Dick thought to himself. With any luck.

“Sure.”

Smash Bros forgotten, Dick opened the door to Jason’s room and let the seven year old in.

It was just as they’d left it.

The four poster was perfectly made, pushed against the far left wall just like Dick’s was when he’d first moved in. A bookshelf full of kiddie books like Magic Tree House was pressed against the wall next to it, dust starting to collect on the spines again after Alfred’s last dusting. It looked nice, but unused.

A morbid part of him thought it more resembled a mausoleum than a bedroom.

Tim walked in, staring with wide eyes. “Cool.”

“Cool?” Dick laughed. The place was a walking dust allergy, what part of that was cool?

“Your brother has dinosaurs on his wall!” Tim exclaimed. “My parents would never let me have that.”

“Yeah,” the older boy shrugged. “Bruce painted it before Jason was born.” Sinking down to his knees to be at Tim’s height, he beckoned the kid over. Then, in a conspiratorial whisper, added, “Don’t tell anyone, but it’s because Bruce is a massive dinosaur nerd.”

Tim’s eyes widened again, a small gasp expanding his chest.

“But you can’t tell anyone,” Dick reiterated, tone deadly serious. “Bruce has a reputation to keep, after all.” The boy in front of him nodded, expression far more serious than he thought a seven year old could make. It was hard not to laugh at the sight.

Dick winked and the boy let out a surprised giggle.

The boy turned away, resuming his investigation of the room. “What happened to him anyways?” he asked, turning towards the bookshelves, finger trailing along the spines. “Mom and Dad just said I had to come to this thing. They didn’t really explain what it was about.”

That was fair, Dick supposed. It happened before Tim was born after all. He wouldn’t have seen all the headlines flashing in his face every ten minutes like Dick had. Even though he’d been six at the time he remembered the scandal vividly.

But how did one explain it to a sheltered seven year old? God, was this how Bruce felt when he’d asked all those years ago?

“He was taken by some bad people,” he supplied. Making his way to the bed, he sat on the edge, the duvet wrinkling under his weight. “He was born really small, so he had to stay at the hospital for a while until he got bigger.”

Tim nodded along, seemingly paying attention.

“Then someone took him from the hospital. Without Bruce’s permission.”

Cocking his head to the side as if in thought, Tim asked. “But why would someone take a baby? That seems like a hassle.”

How does one explain hostage situations to a seven year old? “Um,” Dick wracked his brain for the right words. “You know how Bruce is super rich, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, sometimes people take things from rich people so they can get money. They give the thing they took back if the rich person pays them. In this case….”

Dick didn’t need to finish his sentence.

“They took Jason,” Tim finished.

Dick nodded solemnly. “Correct.”

A frown twisted onto the young boy's face, eyes downcast and brow pinched. “But, if they wanted money,” he puzzled. “Why haven’t they announced it yet? Why wait so long?”

Dick asked himself that everyday.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shoulders slumping. “Neither does Bruce.” Or the police, or the gossip magazines.

Or Robin.

God, what a great detective he was….

He felt the mattress dip slightly as someone joined him on the bed. Looking to his right he saw Tim settling himself on the edge. In his hands he held the first copy of Magic Tree House.

“Do you miss him?” The boy asked.

How could he miss someone he never met? Jason Wayne was a ghost who’d haunted the mansion before Dick had ever stepped foot in it. What right did he have to miss him?

But even so… “Yeah. I do.”

He vaguely remembered asking his parents if he could ever have a little sibling. He hadn’t understood at the time just how that happened, but Dick knew he’d wanted one. He hadn’t been exactly lonely in the circus, but having someone his age to hang out with, to look up to him, to show all the cool tricks and flips he’d learned… Dick had wanted it more than anything. He still wanted it now. Maybe that was why he was throwing himself so hard into this investigation. Both for Bruce and for himself.

He’d be lying though if he said he didn’t worry that once Jason was found, Bruce would forget about him.

Something was shoved into his face.

“Can you read to me?”

Dick blinked.

Next to him Tim was holding out the copy of Magic Tree House, arms stretched all the way to reach Dick’s line of sight.

Seeing his silence as refusal, Tim continued. “Mom and Dad are always busy, and I don't have any copies of these.” He wiggled the book for emphasis. “Also I don’t really like video games,” he admitted shyly. “I just didn’t want to be around all the stuffy adults.”

He was putty under those puppy eyes.

He smiled. “Sure.”

Accepting the book from Tim, he wiggled his way back on the bed until he was sitting against the headboard. Tim followed suit, relegated to leaning against Dick’s shoulder, one of the stuffed animals on the bed already tucked under his arms. It was the wolf one Dick had picketed out for Jason’s birthday two years ago.

Dick flipped open to the first page and began reading.

“ ‘Help! A monster!’  said Annie. ‘Yeah, sure,’ said Jack. ‘A real monster in Frog Creek, Pennsylvania’.... ”

Chapter Text

It had been nearly two months with no new leads, and Dick was getting frustrated.

He’d looked into everything Todd related, using all his Robin training to do so. But again, all he’d found was the same as before. Willis was a crook, Catherine was a junkie, and Jason was….

Still missing.

He’d checked every foster home, orphanage, and homeless shelter in Gotham, and no dice. And yes the irony was not lost on him that the kids name was Jason. Needing to find Jason to find Jason… What kind of cosmic joke was this?

He did have a description of the kid, from one of the neighbors in the same apartment building. Grade school, around four foot tall, slightly curly black hair, and scrawny. He favored a red hoodie, but seeing as summer was just only starting to wind down, Dick doubted that tidbit would be of much use to him.

So where did that leave him?

Well, for one, lying to Bruce. No, he hadn’t told the man anything. But neither had Gordon, and that was protocol! So if the commissioner broke rank, Dick didn’t feel too bad about doing it either. That didn’t mean he felt good about it, but this was a unique situation.

Or at least that’s what Dick told himself every time he saw Bruce linger outside Jason’s door every evening.

You don’t know enough, Grayson, he chastised himself one night. It would do more harm than good.

What parent wanted to be reminded of losing their child? The best Dick could even offer was the promise of a lead, not even anything substantial. It would only end up eating Bruce alive, and Dick didn’t want that for him. He was sure if Alfred knew that he’d be on his side as well.

Even so, all of the dead ends were leaving him frustrated beyond belief. He couldn’t turn to anyone for help either, which only made things worse. He needed more info. Info he couldn’t get looking through semi public records and city cameras. Bruce was always telling him how much you could glean from someone by their stuff, by the things left lying around. It was as good an idea as any.

Dick needed to visit that apartment again.

He wasn’t dressed as Robin this time. It was still daylight, and Dick feared his bright costume would be too easily spotted performing a B&E. Instead he was dressed in muted Dick Grayson clothes as he dropped down onto the fire escape of the Todd apartment. Or rather, what had been the Todd apartment. The police had released it as a crime scene weeks ago, but no one had been in yet to move anything out. Which meant either the landlord was too lazy or they just didn’t care. Either way, it worked out for Dick.

Sliding the window open, he slid into the bedroom. All the blood stains and scuff marks were still there, but faded with time. The smeared bloody handprint on the window had flaked to near nothingness, only recognizable for its original shape if you knew what you were looking at.

Surely that was a health hazard.

Regardless, Dick had work to do. Pulling himself up he pulled out a small kit from his pocket. A miniature flashlight, some tweezers, and some evidence bags. Really they were sandwich bags, but calling them evidence bags was cooler.

Now to actually find evidence.

Obviously all the obvious stuff would be gone, stored in an evidence locker in sock GCPD station by now. He seriously doubted it’d ever be released. The only person who could even try to claim it was missing, and a minor to boot. Besides, Dick wasn’t sure what a kid would want with a nine millimeter bullet casing anyway.

The apartment itself was pretty barren, Dick found. There was a potted plant on the windowsill in the kitchen, long dead, with browned leaves curling in on themselves like a dead insect. There were a few unwashed pots in the sink, now covered in mold, and a few cans of food tucked away in one of the cupboards.

He snapped a few pictures, making note of the smaller details. Anything was useful, after all.

Turning to the living area he found a bit more.

A slumping bookshelf full of well worn novels caught his eye. Treading over to it, he was amazed at the collection. All either classics or high level literature. One that snagged his attention in particular was a faded copy of Pride and Prejudice that’s spine was so creased from use he could barely read the title.

Out of curiosity he grabbed it from the shelf and opened it to a random page. Staring back at him I’m the margins was a child’s handwriting making commentary throughout. The page he’d turned to had the kid apparently incensed with Mr. Darcy over whatever was happening in the scene.

From the look of the handwriting the kid couldn’t have been very old. Jeez, how smart was this kid?

The sound of the window scraping open in the bedroom froze him in place.

Slowly, Dick set the book down on the floor, movements careful to avoid making noise. He could hear footsteps from the bedroom. Light, quick. Someone small.

He pulled himself up, hand reaching for the knife he kept in his back pocket. The figure rounded the corner and he came face to face with-

It was a boy.

Barely hitting four feet tall, a mop of messy dark hair hanging over sharp blue eyes. He looked skinny, Dick noted, too skinny for a normal kid. Dirt covered nearly every item of clothing he wore, even smudging his hands and face.

Dick didn’t have to call on his years of experience working in Gotham’s underbelly to know what he was looking at. This poor kid was homeless.

And also glaring at him like he was about to bite him.

“The fuck are you doing here!” He snarled, snapping Dick from his reverie.

In his infinite wisdom and quick thinking skills, Dick opened his mouth and said, “Uh…”

Because, WHY was there a kid in here? This place had been abandoned for two months now, not to mention still covered in blood and grime (he seriously needed to have a conversation with GCPD forensics about that). So why the hell would a kid decide to crash here? It was a walking health hazard!

“If you’re trying to rob us you’re not gonna find anything,” the kid snapped.

Wait, us?

Something clicked in Dick’s brain.

“Are you Jason Todd?” He asked. The kid glowered at him, blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. He still looked taught as a bowstring, ready to either flee or attack him. It could honestly go either way.

“Why does it matter?” He scowled. Dick was shocked by the deep suspicion laden in those eyes, masking what he could only assume was pure terror. Jeez, what had this kid been through?

“I just- uh,” he really didn’t have an answer for that. “Look,” he finally tried. “I’m not a cop if that’s what you’re worried about.” Which the kid probably already knew. He wasn’t even sixteen yet for crying out loud.

The kid just scoffed. “Like that makes it any better.” He started backing up, muscles tensing as if ready to flee. Whoever this kid thought he was, Dick needed to convince him he wasn’t .

Well, maybe the truth wouldn’t hurt. “Okay, so yes, I broke in here,” he rushed out. “But I’m only here cuz I’m trying to find something!”

The kid scoffed again, dryer this time. “This place doesn’t have shit!”

“Then why are you here?” He challenged.

“Cuz I was-” he faltered. Suddenly his shoulder slumped, and his eyes were drawn to his feet, almost as if ashamed. “Cuz I was looking for something.”

In other circumstances Dick would have laughed. But not right now. He was clearly upset.

“You never answered my question,” the kid suddenly said. Huh? What question? “Why you askin’ for Jason?”

Dick debated the merits of outright lying to the kid or just straight up telling him the truth. On one hand, it’d be easier to just lie, but Bruce always said he’d never had a great poker face. And if he knew street kids (which sadly, he did), they were hyper aware of people and their intentions. If this kid caught even a whiff of falsehood from Dick he’d be in the wind before he could say “holy freaking Batman”. He needed this kids trust.

“I’m looking for someone,” he finally offered. “And I think Jason might know something.” There, the honest to goodness truth. Bruce would be proud of him. Maybe.

The kid’s eyes scraped over him for a tense thirty seconds, scouring him for any sign of deceit. Dick felt like a bug in a jar the way the kid was scrutinizing him. Finally he seemed to come to a decision.

“Well,” he managed tursley, still apparently on edge. “You found him.”

Dick had already figured that to be the case, but it was good to hear a confirmation.

A wide smile broke out on his face. “Name’s Dick.” Taking a step forward he held out his hand, offering a friendly smile. Jason just stared at the hand.

“Tough break.”

Dick frowned.

“Look,” Jason said, looking away. “Before you do anything like kidnap me or whatever, I need to grab somethin’.” Dick didn’t exactly have anything against that. As long as the kid didn’t bounce.

He watched warily as the kid went back into the bedroom before kneeling down next to an air duct and pulling out a battered swiss army knife. He saw Jason stick the screwdriver bit into the screws on the vent, watching as he methodically twisted each one out before yanking the entire grate off.

He couldn’t see what he did next, back obscuring his vision. But when Jason pulled away, he was holding an old shoe box like it was the most precious thing in the world. Eventually, Jason walked back over.

“Alright, you wanna talk?” He demanded. “Then buy me lunch.”

Dick smiled in relief. He could work with that.

“So whaddya wanna know?” Jason asked, digging into his food. They’d found a small hole in the wall dinner a few blocks away, 50’s themed and covered in a fine layer of grease and grime. After confirming Dick would be covering all of it, Jason had ordered practically half the menu, some of the food already half eaten with the rest still on the way. If it weren’t for the fact that Dick had swiped Bruce’s card earlier he’d be nervous about the cost.

Dick watched as Jason shoved another handful of fries into his mouth. He looked achingly familiar, but Dick couldn’t place where he’d seen him before. Probably ran into him at night while on patrol. “I’m helping my dad out with a case of his and was hoping you had some information,” he started tentatively. Jason’s eyes immediately shot up.

“You said you weren’t a cop,” he growled. His body had gone rigid, stance suggesting a fight or flight response.

“I’m not,” Dick back peddled. “My dad’s a PI, I just help him with some of his cases.” Technically true.

The tension slowly eased out of the gangly limbs. Jason’s eyes narrowed further. “Does he know you’re helping with this one?”

Well….

Dick felt heat rising in his face. Damn this kid was perceptive. He reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck. He’d never been the best liar. “Um, not entirely?”

The “gotcha” smirk that lit up Jason’s face made Dick want to ground him. Sadly, he did not have that power.

“So, what?” The kid asked drly, licking salt and grease off his fingers. “What could little ol’ me possibly have that you need?”

“It’s about a missing person's case,” Dick replied, tone switching to tentative. What he was about to bring up surely wasn’t going to be pleasant to the kid sitting in front of him. “Your mom, Catherine Todd, called the police a few months ago about information regarding it, but when the police got to her apartment….” Dick didn’t need to finish the rest. He watched as Jason’s face hardened into a blank anger. He hated to ask, but he needed to know. He had to find his baby brother. “I know it’s insensitive to ask, but is there any chance you know what she knew?”

The silence from the boy in front of him grew heavier with each passing breath.

Dick could see the way Jason’s jaw clenched and unclenched, fists spasming under the table. He was worried for half a second that the kid would either clock him or book it. But instead, his head dropped down, eyes fixed unseeing on the plate in front of him.

“So that’s why she was killed,” he mumbled.

It took everything in Dick not to round the table and pull the boy into a crushing hug.

“Jason, I’m so sorry.” And really, he was. He knew what it was like to lose a parent, to see them fall before your eyes, your whole world shattering around you. And this poor kid probably hadn’t had anyone to support him through it, not like Dick had.

The kid just gave a half hearted shrug. “It’s whatever,” he managed to get out.

It was not “whatever”, but Dick wasn’t gonna push it.

“Look,” Jason sighed, defeated. “All I know is my mom comes home, acting weird as hell, saying weird shit, and then her brains are all over the floor and I’m runnin’ for my life from the guys that killed her.” He let out a long breath. “Happy?”

Dick puzzled over the info he’d just been told. Clearly Jason wanted to move on from the topic, and Dick was going to indulge him.  “Weird how?” He asked.

Jason shrugged, eyes falling back down to his half finished plate of fries. “I don’t know,” he said. “Like she was scared or somethin’.”

“Did she say anything specific?” Dick pressed gently.

“Kept apologizing for something,” the boy recalled with a frown. “Told me my dad was a bad guy, which like, obviously,” he huffed. He deflated a bit after that, gaze growing distant. “I mean, I was the reason he got arrested, so….” He trailed off, absently swirling a fire in some ketchup.

“What do you mean you’re the reason he got arrested?” Dick asked, frowning.

“I called in the tip about the deal he was at,” Jason stated simply. “Bastard deserved it anyway.”

Dick remembered that, had helped carry out the arrest himself. Two-Face was dealing with some out of town group, some new type of automatic rifle being imported illegally. That tip had helped them get nearly half his crew. And a kid was the one who called it in?

“Why did- why?”

A noncommittal shrug was the only answer the boy offered.

Why would a kid willingly turn over their own parent? By all accounts it seemed that Willis was the one bringing home the money, however illicit the methods. Jason had to have known that when he called 911.

Cold dread built in his gut. “Jason,” Dick started cautiously. “Did- did your dad ever hurt you?” The dry laugh that escaped Jason made something heavy fall in his gut.

“I grew up in Crime Alley, Dickwad,” Jason laughed humorlessly. “What kinda question is that?”

He wished it wasn’t rhetorical.

“But then, why’d you turn him in now ?” He didn’t get it, the man had most likely been abusing Jason for years at that point, but he hadn’t reached out to any authority. What had changed?

An uncomfortable look overcame the boy's face. He shifted in the booth a bit, muscles tensing slightly under his baggy clothes. “I overheard him talking to someone,” he started. Dick could hear the tenseness in his body echoed in his voice. “He was talking about, about selling, someone.” Dick felt his fists curl against his thighs. “I heard him say ‘that Wayne Kid’.”

Ice flooded his veins. Distantly Dick was aware of his lungs seizing, refusing to take in oxygen.

Jason continued, seemingly unaware of the storm brewing inside the older boy. “He said he would make bank off him or something. An’ I know trafficking’s a thing, so I wouldn’t put it past him to sell ‘em or whatever.” He shrugged, attempting to appear nonchalant. “Knew I wouldn’t be safe with a guy like that, so, called the pigs. Next day he was behind bars.”

Forcing himself to unclench his hands, Dick took a measured breath in.

So Willis was involved. Or, had been to some extent. But how much? Was he just a middle man? A go-between? Dick couldn’t really see him being the mastermind behind it all, not with the criminal record he’d dug up.

“Don’t know what I’m gonna do when he gets out,” Jason added, still oblivious. “Hopefully he won't give enough of a shit to look for me.”

He doesn’t know?

“Jason,” Dick started, unease slowly building inside him. “Your dad was killed.”

Jason’s whole body went rigid. His eyes were fixed on a random point in space, slowly glazing over. Dick could hear the telltale signs of hyperventilation starting to take place, watching the kids chest rise and fall in too short bursts.

“What?” He finally croaked out.

Great. How do you tell a homeless kid their last living relative who they’d put in prison was since then murdered in prison? Real fucking smooth, Grayson.

“He uh,” a nervous gulp. “It was the same day as your mom. He was found….” With his neck snapped in the shower room . He decided against saying that. “They still don’t know who did it.”

Jason had started trembling. “Cool,” he bit out. “Fine. Whatever. Good riddance.” Despite his words, Dick could see tears welling in his eyes. The boy hastily swiped them away, scowling the whole while. “Fuck him.”

“Jason-”

“I said whatever!”

Dick sighed. He was doing that a lot around this kid, he realized.

A moment later the waitress showed up with the bill, offering a blessed reprieve from the conversation. Dick balked at the bill the two had managed to rack up, but pulled out his debit card anyway, signing for the customary twenty percent tip. He carefully angled the receipt away from Jason so the boy wouldn’t see it.

Glancing up at the kid, Dick knew he wouldn’t get much else out of him today. He looked exhausted, eye’s now rimmed with red and a near vacant look to them. His shoulders were slouching too in a way Dick knew to be emotional strain.

“Hey, um, thanks for talking to me,” he tried. “It really helped a lot.”

Another ambivalent shrug.

A knot formed in his throat. He needed to help this kid somehow, he knew. But there wasn’t much he really could do outside of kidnapping him and taking him to social services. Or Bruce. He at least wanted a way to keep in contact with him.

“Look just-“ he dug around in his pocket for a pen, finally managing to pull one out before grabbing a clean napkin and scribbling something on it. “Here’s my number,” he held it out to Jason. “If you think of  anything, or if you’re in trouble, call me.”

Instead of accepting it, the boy just eyed it with a disbelieving frown.

Dick frowned in confusion. “What?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

Oh. Well, that made things complicated.

“Take this then.” He pulled out a flip phone from inside his jacket, taking a moment to delete all the saved contacts in it before handing it over to Jason.

“What’s this?” The boy asked skeptically.

“It’s a burner phone. It’s got a limited amount of texting and minutes, but it’s handy in a pinch.”

Slowly, Jason accepted the gift, slipping it into a pocket. “I thought only drug dealers and the mob had burner phones,” he noted pointedly. Well, Dick couldn’t exactly argue that.

“And sons of paranoid bastards,” he offered instead. Again, technically true.

Jason only scoffed. “Sure.” He’d still taken the phone though, so Dick counted it as a win.

The waitress came back with his debit card, and they cleared themselves out of the dinner. The streets were busy with mid afternoon traffic. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jason look ready to scamper off. He was still holding tight to that box he’d grabbed from the apartment. He’d never mentioned what it was.

“Hey,” he stopped the kid before he could scram. “Do you have anywhere to stay?”

It took a moment too long for Jason to respond. Just long enough for Dick to know something was amiss.

“Yeah,” he said nonchalantly. “I’m in a group home right now. Not great, but it’s whatever.”

Dick tried hard not to narrow his eyes. When he’d tried to track down Jason before he hadn’t seen any record in CPS. That coupled with the way he’d eaten like that meal could be his last… There was no way the kid was in foster care.

Maybe Bruce would be willing to take him until they could find him somewhere safe, he pondered. If the kid would even let them. It seemed he had a chip on his shoulder the size of New Jersey.

“Hey, Jason,” he started. “If you ever need anything, just call. Seriously.”

The boy raised a dark eyebrow at him, but shrugged.

“Alright. Well.” A dry smirk slipped onto his face. “I’ll be seeing you Dickwad.”

Dick smiled. “See you Jaybird.”

The kid’s smirk just grew, possibly into something more sincere, and he walked off with a wave. Dick just stood and watched him walk off, eyes tracking him till he rounded the street.

Once he was out of sight, Dick slipped his smart phone out of his pocket and opened an app. He watched the tracker in the burner he’s given Jason ping along the path he’d seen the kid go.

Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he turned the other way and headed home. He had some more investigating to do.

Chapter Text

Living on the streets wasn’t exactly easy for a kid in Gotham. Hell, it wasn’t easy period, but living in the most crime ridden city in the U.S certainly didn’t help matters. At least that was what Jason had come to find in the past two or so months.

Well, he thought it was two. Honestly he’d lost track. He didn’t even know what the date was. Judging by the growing chill in the air though he would guess late September. Maybe.

It was still hard to wrap his mind around that. In his head it was still late July, not even a week until his birthday. But the leaves on the trees and the frost clinging to the windows in the morning disagreed.

He hadn’t realized how many things he had taken for granted before. Like blankets, or mattresses. Sleeping on piles of rags or cardboard was hell on his bony frame. He found himself waking up stiffer than a log most days, sometimes even in pain. He also missed solid walls. The building he was currently staying in had cracks running all throughout them, leaking what warm air there was out into the chilly streets. There must have been a fight here in the past and nothing had gotten patched up. Bullet holes riddled the walls, and one of the windows wouldn’t fully shut, frame knocked out of place.

Mostly he missed his mom, but anytime he caught himself thinking that he would firmly shove the feeling down and lock it away. If he didn’t think about it, he would be fine.

He’d be fine.

He had to be. Because then otherwise….

He remembered once seeing a boy who’d escaped a trafficking ring, saved by the Batman. Jason had known him one in school, a long time ago. He knew the circumstances that had led to his misfortune. Circumstances that Jason was now quite familiar with.

Jason knew he didn’t want to end up like that boy, glassy eyed and nearly a ghost. It terrified him to no end.

He still had the burner Dick had given him. He hadn’t opened it once, too scared to drain the battery. Why he kept it though was a mystery to him. Dick had seemed sincere enough when he’d given Jason the thing. An earnest kindness had been written all over his features, kind blue eyes wide like a deers. A kid like that would never survive in Crime Alley, Jason thought.

Sometimes though, when things really sucked, he’d pull out the phone and look at it, arguing with himself whether he should just call the number in there and end this whole nightmare.

He never did.

It wasn’t like Dick was gonna swoop in and save him from being too cold at night. He wasn’t going to offer him a place to stay or a nice home cooked meal. No, the guy would probably just snitch to his private investigator dad and get Jason thrown in the closest foster home and call it a day.

That was what the law required.

Although, the laws in Gotham though were quite amiable, as Jason had found.

You could get away with a lot in Gotham when you were trying to survive. So he lied. He stole. He’d found out that selling hubcaps or tires was a decent way to make money without involving himself in the gangs again. Tires went for fifty a pop if you knew who to sell to.

Logically, Jason knew it was probably safer to deal with the gangs, there was some minor security and stability that came with it. But he didn’t know if those men who’d killed mom were still after him. Better just to not show his face at all than risk it. And besides, jacking tires wasn’t so bad. Sure it was terrifying, but it paid better. It ensured he had semi-regular meals and clothes on his back.

It was still terrifying though.

It was Halloween when he heard the scream.

He knew it was Halloween cuz everyone was dressed up in dumb costumes, half of the Alley using it as an excuse to go out freely in their gang attire. Like it was some kind of free pass to commit crime. Stupid, if you asked him.

Jason froze in the middle of twisting a lug nut off an old chevy. The scream came from just around the corner, by the opening of the alley he was holed up in. He shouldn’t check. It wasn’t safe. This kinda shit happened all the time here, it sucked, but that was how it was.

Well apparently tonight he was an idiot.

Slowly, he retracted the iron, knuckles turning white from his repositioned grip. He edged away from the car, sticking to the shadows of the alley. He was small, the chances of someone spotting him were low.

Peeking around the corner, he found the source of the scream.

A young woman, probably in her twenties, was pressed against the wall by three men, all wearing dumb clown masks. The girl was dressed in some diner uniform, probably just got off work and was headed home. Tears flowed down her face, but she kept a stubborn angry look up, face red with fury and fear.

“We just wanna talk, lady,” one of the men said. His mask had a clown with a bright red nose. “Maybe get some drinks,” he crooned.

Jason dashed over to behind a dumpster, making as little noise as possible. Peeking out behind it, he managed to catch the woman's eye. She’d seen him. A wave of relief crossed over her before it was washed over by something harder. He couldn't tell what.

“Get the fuck away from me, you fucking pervs,” she spat. Literally. She hocked a loogie into Red Nose’s face, making him recoil in disgust.

She earned a hard shove back against the wall. “Fuckin’ bitch,’ one of the other men said. He had blue paint over the eye holes.

Jason flexed his hand holding the tire iron, hoping the woman would see it. She did.

“Jesus, let’s just get this over with,” Blue Eyes growled.

That’s when Jason jumped.

“Hey asshole!”

The thug had just enough time to turn around before Jason swung the tire iron right into his knees.

“Fuck!”

He swung around again and met Red Nose’s side. The man doubled over in pain, just in time for the woman's foot to ram into his crotch.

Jason grabbed her hand. “Run!”

“Get back here, you red hooded shit!”

The two booked it through the alley, shoes slamming against damp asphalt with their pursuers hot on their heels. Jason took a hard left, yanking the woman with him, down a narrower alley. He had to jump over a dumpster to get through, leveraging his small body to make the leap. Luckily the woman seemed to be of the same build and cleared it just fine.

He fell hard on the ground on the other side, but rolled with it and popped up just in time to hear one of the guys slam into the dumpster, metal clanging loudly through the cold night air.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he ushered.

He knew these streets like the back of his hand. Two blocks down and there was a fire escape too rickety for those guys to climb. If they made it there they would take to the roofs and escape.

A tug on his arm nipped that plan in the bud.

“This way,” the girl hissed.

He didn’t really have much choice but to follow her.

The two sprinted through the streets, heading further away from the Alley. He could feel his lungs burning for oxygen he just couldn’t get, legs almost numb from overuse.

“In here,” she cried. He was tugged into a back alley that smelled like piss and cigarette smoke before they stopped in front of a door. It looked like it led to a kitchen of a restaurant, judging by the discarded food and broken dishes outside. She shoved a key into the door before swinging it open, dragging him along with her.

Only once the door was shut and locked did the two sink to the floor in exhaustion.

Heavy panting filled the darkened kitchen. The place must be closed for the night, Jason figured. Large stainless steel machinery and utensils filled the space, glinting dully in the low light. The adrenaline was starting to fade out of his systems now that they were safe, leaving him trembling slightly, limbs feeling like jello.

It was nearly a full minute before either of them caught their breath enough to speak.

“Well that sucked,” he gasped. His hands curled around the tire iron, scrapping it against the tiled floor. How he’d kept it through their chase he didn’t know.

“Jesus kid,” the girl gasped. “You got a death wish?”

He didn’t really have a response to that.

“You alright?” He asked instead. “They didn’t touch you did they?”

She shook her head, loose hair from her bun flying around her face. “Nah, just some scrapes.”

That was good.

“I assume you work here?” He asked, gesturing vaguely to the room they were in. He’d seen her uniform, she worked in a diner somewhere. It wasn’t a stretch to assume this was the place. Also she had the key to the building, so there was that.

“Smart kid,” she noted with a smirk. “Yeah, my uncles,” she explained. “I work evening shifts. Gotta pay for school somehow.”

Jason missed school.

“What’s your name kid?” She asked. Jason didn’t really see a reason to lie to her, so he offered it.

“Jason,” he supplied.

“Cool. I’m Trisha.” She held out a thin hand for him to shake. He took it, surprised by the strength in the grip.

“Here,” she suddenly stood up. “Lemme pay you back.”

Pay him back for what? All he’d done was scare off some creeps. Jason wasn’t even aware he was shaking his head. “No, I couldn’t-”

“Kid,” she laughed. “You just saved me a trip to the ER. The least I can do is make you dinner.”

Jason wanted to protest, but the sudden growl from his stomach shut him up. She gave him a knowing look in response.

“Hope you like burgers, kid,” Trisha smiled.

And that was how Jason spent the rest of the evening, holed up in a tiny diner on the outskirts of the East End eating a double bacon cheeseburger with a girl he’d saved. She didn’t ask about why he was out at that time, or why he had a tire iron on him. Didn’t make comment on the way he ate too fast, or the hollowness to his cheeks, nor the way he flinched if she moved too fast. She just laughed and joked and shoved more food at him.

All things considered, Jason couldn’t think of a better way to spend his Halloween.

Bruce had read plenty of parenting books in the years after adopting Dick, so he felt quite confident when he surmised that Dick had entered his teenage rebellion stage.

He was more distant, hiding himself away in his room or the cave, working on projects he would close when Bruce came in. At first Bruce had just assumed it was classic teenage stuff, like porn. But as time went on he wasn’t so certain.

Dick was hiding something from him. Something the teen felt was very important. And while Bruce was the world's greatest detective, he couldn’t sus this case out. Yes he could go snooping through his son's stuff and have the issue resolved in under five minutes, but that was a hard no. Bruce was not going to invade his son's privacy.

He brought it up to Selina one night.

“Sounds like normal teenage stuff,” she drawled, tracing a finger down the cleft of his sternum. She was lying against him on her side with her head propped up on one hand, elbow sinking into the mattress from the weight. “Don’t you remember being fifteen?”

A dry snort escaped him. “I was fifteen with no parents and way too much money,” he reminded her. “It’s a bit different than this.”

Selina rolled her eyes. “Right, I forget,” she drawled. “Mr. Orphan billionaire. Silly me.”

Normally he would be upset if someone said that, but with Selina he knew she meant no harm. For some reason the barb just made him smile. He watched as she rolled over onto her stomach to face him fully, chin propped on folded arms over his chest.

“I think you’re overthinking this.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “And how would you know?”

“Because I used to be fifteen, wanting nothing to do my folks,” she said simply. “I’d hide stuff in my room, avoid talking about my feelings. The usual.”

“Don’t you still do that?” Bruce teased. That earned him a playful slap.

“It's just,” he struggled to find the words. “Sometimes, it looks like he wants to tell me something, then just changes his mind and says something else. And I can see it’s eating him up. I just want to help.”

He felt Selina hum against his chest. “And that makes you a good father,” she offered. “But he’s still a teenager. He'll come to you when he’s ready.”

“But-“

Selina pushed a finger against his lips, shutting him up. “You can’t detective your way out of this, big guy. That’s not how kids work.”

It would be so much simpler if it was .

“Look,” she sighed, a faint teasing smile pricking at the corners of her lips. “If it’s really bugging you that much, you can just talk to him.” Bruce opened his mouth to argue but Selina beat him to it. “I know. The horror. Bruce Wayne talking about his feelings.” She rolled her eyes. “But trust me when I say only good things come of it. I mean, look at what we’re doing now.” She gestured between them.

He frowned. “Sex?”

She swatted him harder. “Talking, you big lug,” she sighed. “Solidifying a relationship built on mutual trust and respect.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “You’re awfully insightful for a cat burglar,” he noted.

Her smile only broadened in return. “I’m known to be quite sagacious.”

“I don’t think you know what that means.”

Sharp eyes and teeth flashed in the dark. “No, but it was on Dick’s vocab quiz last week,” she replied smoothly. “You know he’s struggling in English?”

Bruce did not know that.

Maybe it really was just teenage rebellion.

Chapter Text

“One order of chicken caesar salad for my favorite customer.”

Jason scrunched his nose in disgust as the leafy mess was placed before him on the bar. Behind said bar, his new ‘friend’ Trisha scowled at him.

“Hey, growing boys need their greens,” she pointed out. “Lord knows you’re not getting enough of it at home.”

He’d been coming to Trisha’s diner off and on for the last month now, maybe about twice a week, for a free meal. She promised it was on the house every time and refused to accept any money Jason tried to give her. Secretly Jason suspected they were coming out of her paycheck, though he couldn’t prove it.

“Salads are gross,” he scowled, glaring down at the offending greens. “What’s wrong with burgers? They have vegetables in them.”

Across from him Trisha rolled her eyes. “Barely,” she groaned. Then, “Tell you what, you finish all of that and you get some fries.”

Jason immediately perked up.

A small smirk grew on the waitress’ face. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she smiled. “Alright, you finish that up, I gotta go do my job.”

He watched as she walked off to deal with the other customers, service smile slipping easily onto her face. How she managed to keep that energy up, Jason had no idea.

The diner wasn’t a fancy one. It was a lot like the one that wannabe detective kid had taken him to a few months ago, actually. Except this one had an annoying fifties theme, complete with red plastic cushions and an old jukebox that barely worked. Jason himself was perched at the end of the bar towards the back of the diner, as out of the way of everyone as he could be. He only came here in the afternoons at the earliest, half because that’s when Trisha worked and half so that she would think he went to school. She bugged him about homework enough that she thought he still did.

Right now though it was nearing eight at night. The fall chill had driven him to seek out more warmth than his abandoned office building ‘home’ could provide. He usually stayed for about an hour. Long enough to properly eat, but not too long as to overstay his welcome. Besides, other people used the place too, it wasn’t fair he take up a whole seat when he wasn’t even using it.

Taking a large bite of his free salad, he watched Trisha move around the diner. She was pretty cool, he’d come to realize. He’d known that of course after she’d spit in that one clown's face on Halloween before kicking him in the balls, but still. She went to the local community college and was working towards getting her associates before hopefully transferring to Gotham University to work on a business degree. Jason fully believed she would kick ass in places like Wall Street. She had that kind of ball crushing personality.

When she’d asked about what he wanted to do when he grew up though, he hadn’t had an answer.

Jason had never really given himself time to think about anything further than a year ahead. Nowadays he rarely thought a week ahead.

Although, if he had all the money in the world and nothing to worry about, maybe he’d like to do something with books. Mom always said he was a great reader, reading books way ahead of his age bracket.

The thought of his mom made something tight clench in his stomach. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore.

His fork clattered onto the cheap porcelain, fluorescents glinting harshly off the metal.

God, had it only been four months? Late July when she… and he could see Thanksgiving decorations plastered everywhere, with the threat of Christmas lights just around the corner.

His first Christmas without Mom.

His second Christmas without Willis.

Only one of those statements brought him any amount of joy. And even then it still felt bitter in his mouth.

“Hey, what’s up? Not hungry anywhere?”

Jason looked up to see Trisha had stopped by his seat, looking curiously down at him. She must have seen his expression cuz her face suddenly shifted to one of sympathy. “Bad day, huh?”

He only nodded in response.

She let out a tired sigh. “Tell you what,” she offered. “You try to eat as much of that as you can and I’ll bring out those fries for you and a slice of pie.” He opened his mouth immediately to protest, but was shut down by a wave of herhand. “No, no, no. I don’t wanna hear it. You’re getting pie and that’s it.”

She was seriously way too good for a place like Gotham.

“What if I don’t like pie,” Jason tried feebly. The raised eyebrow she gave him let him know she saw right through him.

“Chocolate cream or apple?”

Jason was fighting  a losing battle. “Apple,” he mumbled. “With whipped cream, please.”

She was back fairly quickly with a freshly heated slice of apple pie. It smelled heavenly to Jason, and he couldn’t help the saliva that started pooling in his mouth. When was the last time he’d had a real dessert like this? And no, the twinkies he stole from bodegas didn’t count.

Eagerly he dug into the treat. And God , it tasted even better than it smelled.

“This is fucking amazing,” he mumbled around the pastry.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Trisha scolded lightly. In true mature fashion, Jason stuck his tongue out at her. The effect was slightly ruined though by the bits of crumbs stuck to it.

“Ew.”

Behind them the bell above the door to the diner chimed.He barely gave it a glance. It was habit at this point to be hyper aware of his surroundings, you never knew what danger lurked around each corner while on the street. But he felt pretty safe here, so he wasn’t too concerned.

Eh. Just two guys. They looked kinda familiar, but then again, Jason had been all over lately. Probably just some dock workers.

He turned back to his pie.

Mom used to make pies- he remembered absently- before she got hooked on drugs. Though they were never this good. He definitely didn't get his culinary aptitude from her.

All too soon he was done with the meal. It was sad there was no more, but begrudgingly he had to admit Trisha was right. Sometimes you really did just need comfort food.

Noticing he was finished, the waitress in question swung around to his seat. “All done?” She asked, taking the plate away. Jason nodded.

He hopped off the bar stool, wiping his hands on his pants. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome.

Trisha, sensing his imminent departure, offered him a smile. “See ya next week, kid,” she said. “And stay safe, ya here?”

“See ya,” he offered. “And thanks again!”

“Anytime, Jason.”

Giving a smirk and a two finger salute, he headed out of the diner, shouldering the door open and moving out into the busy street. Belatedly he noticed a pair of men in one of the booths get up and get towards the door.

The cold air bit his nose and cheeks immediately. If there was one thing that could be guaranteed about Gotham, it was that it got cold at night. All thanks to the Atlantic of course. Seriously, who thought it would be a good idea to build a city right next to the ocean? Stupid.

Throwing his hood up to fight off at least some of the cold, Jason began the trek back to his place. All he had on were some near threadbare jeans and an old hoodie he’d nabbed from his apartment when he dared go back again. Sue him for being sentimental; it was the last thing his mom had bought for him.

It was five blocks before he realized he was being followed.

The steady gate of work boots had been an echo behind him, staying the same distance away for a while. Stiffening, Jason risked a glance back. It was the two guys from the diner, the one’s he thought he’d recognized.

It was really starting to bug him now. He’d seen these guys before. But where…?

It hit him like a truck.

These were the guys that killed Mom.

Ice suddenly filled his gut, lungs seizing. What were they doing here? What did they want? Were they here to finish the job? He wanted to run, but his limbs weren’t responding. Why weren’t they responding?

Blood on the carpet.

No. Not now.

“Get back here you brat!”

He forced himself to take steady breaths. In, out, repeat.

Slowly he turned back around, forcing himself not to tremble. He needed to act natural, drawing attention now wouldn’t do him any favors.

Escape routes, he needed escape routes.

Eyes flitting about, he spotted one of his favorite alleys. Two blocks down and there was a dumpster covering a hole in a building. He could squeeze behind because of how small he was, he just couldn’t let the guys see. If Jason could make it there he’d be safe. But he couldn’t alert them that he knew they were following him, otherwise he’d show his hand. He needed as much of a headstart as possible.

Act cool, Jason. Act cool.

Body trembling, he crossed the street and headed towards his possible escape route. It was hard to keep his pace even, his mind screaming at him to run. He couldn’t even hear anything over the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

Sure enough, the men followed.

It was fine. He’d been running for gangs long enough to know how to lose a tail, or to get away. He had this. Piece of cake. So why did he feel like he was gonna throw up?

Two blocks down.

It was a struggle to keep his pace even and body lax. Every single muscle in him felt like it was gonna tense so much it’d explode. But he couldn’t tip them off. He needed as much of a headstart as he could get.

He hoped the men would think he was only shivering because of the cold. That was what Jason was telling himself anyway.

Just a block to go.

Now was his chance. Without warning, Jason took off in a dead sprint. Immediately he heard shouts behind him as the men suddenly picked up on the fact they’d been had.

Worn sneakers pounded on the wet pavement beneath him. His hoodie flew like a threadbare  cape behind him as he ducked and swerved through the streets, accidently knocking into people and objects in his rush to get to safety.

His hand brushed over his pocket, hitting something hard. What was-

The phone!

Dick’s burner phone, the one he’d given him the other month. He’d never used it so he’d completely forgotten about it. There still had to be minutes on it, and Jason always had it off so the battery should still be fine.

But, would it even be alright to call?

The sound of boots on asphalt behind quickly dispelled him of his qualms.

Fuck that. Dick said he could call if he was in trouble. Well, he was in trouble .

Heart in his throat, Jason spotted his salvation.

There was a chain link fence at the front of the alley, the bottom curling up half a foot. Jason skidded to a stop and rolled under it, he ignored the way the sharp edges pulled at his clothes, immediately pushing himself up on the other side and booking it towards where the alley turned deeper into the city block. He heard shouted curses and rattling metal as the men behind him attempted to scale it.

There! The dumpster.

He nearly plowed into it, but careened to a stop at the last second. The hole was on the left, barely even visible in the low light.

Wasting no time, Jason squeezed himself in, clothes tearing slightly on the rough edges of his hideyhole.

And then, silence.

Just his loud breathing and pounding heart filled his ears. God, he was breathing so hard. Air felt like it wasn’t getting into his lungs fast enough. He needed air to live!

He slapped a hand over his mouth, desperate to stifle the sound.

Please. Please let this work. Please don’t let them find him.

Numb fingers fumbled around in his pocket, searching frantically for the phone. He pulled it out, flipping it open and scouring the contacts. Thank god, there was only one. He hit ‘call’.

Please pick up, please pick up.

Another fucking dead end.

Dick threw his pen angrily across the room, growling in frustration when all it did was bounce harmlessly off his pillow.

Why was this so hard ? People don’t just vanish into thin air. Well, they do, but only under extremely specific and usually hero related circumstances, and Dick highly doubted Jason Wayne fell into any of those.

But still, ever since intercepting Catherine Todd’s call, he’d found nothing . He didn’t have any way of finding what it was she knew about the Wayne case. He’d talked to friends, coworkers, neighbors, everybody. They all said the same thing, the Todds had kept to themselves to the point of recluse, the most interaction they had with anyone was when they either went out for groceries or when Catherine met up with her dealer. And according to him, she’d stopped buying seven months before her untimely passing.

So how the fuck had she figured something out that the police hadn’t for years ?

Frustrated, Dick threw himself out of his chair and stormed out of his room. He couldn’t think in here, it was too confining. Normally he would be out right now with Bruce, but the guy had insisted they take the night off so Dick could focus on homework. Well, newsflash Bruce, that wasn’t gonna happen. He had bigger shit to deal with.

Maybe he should have just spilled the beans awhile ago. Then at least he would have another pair of eyes on the case to see things from a different angle, spot whatever it was he was missing. Alas, he was dumbass.

No, he reminded himself, he was trying to protect Bruce.

Maybe they were one in the same.

Bruce seemed to be judging him from the family portrait as he passed under it, as if somehow sensing the guilt that had been pooling in Dick for the past few months.

Wait.

Dick narrowed his eyes, staring harder at the painting. A strong sense of deja vu swept over him.

He’d seen this painting hundreds of times. Nothing had changed about it. There was Grandma Martha, hair curled neatly into a bun, Grandpa Thomas with his gross 80’s mustache, and baby Bruce-

Bruce.

It was Bruce, but he wasn’t seeing Bruce.

An image of a scrappy kid in the Alley flashed in his mind.

But, no. No that was stupid.

And yet, Dick realized with mounting horror, that kid looked exactly like the Bruce staring down at him from the portrait. From the eye color, to the nose shape, to the way his nose scrunched when they smiled. Hell, insert a hoodie and jeans onto the painting and you’d have an exact replica of Jason Todd.

He had to be seeing things. He had to be remembering wrong. The human memory was only sixty percent accurate at best. He needed a photo to compare to. Because surely this- it couldn’t be-

He was descending into the batcave before he even knew what he was doing.

The batcomputer had backups of all his case files as well as access to all public records in the city and beyond.

Hurriedly, he opened the folder on the Todds, clicking open Jason’s latest school photo. He clicked through some more files before finding the one he was looking for. Clicking it open, dragged the Wayne family portrait next to the first photo.

Eight year old Bruce Wayne stared back at him with clear blue eyes and dark messy hair.

The breath caught in his throat.

Holy shit,

Holy fucking shit.

He looked just like Jason.

Jason Todd, the kid whose parents had information on the missing persons case. Jason Wayne’s missing persons case. The kid who was currently living on the streets in Crime Alley, the same one he’d bought lunch for at a diner.

Jason, who’d been born in August of 1999, with hair like pitch and eyes the color of clear summer skies.

Neither Willis nor Catherine had blue eyes.

How had he been so stupid ?

The hair, the eyes, the shape of his nose, it was all right in front of him, staring him in the face for MONTHS, and he didn’t fucking see it! His name was even Jason for crying out loud. God, what a horrible brother he was. What an idiot. Trained by fucking Batman and he couldn’t see what was right in front of him.

Jason had been in Crime Alley this whole time, barely forty minutes away. He’d been here all along, just under their noses. Jason had been right there and he’d been an idiot .

His phone rang.

Startled, dazed, he pulled it out of his pocket, staring at the caller ID. It was from his burner phone. The one he’d given to Jason.

Jason.

He wasn’t sure he was breathing. Hell, he could barely even feel his hands. He rushed to hit ‘accept’.

“Jason-”

“Dick? Dick is that you?”

Something was wrong. Jason’s voice was tight, strained with emotion. It sounded like he was whispering into the receiver, as if talking any louder wasn’t an option.

“Jason, what’s going on?” He shouldn’t panic. He had to remain calm. He was Robin, he could do this. But at the same time, he could feel his insides screaming. Holy shit, that’s my brother. That’s my baby brother. I’ve been looking for you for so long. Bruce is going to be thrilled! You’re alive. You’re actually alive!

“Y ou said I could call if I was ever in trouble, right? ” The thin voice came through the line.

He was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around this whole situation. “Yeah?”

“ I- I need help. ” Dick’s heart sank. “ There’s these guys, I- I don’t know what they want but they’ve been following me. I got away but I don’t know how long- ” Dick heard a sharp intake of breath. He waited a second. Two, three, four- a faint terrified whisper was barely picked up by the receiver. “ They’re here .”

Dick’s mind was screaming at him to move , to go help his brother. Instead he was frozen where he stood, limbs locked in place with ice creeping through his veins.

“Jason,” he croaked out. “Jason, listen to me. Stay where you are, and be as quiet as possible, okay? I’m coming to get you.” Robin was coming. Batman was coming. His family was coming.

The only response he got was frantic breathing. It sounded like he was trying to stifle tears.

Dick rushed around the cave with the phone shoved against his shoulder and cheek, prepping his Robin uniform. Jason just needed to stay put, stay hidden. He would not let his brother be taken again. Not when he was so close. Not when he could actually do something about it.

“ Dick, you gotta -” He was cut off by a grunt sound, followed by screaming. A muffled ‘get off me’ could barely be heard through the receiver.

No. No, no, no.

“Jason?” He tried. Nothing. “ Jason! ”

Across the city, a flip phone lay open on the ground, Dick’s voice blasting out of it into the empty air as Jason was dragged away.

Chapter Text

His head hurt. That was the first thing Jason became aware of. The second was that he was being dragged. Someone was holding him up by his arms and moving him somewhere, they weren’t being gentle about it either.

His feet scraped across the ground, bouncing over what felt like asphalt and loose rubble. The arms holding him up belonged to someone who smelled really bad. Cigarettes and stale beer if he had to guess. The world was also spinning, even through closed eyes. He could feel where the ground was beneath him, but at the same time it felt like it was a roiling ocean and he just couldn’t get his bearings.

Eventually sounds started to filter into his brain.

“-before he wakes up,” someone above him growled.

Jason’s mind spun sluggishly in his skull. Before who wakes up?

“Just knock him on the head again if he starts strugglin’,” another voice said, just as deep and gruff as the first.

That wasn’t safe, he thought to himself. You could get a concussion that way.

Jason felt rough hands grapple him before being hoisted up. Despite his eyes still being closed, the world spun around him, threatening to empty his stomach out onto the ground. The sound of a car door sliding opening reached his ears, but he couldn’t really make the connection in his head. Everything was still so fuzzy and confusing.

“Grab the rope.”

Rope?

“Duct tape too?”

“Yeah. Don’t want ‘em screaming our ears off.”

There was the sound of movement, of things being shifted around, before Jason was being moved around again. His hands were pulled behind his back and held together by something coarse, feet following suit. Then something sticky was slapped over his mouth. What the fuck?

He tried opening his eyes to see what was going on, but even the barest sliver of light sent shooting pain through his skull.

Hm. Maybe if he just took a nap he’ll feel better. Yeha, that sounded like a good idea….

The floor beneath him erupted in rumbles. The smell of diesel hit his nose.

Wait. He was in a car. He was in the back of the car with people he didn’t know and he was tied up- holy fuck .

Jason learched awake, eyes shooting open and limbs straining against their bonds.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was being kidnapped.

He needed to escape. No one was gonna be looking for him, no one would notice he was gone. That’s why people took street kids in the first place. And fuck if he didn’t fall into that catagory. Yeah he’d called Dick, but realistically what could that kid do?

“He’s awake,” Goon One groaned from the front seat. Jason barely paid attention, looking for anything sharp enough that could slice through the ropes constricting him.

“Not like he can go anywhere,” Goon Two chuckled from the driver's seat. “Ain’t that right, baby Wayne?”

Wayne? What the fuck?

Brushing the strange comment aside, Jason frantically continued his search, scooching himself along the floor of the van in the vain hope of spotting something- anything- that would help him. There was a coil of rope, a roll of duct tape, a crowbar, some empty sacks, but nothing sharp enough to actually help. Fuck.

Belatedly he realized he was crying.

No. No, now was not the time to be a baby. He had to get out of this before anything worse happened. He refused to let himself be trafficed, or raped, or whatever the fuck these sickos did with kids.

He was not. Going. To cry.

He was dizzy and felt like he might throw up and the light hurt and his head hurt and everything really just sucked . If he couldn’t find a way out of this his life will be over. But he was NOT going to cry.

He just had to find a way out. Because no one was coming.

He was well and truly on his own.

“BRUCE!”

Phone forgotten in the cave, Dick pounded up the stairs into the manner, heart hammering in his chest. Jason was in trouble. Their Jason was in trouble.

Panic was flooding through him in ways it never did when he was out as Robin. It burned in the back of his throat, turning his legs to jelly and squeezing his lungs.

“BRUCE!” He burst out behind the grandfather clock, not even bothering to close it behind him. Where the fuck was Bruce? Study? Library? What did Bruce normally do at this hour when he wasn’t Batman? Making up his mind, Dick booked it upstairs.

He rounded the corner of the west wing and came face to face with Bruce just leaving his office, coffee mug in hand. He skidded to a stop on the persian carpet.

Bruce looked up, brow furrowing in concern. “Dick what’s-”

He didn’t have time. “ It’s Jason ,” he gasped.

The mug Bruce had been holding slipped through his fingers and shattered on the floor.

“What?” Came the strangled gasp. Dick didn’t have time to notice all the ways Bruce was freaking out right now, not the wide glazed over eyes, or the way all the blood had drained from his face. No, he needed Batman right now. Jason needed Batman right now.

“Look, I don’t have time to explain, but he’s in trouble so we gotta go now .” He wished he could sit down and talk it out. Wished he could explain the phone call, Catherine and Willis’ murder, the months of research he’d done, but he couldn’t. They didn’t have time. Every second spent not going to the Batmobile was a second closer to losing Jason for the second time.

“Dick of this is a joke-“

“It’s not a joke!” He cried. Seriously, they needed to go . “I found him and he’s in trouble!” He fumbled for his phone, the one that still had the tracker to the burner cell he’d given the kid. “I’ve been looking into his case for a while and I found him and he’s in trouble so we gotta go .”

He watched as the man's face seemed to spasm, flicking through every human emotion rapid fire, brain seemingly unable to make a decision on which to land on. Yes, Dick knew it was a lot to expect Bruce to take it in stride and come with him, but Dick wasn’t exactly being rational at the moment.

“Dad, please. ”

That spurred the man into action.

Immediately the stricken look was wiped from his face, replaced with the hard expression of the Batman.

“There is a lot you are going to explain,” his adopted father glowered.

Not even ten minutes later and they were in the Batmobile, speeding through the back roads of Gotham at a breakneck pace. They’d both changed into their suites in record time, Dick not even having finished buckling everything up when he’d jumped into the car.

Then Bruce had grilled him on everything, and he meant everything . So he explained. He explained the tracking software he’d set up, the tip Catherine had called in, her subsequent murder, Dick’s investigation, all of it. Dick did his best despite the guilt gnawing at his core and the panic flooding his veins.

“And you never told me?” Bruce growled. Dick forced himself not to flinch from the intensity.

“I didn’t want to give you false hope,” he argued. “I saw what losing Jason did to you once, I didn’t want you to have to go through that again.”

Dark gloves squeezed the steering wheel in a death grip. “Well I’m going through it now .”

Fair point.

“How’d he end up with your phone anyway?” The man asked.

“I um,” Dick mumbled. “I gave it to him.”

“You gave it to him ?”

“I didn’t know it was Jason!” He cried. “I just thought-“

“That a ten year old boy named Jason with connections to the only lead on his missing persons case just happened to be a coincidence?” The man exclaimed.

Dick didn’t have the time or energy to even try defending himself. “Yeah, I fucked up!” He admitted. “You can yell at me for it later.” They had a mission to do.

Yes, in retrospect it seemed obvious. But Jesus, how could it have been so easy? Dick felt like an utter moron, staring so closely at the problem All he could see was the trunk and the tail instead of the whole elephant. He couldn’t beat himself up about it right now though, he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

“I’m sorry for yelling.”

Huh?

Dick’s head whipped around to stare at Bruce. The man’s hands were still locked in a vice grip on the steering wheel, jaw clenched so tight the big feared he’d crack a tooth. He’d never seen him so worried before.

“This is just…” he watched his dad fight for the right words to say. “Sudden,” he finally settled on.

Some of the fight drained from Dick’s shoulders. “I get it,” he offered. He didn’t, not really . Not the way a father missing their child could, but it was what Bruce needed to hear. “I’m scared too.”

It was then the triangulation system in the computer pinged and gave a precise location of the Jason’s phone. It was pinging somewhere in Park Row, or Crime Alley as others called it. It wasn’t moving, which didn’t bode well for Dick. Judging by the way the phone call ended, he highly doubted it was still on the kid, which was gonna make their jobs a hell of a lot harder.

“Crime Alley,” Dick reported. “Between 5th and Park Avenue.”

Bruce grunted before changing lanes, headed towards the Alley.

Ten minutes later found them pulling into the alley in question, batmobile shrieking to a stop on the damp pavement. Disappointment settled in Dick’s gut when he hopped out and looked around. Just as he suspected, no Jason.

“The signal’s coming from over there,” he called out, pointing towards a dumpster a few yards away.

A flip phone lay open on the ground, abandoned.

He watched as Bruce picked it up with trembling hands. Dick could see the way he was controlling his breathing, muscles taught beneath the kevlar suite.

“FUCK!”

The phone crashed against the wall, Bruce having thrown it with all his force. Dick couldn’t hold back the surprised flinch. He’d never seen Bruce like this before. So… uncontrolled.

“Check all traffic cameras starting from here,” the man growled out. “We’re going to find these sons of bitches.”

Jason didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

He’d been taken to a warehouse and tied to a chair by the men who’d caught him. They hadn’t said a word to him, acting as if he was just an object rather than a kid they’d just taken off the streets. They were gruff, not caring when they tied the ropes too tight and made Jason cry out in pain, or if they accidentally knocked him against machinery dragging him in here. His safety was clearly not their concern. It didn’t bode well for him knowing that.

The warehouse smelled like piss and stale beer. It had probably been a brewery at some point, judging by the large drums still looming out of the darkness. Faint moonlight trickled in through the broken windows up above, illuminating the place just enough for him to make out shapes and figures.

What did they want from him? If this was a trafficking thing, why had they brought him to a warehouse and tied him up like some kind of hostage? Didn’t they usually just throw their targets at the buyer immediately? Hell, why even take Jason in the first place? He didn’t know shit about anything, he didn’t associate with any of the gangs anymore, and there was certainly nobody who was gonna be looking for him.

He tried to explain all that, but through the duct tape and tears, the message got lost.

Actually it had earned him a punch in the face. The trail of blood from his nose attested to it.

“Shut up, brat,” Thug One growled. His hand swiped his jacket aside to show the glock tucked into his waistband, a clear threat. “Unless you wanna get a hole in your leg.”

Jason could do nothing more than glower in response.

He really hated these guys.

“Stay put,” the man finally said before turning and stalking off to somewhere out of sight. Thug Two took a second to eye Jason before following him. He didn’t know what they had to do that needed to be done away from Jason, but it wasn’t like he was gonna complain. Every second they were near him made his skin crawl. These bastards had killed his mom, whatever they wanted with him couldn’t be good.

After a few moments Jason could hear them talking in low tones, clearly thinking he couldn’t hear them. Even so, Jason wasn’t going to waste an opportunity to try to escape.

His wrists were raw and sticky from all the pulling and yanking he’d done. He was sure they were bleeding, not that he could see it. They definitely hurt enough to be. The only reason his ankles weren’t in the same boat was because of his jeans. Small blessings.

“You sure this is the kid?” he heard Thug One ask.

Jason squirmed in his seat, trying to loosen the bindings enough to slip a hand out. It was getting easier from all the wetness accumulating.

“A hundred percent,” Thug Two responded. “Willis told me all about it right before that busted deal. Good thing I didn’t go.”

Right. That bust Jason had called in, the one landing his dad in prison. This must have been the guy he was on the phone with.

A scoff. “Jesus. He was a mad man, hiding the Wayne kid in plain sight.”

Wayne kid? But Jason had foiled those plans. Last he heard Dick Greyson was still living it up in Bristol.

“Still don’t know why he thought stealing a baby was a good idea,” Thug Two mused. “Makes our job harder.”

Baby?

“Can’t believe he kept the kids name,” Thug One countered. “Talk about idiocy.”

What were they talking about?

Jason twisted at the rope binding his hands, hoping that all his finagling would at least get it loose. It wouldn’t be long before the guys were back.

“How we gonna get Wayne to believe this is his kid, anyway?” Thug Two suddenly asked. “Kid’s been missin’ ten years. Dude probably thinks he’s dead.”

Who the fuck did they think Jason was?

“Jesus Christ, just leave it to me, Mic,” Thug One growled. He heard the telltale sound of boots hitting concrete as the man started walking away. “Swear to God, you overthink everything.”

Fuck. Fuck he was coming back. Jason gave one final desperate pull in a last ditch attempt. He felt his wrist slip, just a little. Maybe, maybe he could-

“Ah, ah, ah,” someone tutted. “Not so fast, brat.”

Jason’s heart sank.

Thug One and Two were back. He’d been caught in the act.

“Tryin’ to escape, huh,” Two growled. Jason flinched under the accusation.

Thug One rounded the chair and squatted down, presumably to redo Jason’s bonds.

“Jesus, look at this mess,” he growled. A sharp tug on the ropes had Jason wince sharply in pain. It fucking hurt .

“It wouldn’t hurt if you didn’t mess around with it,” the man hissed, retying them extra tight to drive home his point. Jason ignored the tears building in the corner of his eyes.

“Hey Wayne,” Thug Two called over. Jason stared at him like he’d grown a second head. The fuck was he calling him ‘Wayne’ for? He watched with wide eyes as the man pulled a knife from his pocket and flipped the blade out, waving it threateningly in front of his face. “You play nice until your pops hands over the money, capiche? That means no more escape attempts. Or it’s bye-bye fingers.”

Jason wanted to scream that Willis was dead, and he was certain even if he had any the man wouldn’t pay money for him. But he also didn’t want to say anything in fear that the man would take it wrong and slice his pinky off. Not that he could with the duct tape over his mouth. The compromise was fresh tears rolling down his cheeks.

“That’s a good little rich boy,” the man crooned.

What the fuck ?

Jason’s mind spun, trying desperately to reach whatever conclusion these guys had in their insanity. Wayne, rich boy, billionaire….

Did… did these guys think he was Jason Wayne ? Yeah he had dark hair and his name was Jason, but Jesus Christ. These guys had to be either absolute morons or certifiably insane, and considering this was Gotham, it could go either way. But it didn’t really matter why , because Jason was still being held hostage. He needed a way out, preferably before his fingers were chopped off.

Suddenly the sound of glass shattering echoed throughout the warehouse. Jason froze in his chair, eyes flicking all around the dark space. In front of him the thugs were doing the same, guns drawn and held up in front of them.

Someone was here.

Hope and terror warred in Jasons chest. On one hand, it could be help, but that was highly unlikely. Only one person even knew Jason had been in trouble, and he highly doubted a sixteen year old kid was gonna break in and fight off two guys with guns. More than likely it was competition. But for what, Jason still didn’t know.

Something thunked into the pipe next to Thug One. A glint of metal in the dim light shone off it, highlighting sharp curved edges.

That was a batarang.

Batman was here.

Holy fuck, Batman was here!

A surge of hope flared inside Jason’s chest. Batman was ruthless on kidnappers and traffickers. These guys were totally fucked.

He wasted no time. Inhaling as much as he could through the crusted blood and snot, he let out the loudest scream he could through his bindings. It came out a shrill high pitched whine like a whistle, cutting through the dark stillness of the warehouse. A homing beacon if there ever was one.

“Shut up!”

A backhand caught him across the face. It was enough force to send his chair toppling over, the crash echoing through the building.

“Brandon, you fucking idiot,” Thug Two cursed. He pulled out his gun from his waistband, holding it up to face the darkness.

Meanwhile Jason was struggling to get his bearings on the floor. His ears were ringing, and the world seemed to be swaying beneath him, bringing back unpleasant memories of an angry Willis. He could also taste blood in his mouth where he must have bit his cheek. His shoulder ached where he landed on it, as well as his elbow where the chair was pinching it against the floor.

Glancing up, he watched Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb face off against the darkened warehouse, stiff as boards with there guns raised. Hah. As if that would do anything against Batman.

A line shot out of the darkness and hooked around the leg of Thug Two. He barely had a moment to process before it pulled taught and he was dragged across the floor into the dark.

“Fuckin’ hell!” His buddy raised his gun and fired it in the direction the grapple came from. Bullets ricochet off the old pipes and machinery, orange sparks strobing wherever they hit.

A scream sounded in the dark before being abruptly cut short, echoed with the sounds of punches.

Another line shot out, but the remaining thug managed to dodge it just in time. The metal on the grapple bounced harmlessly off the ground next to Jason.

Seemingly sensing a losing battle, the guy ran off. Fucking coward.

Now was his chance! Jason squirmed in his restraints again, reinvigorated by the sudden chaos around him.

He didn’t have time or the proper angle to even try to undo the ropes, but he did have gravity on his side. Heaving himself up, he managed to raise a few inches off the ground before slamming the chair back against the cement. If he couldn’t slip out of his bindings, maybe he could just break the thing holding him back.

And then he’d be home free.

If he could just. Break. The chair!

One final blow and he heard a heavy crack beneath him. Yes! Wasting no time, he detangled himself from the now shattered wood, wiggling out until he could reasonably move his limbs. The sound of gunshots and fighting still rang heavy through the air, but as long as they weren’t directed at him he was okay.

He shimmied his bound hands down past his legs, thankful for how thin his frame was, before ripping off the duct tape. He couldn’t help the gasp of relief once fresh air touched his lips. Next we’re his feet. They were still tied together, but now that his hands were (mostly) free, he could actually address that.

Fingers tugging at the hempen rope, he managed to loosen it just enough to slide a foot out. Barely. But it was enough. Now for his daring escape-

“Not so fast, baby Wayne.”

He whipped around, still sprawled helplessly on the ground, towards the voice. It was Thug Two, except he was sporting a horribly bloody nose and a new shiner.

Jason didn’t need to be told twice to run.

Feet practically tripping over themselves, he rushed upwords.

“You little fucker!”

Oh fuck no.

Jason dashed forward, adrenaline pumping through him in a desperate bid to get away. His legs were still shaky from the fear and from being tied up for so long, but he didn’t care. He needed out.

He ducked underneath some heavy piping, not really seeing where it headed. The thug followed him, knocking into more machenary than Jason did and causing a ruckus.

If Jason wasn’t so distracted he would have seen the pile of cords littering the walkway in front of him.

His sneaker snagged on them, and momentum carried him down. Down.

SLAM. The floor met him with invigorated enthusiasm, knocking the wind out of his lungs. Footsteps closing in, he flipped onto his back, ready to fend off the guy with flailing kicks. Maybe if he started screaming; Batman or Robin would come and-

A foot came down right on Jason’s collar bone.

CRACK!

The scream that tore from Jason's lungs was louder than anything he thought humanly possible.

Pain ripped through him, spreading like a wildfire. It pulsed aggressively, wracking his torso with seizing agony.

Tears clogged his throat and eyes, hot and unrelenting.

Distantly he could hear someone roar in fury.

Fuck. Fuck it hurt so bad. He wasn’t even sure he could see, that was how much pain he was in. The only other thing he was aware of was the cold cement floor beneath him and the blood still lingering in his mouth.

If he could just- if he could just breathe. Just breathe through- just breathe through the pain.

Why couldn’t he breathe ?

The foot on his shoulder was removed, and with it the pressure keeping some of the pain at bay. Jason couldn’t help the whimper that escaped his throat.

He prepared for more, tensing for the onslaught that was sure to come.

Instead he was met with the sound of gunfire and ricocheting bullets.

With what little strength he had left he scooted himself across the floor, away from the thug. It was excruciating, but adrenaline was a hell of a drug. His back hit something hard, a wall or a pipe. Either way it was blocking his escape.

A dark figure landed in front of the man.

Jason could hardly see through his tear clouded vision, but he’d know Batman’s scowl anywhere.

He was immediately on the thug, fists flying in precise yet animalistic movements. More gunfire rang from the battle, forcing Jason to duck down to avoid any stray bullets. It was madness.

He heard something snap , followed by a scream.

More thuds followed. Jason didn’t dare peek.

Then silence.

Now that there was no more gunfire or sounds of battle, the quiet that permeated the air seemed to be ringing. Jason swore his own heart could be heard meters away in it. He was still curled up in a tense ball, pressed tightly to the wall behind him. He didn’t dare move. Like a prey animal, if he moved he’d be seen, and if he was seen…

“You’re alright now.”

Jason’s eyes shot open. That wasn’t the thugs voice, it was far too gravely. And… too kind . Slowly, he lowered his good arm from where it was covering his head, blue eyes peaking out into the darkness.

Batman stood above him, in all his dark glory. Those bastards around Crime Alley weren’t kidding when they said he looked like a nightmare. His towering visage all but dominated Jason’s view, ears like horns on his cowl, black swallowing him whole.

Then the man lowered himself into a crouch, careful to keep a few feet from the boy. Jason eyes his movements like a cornered animal, confusion, fear, and relief all earring within him.

He watched in mute shock as Batman ripped the cowl off his head.

What?

In the dim light he could barely make out his features. Dark hair, a strong jawline, some stubble. Nothing remarkable. But still, why on earth had he removed his cowl ?

“Jason?”

Jason couldn’t help the full body flinch he gave upon being addressed. He regretted it immediately; seeing the broken look on the man’s face, but couldn’t find the words to apologize.

“Jason,” the vigilante tried again, voice softer this time. It was weird, he wasn’t even using his standard growl. Instead he sounded like a… normal guy. Jason watched as he slowly inched forward into the dim light, features finally illuminated enough to see-

Jason’s lungs froze.

Holy fuck. That was Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne was Batman.

Batman knew who Jason was.

What the fuck was happening?

Slowly, painstakingly, Jason scooted himself further up the wall, back pressed against a control panel, making himself more at eye level with the man. It hurt like a mother fucker, but with all the adrenaline pumping through him he didn’t mind too much.

Briefly his eyes flicked over to the now unconscious thug on the ground a few yards away from him. It was brutal. Jason had seen what happened to some of the guys the Batman had gone after before, but this was on a whole other level. He saw limbs twisted out of place, a tooth or two on the ground, and he wasn’t certain where the blood stopped and the man began.

Like an animal attack.

“B?” Someone called out from further in the warehouse. The sound jolted Jason’s gaze away from the body on the floor.

“Deal with the men,” Bruce called back. “Secure them, then call Gordan. Get him here asap, and make sure to bring medevac.” His eyes never left Jason.

Eyes the same blue as Jason’s.

Everything those men had said before Batman came in came crashing back to him.

“Mr. Wayne,” Jason gasped. Cuz that’s who he was facing, Bruce Wayne . “They kept- they kept calling me Wayne. They thought I-“ a sharp twinge of pain from his shoulder had him wincing. He was rambling, he realized belatedly, but he couldn’t stop. “They thought I was your son,” he gasped out. “But I’m not. That’s insane, there's no way. There’s no way I’m you son, that’s stupid. That’s fucking insane, right? That’s just… it’s…”

Bruce was staring at him with pity. Knowing pity.

“No,” Jason breathed, dread sinking in his gut. “No, no, no, that’s- that’s not-“ It wasn’t true. It wasn’t true. But Bruce kept staring at him with that look and with so much love and sadness . But it couldn’t be true! Jason was a nobody from Crime Alley, not the kidnapped son of some billionaire!

“Jason,” Bruce sighed. And God, he sounded so heartbroken . That was the tipping point for him.

Tears welled hot in his eyes before overflowing, marking lines in the grime on his cheeks. “ No ,” he gasped.

“Jason, I’m so sorry.”

A strangled wail escaped him. He immediately tried to stifle it, biting his lip so hard he feared it would bleed. Bruce moved forwards towards him but Jason jerked sharply back on instinct. The sad look that passed across the man’s face didn’t escape his notice.

“No, no, no, I’m Jason Todd ,” he cried. “My mom is Catherine Todd and my dad is- my dad is Willis Todd. I’m not- I’m not-“ he couldn’t even finish the sentence, sobs stealing his breath away.

He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. Because that meant- that meant his parents had- his mom -

But he didn’t look much like Willis, save for the hair. He looked nothing like Mom.

He hated how fast things were falling into place.

His dad hated it when Jason left the apartment. Hated even talking about him. He’d refused to let him seek better education, insisting they stay in the slums. They’d moved as soon as Batman had shown his face in their neighborhood. Batman, who was notorious for going after child abusers. And that phone call Jason had overheard all those years ago. He hadn’t been talking about a crime he was going to commit. He had already done it.

He had already kidnapped Jason.

Jason, who’s dad was Bruce Wayne. The man who was currently sitting across from him on the floor trying desperately to get him to breathe.

When had he stopped breathing?

“-ason. Jason please, you gotta inhale for me. Just take a deep breath in.” He sounded panicked. Batman shouldn’t sound panicked.

Jason wasn’t aware of how much his lungs were burning. He was breathing, but they were rapid and shallow breaths, hardly even reaching his lungs. The man's words rang again in his ears. Just breathe in. Yeah, he could do that.

He tried to suck in a breath, but it caught in his throat, sending him into a coughing fit.

“That’s okay, that’s okay,” Batman-Bruce assured softly. “Just try again, that’s it.”

Jason tried again, hating the rasp that clawed its way down his throat. He felt like he’d gargled glass.

But he’d managed one. He tried again.

Another one.

It went on like this for another few minutes, Jason just struggling to inhale while Bruce Wayne guided him through it. By the time Jason’s lungs no longer felt like they were going to explode, he was trembling.

God, he felt like he’d ran a marathon.

Slowly, he lifted his eyes to the man before him. Bruce Wayne was still crouching there, expression so open and tender, like an exposed nerve. It was unsettling.

Jason sucked in a shaky breath, still staring right at the man. “Am I really…?” He couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud.

Bruce’s eyes shone with something pained and soft when they met his. “Yes,” the man rasped. “You are.”

And, God, he was looking at Jason with so much love . It physically hurt to see. It was something he’d only ever seen in his mothers eyes. His mother who would have done anything for him. It brought up a tight hot feeling in Jason’s chest, a feeling that told him he was going to be okay, no matter what. Something inside him cracked.

Jason couldn’t hold it back any longer.

He burst into tears.

Suddenly there were arms around him, holding him. He didn’t fight it this time, too exhausted and confused to even be afraid. Instead he buried himself deeper, tucking his face into the dark fabric of the bat suite. His good arm was clenched tightly around one of the arms holding him, terrified the man would let go.

He didn’t want him to let go.

He never wanted him to let go.

Someone started stroking his hair, fingers carding through the dark ratty curls. He could feel the chest beneath him vibrating as the owner offered encouraging words, words lost on Jason. He wasn’t sure but he thought he felt water dripping on his shoulder.

A kiss was pressed into his hair, and that only made Jason cry harder. Cling tighter.

He was so scared, and so confused. Everything hurt and nothing made sense. But at the same time, with those strong arms wrapped around him, shielding him from the world, he’d never felt safer.

Chapter Text

Bruce couldn’t believe it. His son was in his arms.

His son.

As soon as he’d seen him he’d known. Like some sort of instinct inside him reaching out and screaming at him that this was his boy. The blue eyes, the dark hair, none of that mattered. Bruce knew this was Jason. His Jason. The urge to scoop him up and breath him in immediately was overpowering, and it had only been held back by the absolute terror in the boys eyes.

He couldn’t let his son’s first impression of him be as the Batman. He needed his son to see him, not some terrifying monster. So he’d removed the cowl immediately. It had certainly shocked Jason, and he’d needed more than a moment to come to terms with this startling revelation.

But then the boy had broken down, and Bruce gave in to his instincts.

They were still crouched in the warehouse, the boy shaking with sobs in his arms. He was injured, deep lacerations on his wrists and blood trailing from his hairline and nose, not to mention how stiffly he held his right arm.

But he was alive.

His son, Jason Thomas Wayne, was alive and in his arms.

If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up.

“You’re alright, you’re okay,” he muttered, continuing his gentle ministrations. His hand was tangled in the boy's curls, something he’d gotten from his mother, gently carding through them in what he hoped was a soothing manner. It felt like he couldn’t get close enough to the boy in his arms, arms wrapped around and body bent over like a protective shell. He was certain he was crying, heavy tears slipping down his cheeks in regular intervals. He’d rarely ever cried as an adult, but if there was ever a time, could anyone fault him for it being now? “You’re going to be okay, Jason,” he breathed. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

He wasn’t sure if Jason could even hear him, but it didn’t matter. He seemed to be slowly relaxing, getting all the terror and obvious confusion out with his sobs.

Dick was in for a hell of a lecture. Keeping this from him for so long, going behind his back? Oh, he was in big trouble. He was going to be grounded for at least a month, if not a year. But that would come later. Right now his youngest needed him. And God, that felt euphoric to say.

He couldn’t help pressing another kiss onto his boy's head. It was grimy, and slightly stinky, but he didn't care. How could he care? This was everything he’d been dreaming of for the past ten years. He hadn’t even held him in the hospital when he’d been born, the baby being rushed off for immediate aid. And after that, only the mother had been allowed contact until he could be discharged.

This was the first time Bruce had ever held his son, and now he never wanted to let go.

The sound of light footsteps behind him alerted him of Dick’s presence. “B! Gordan’s on his way with medical,” his eldest informed. “They should be here in less than ten minutes.”

Bruce managed to nod his acknowledgement, not trusting his voice to speak. Dick seemed to understand and just gave his own nod back, as if telling Bruce “it’s alright, I understand”.

His eldest squatted down slowly beside them, telegraphing his movements so as not to startle the boy.

“Jason, hey,” his son greeted softly. Bruce watched as Jason turned towards the boy, a vacant confusion plastered on his face, as if he wasn’t really seeing the boy.

“Robin?” He mumbled, voice still thick with tears.

Dick’s face broke out into a relieved grin, practically blinding Bruce. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I’m glad you’re okay, Little Wing.”

It was the nickname Dick had started using when he was around nine, soon after becoming Robin. “If I’m gonna be a robin, then he can be my little wing!” The boy had announced. Evidently the name had stuck.

“He’s got some lacerations on his wrists,” Bruce informed. “Most likely from the rope he was tied up with. I’m also worried about a concussion.”

He saw Dick’s face harden into business mode. His eyes flicked over to his baby brother (Bruce was still amazed he could say that), gaze searching. Gingerly, he ran a gloved hand through his brothers hair, brushing it out of the way to search for blood or bumps. Luckily there was nothing aside from the cut on his hairline near the temple. Still worrying, but manageable.

Jason flinched away when Dick tried to peel back his shirt.

“Don’t!” He cried, jerking away sharply.

Dick immediately pulled his hands away as if burned. Bruce’s arms stiffened in their hold. They both understood where that reaction came from.

“Jason, Robin’s not going to hurt you,” he assured steadily. Well, as steadily as he could. “We need to check you for injuries. You might be hurt more than you know.” He’d just found his son. He was not going to lose him again.

Jason tried to pull away. “I’m fi- ah!”

He froze in place, face suddenly twisted in pain. His whole body went rigid. Immediately Bruce went on the defensive. Scouring the boy, he noticed a large bruise forming on his right collar bone, an ugly red blotchiness taking over.

“Jason,” he started, tone firmer than before. “I need you to listen to me. Can you move your arm at all?”

Jason tearfully shook his head. “It, it hurts.”

“What happened? I need to know so I can help.”

Jason’s eyes flicked over to where the guy Batman had just beat to shit had been laying, blood streak still on the floor from where Robin had dragged him off. “He- the man,” the boy stuttered. “He s-stepped on me. And th-then….”

The horrid scream still echoed in his mind.

“His collarbone might be broken,” Dick noted seriously. Jason grimaced a bit at the news, but otherwise gave no outward indication of having heard him. “B, he might go into shock,” he warned. “We gotta get him outta here.”

Fuck, he’d forgotten about that. Of course, Jason had just gone through something incredibly traumatic, shock and blood loss should have been at the top of his concerns.

They needed to move him. Staying on the cold cement ground was not going to help prevent shock, nor was it comfortable. They also needed to ensure the bone didn’t move too much. The easiest way to do that would be to lay him down, but again, cold floor. Bruce also highly doubted Jason would uncurl from his protective ball against his chest even with coaxing. While the thought warmed his heart, logic demanded otherwise.

“Jason,” he tried, hand cupping his son's cheek. Blue eyes flitted towards his own, but there was a slight glaze to them. Bruce forced down his fear. “We need to move you somewhere safer, but given your injury it’s going to be incredibly painful. If you’ll allow me, I can give you something for the pain while we wait for the paramedics to arrive.” His hands moved as he spoke, going to his utility belt to retrieve the low grade morphine syrette he kept on hand for situations just like these.

As soon as Jason’s eyes landed on it, he flipped.

“NO!” He cried, lurching away, injury seemingly forgotten. Bruce jolted trying to catch him. “No needles!” He shrieked, blue eyes now wild with panic.

“Jason, please-”

“NO!”

Bruce was at a loss. His son was in pain and he needed medical attention, but at the same time… Bruce had seen cornered animals before with injuries they shouldn’t aggravate, but when truly backed up against a wall, there was a lot a scared animal could and would do if it felt threatened. Jason reminded him an awful lot of those animals.

“Jason, I would never do anything to hurt you,” he swore, pushing all the sincerity in his soul into the words. “I swear.”

“You’re gonna drug me!” The boy cried, still trying to pull away. Next to him Dick’s face hardened, dark understanding seemingly washing over him.

“Bruce,” he admonished, holding a hand up as if to hold the man back. It took a lot of self control not to snap at the boy. His eldest scooted forward, still keeping himself low to the ground so as to not appear threatening.

“Jason,” Dick started, voice even. “I know what you’re thinking right now, and I promise our dad would never do that.” Bruce was torn between sheer pride at being called dad and confused fear at whatever implication Dick was saying. “What your mom went through was awful,” he continued, ignoring how the older man bristled at the words. “But we would never let that happen to you. We just want to get you the right help.”

Fearful eyes flicked back and forth between them.

“Jason please,” Bruce begged, voice cracking only a little at the end. “I don’t want to see you in pain.”

“I h-hate those,” the boy mumbled in lieu of arguing.

“I understand,” he assured softly. “But these can help you,” he explained. “You might go into shock, and I don’t want that happening.”

Jason averted his gaze.

“I promise I won't give it to you unless you say so.”

His son looked up at him with tearful suspicion. “And it’ll make the pain go away?” He asked. Bruce nodded.

“I swear, I’ll keep you safe.”

That seemed to be the right thing to say, because Jason slowly uncurled from the tight ball he’d shaped himself into. Bruce watched in agony as the boy winced and hissed under his breath. His entire right arm was curled solidly against his chest, shoulder not moving an inch.

Gingerly, Bruce pulled his other arm out, rolling the sleeve up to the elbow.

“You’ll feel funny,” he told the boy. “And probably tired.”

He watched Dick’s arm slide around Jason’s back, rubbing comforting circles into it. Jason leaned into it like a starved pup.

Gently, he inserted the needle into his arm, careful not to hurt him further. Jason watched with wide eyes, gaze glued to the syrette. His body trembled under his touch, making the man's heart ache for him. Bruce could feel the moment when the drug kicked in, Jason’s taught muscles going lax beneath his grip. His eyes started drooping and he slumped forward into Bruce’s grasp.

He wasn’t sure if it was the sudden adrenaline crash, the absence of pain, or the morphine itself, but the boy was out.

As much as Bruce just wanted to hold the boy, he needed medical attention immediately.

“Robin, clear a surface for us to lie him down on until the paramedics arrive,” he ordered. “Take my cape off and use it as a shock blanket for him.” He would have done it himself, but his hands were full.

He watched as Robin cleared off some pallets before arranging them for Jason to be laid down on, unclipping Bruce's cape to wrap the boy up while doing so.

“How long until the authorities get here?” Bruce asked.

“About five minutes, give or take.”

They could at least start to treat his wounds then, he figured.

The most pressing one was the fractured collarbone. But without any equipment it was hard to judge how bad it was and do anything to truly help. The best they could do was make a brace so it wouldn’t be jostled between now and the hospital. Second to that was the possible concussion. Judging by the blooming bruise and trail of blood coming from his hairline, he’d at least suffered some concussive force. Although seeing how out of it he was it would be near impossible to judge how bad without an MRI.

One of the things he could address though were the lacerations on his wrists. They were deep and ugly, the skin was rubbed raw from friction, bits of rope still stuck in the coagulating blood. Jason must have been fighting against the ropes for a while if it had gotten this bad.

Swallowing down a wave of guilt, Bruce got to work. He pulled a small flask of isopropyl alcohol out of one of his compartments and dabbed a gauze pad onto it before gently wiping away at the wound. Jason hardly even flinched in his sleep, the morphine doing its job.

He was halfway through the other wrist when the sound of sirens approaching filled the air.

Wasting no time, he slid his arms under his son and lifted him from the pallets. God, he was light. The cape was still draped around him, making a black cocoon with just his head and feet sticking out. It also looked adorable if it weren’t for the nasty bruises covering his face.

Outside there was a swarm of police cars and ambulances. Out of one of the cars, a man in a duster jumped out and headed straight towards them. Once he was away from the backlighting of the headlights and closer to Bruce, the man could see it was Jim Gordan himself.

Gordan stared at the unconscious child in his arms. “Is that really…?”

“Jason Thomas Wayne,” Bruce nodded, fighting to keep his voice level. “He needs medical attention immediately.”

“Of course,’ the commissioner nodded, shaking himself from his stupor. He turned and started leading him towards the ambulance. “Just… wow.”

“I’ve already informed Wayne,” Bruce offered. He didn’t want the commissioner calling his landline while he was still here. That would be awkward.

“I bet you have.”

Bruce decided to ignore that remark.

“The kidnappers are inside,” he continued. “Two of them, both requiring medical attention.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised,” the commissioner sighed. “Can’t really blame ya, either.” Batman's vendetta against child abusers and the like was well known throughout Gotham. These two were absolutely no exception.

“Batman!” An EMT called out, breaking the conversation. She waved them over to a stretcher. “We can take him over here.”

His feet led him over, but his arms suddenly felt locked in place.

God. Everything in him was screaming at him not to let his child go. He just got him back! Leaving him with strangers, even paramedics, it didn’t feel right. He needed to be there for his son. His small precious boy who-

“B,” Dick warned.

But Batman shouldn’t care so much for this kid. To the vigilante, it was just another kidnapping case. It wasn’t personal.

Slowly, fighting against every instinct inside him, Bruce lowered him to the gurney. Immediately the EMT’s were on him, hooking him up to a blood pressure cuff, slipping an oxygen mask over his face, everything.

He didn’t want to leave. He just got him back.

“I’ll call Wayne when we get to the hospital and get some blood work. Don’t wanna take a risk and give the guy false hope,” Gordan announced. The vigilante forced a nod to show he’d heard.

He needed to get out of here. If he stayed any longer he feared what he would do. “Let me know if you need anything else, Commissioner,” he offered.

“Of course,” the man assured.

Bruce threw one last look over his shoulder as the stretcher holding Jason was wheeled into one of the waiting ambulances.

He’d be back soon. He would see his son again soon. And this time he was never going to let him go.

Chapter Text

Jason woke up to someone carding their fingers through his hair.

It felt nice. Just the soothing strokes across his scalp, the gentle press of a warm palm against his face every once in a while. He couldn’t help but lean into it.

Someone was also holding his hand.

Maybe it was Mom. She sometimes did this when he got sick. But Jason didn’t remember getting sick. He couldn’t really grasp any thoughts though, they kept slipping away like fish. But why would he want to grab fish? That seemed like a terrible way to get seafood.

“Jason?”

No. Jason wasn’t here right now, leave a message. Come back later. Sleep was much better.

The hand stopped its ministrations. A petulant moan escaped him in annoyance. Why’d they stop? It felt so nice.

“Jason, can you hear me?”

“No,” he grumbled. Maybe now they’d leave him alone and the hand would come back.

Instead of that, a breathy laugh filled the air. The hand that had been running through his hair joined the other one in holding his hand as it was lifted from the bed and- kissed?

“Welcome back, Jaylad,” the man (apparently it was a man) gasped.

Okay, now he was confused.

His eyelids felt laden with sandbags, but the confusion swirling in his head outweighed the feeling and he forced them open.

The first thing that greeted him were bright fluorescent lights and a white acoustical ceiling, kinda like the ones in school, except this one didn’t have any weird orange stains or broken panels. Sliding his gaze down, he saw a blanket covering him, wires poking out underneath. Following one of the wires up to the left, he found himself staring at a man in his thirties, Jasons’s hand clasped in his own.

Jason blinked.

The guy looked familiar. Dark hair that had at one point been greased back, a solid jawline that would make ladies swoon, five o’ clock shadow painting his face. He looked achingly familiar, but for the life of him Jason couldn’t place him.

Then it hit him like a truck.

“You’re Bruce Wayne,” he stated, or slurred, dumbly.

Because he was. Bruce Wayne was sitting at his bedside in a hospital room(?), holding his hand and apparently running his hand through his hair until a second ago. He was also looking at him with the wettest, warmest smile ever. It felt like being hit by a sunbeam.

But why was Bruce Wayne…?

His shoulder gave a sharp twinge.

Oh.

“That was all real, then?” He asked, the memories trickling into his head. The men, the phone call, the kidnapping. Batman . “That wasn’t a dream?”

“It’s all real, lad,” Bruce (dad?) smiled.

And wasn’t that fucked up. Bruce Wayne was his father, which meant he’d been kidnapped as a baby. Had Willis done it? Had Mom been in on it? Mom had never been anything but loving until the very end, so why would she want to kidnap a baby? It didn’t make any sense. God this whole thing was confusing.

“So you’re really my dad?” He asked.

His smile softened. “Yes, Jason. I’m your father.”

Jason didn’t even know how to feel about that. His life had just been flipped upside down and everything he thought he’d known was a lie. And now he was the son of a billionaire, one who’d been looking for him for ages if the tabloids were to be believed, and it was just too much! What was he supposed to say to that? What was he supposed to feel ?

“I-“

“It’s alright,” the man cut in. “Whatever you're feeling, it’s alright.” Jesus, did this guy read minds? The thought must have shown on his face, because Bruce let out a laugh.

“You make the same face I do when I overthink things,” he chuckled.

Jason couldn’t tell if he felt embarrassed or surprised by that fact.

Bruce leaned forward, lowering Jason’s hand back to the bed before leaning against it. A hand came up and brushed Jason’s bangs aside, he couldn’t help but lean into the touch. “What’s on your mind, lad?”

Tears welled unabidden in Jason’s eyes. “I just-“ he sucked in a breath. His throat felt like it was closing up, choking the words out of him before he could even try to make them. Like being strangled by his own emotions. His words came out in a broken sob. “I don’t know what to feel.”

He remembered the confusion and fear when the man had taken off the cowl, and the safety he’d felt in his arms. The terror and betrayel when he’d offered to give him the pain killers. But also the guilt at seeing how hurt the man was at his rejection. It was all a jumbled mess of thoughts and memories he couldn’t untangle, and it left him feeling so lost. Like a ship adrift in a storm.

He just wanted everything to make sense. But all he got instead were more questions.

The hand that had been in his hair came down and brushed something off his cheek. Oh, he was crying.

“I know,” Bruce muttered softly, thumb caressing his cheek soothingly. “I know.”

“I didn’t-” Jason hiccuped. “Yesterday my dad was an abusive asshole and my mom was- my mom was dead,” he choked out. “And now-” Now he had a father, one who genuinely wanted him and cared for him. But at the cost of knowing he’d been stolen away from that by the very people that raised him. Jason didn’t want to think that his mom was implicit in it. She was good . She’d loved him . She couldn’t be- she couldn’t be that .

Bruce interrupted his train of thought. “Three days ago.”

Huh?

Jason blinked, staring at him.

“You’ve been out three days,” Bruce clarified. “Today’s the twenty-seventh.”

The utter shock from the sudden change in thought process ground his downward spiral to a halt. Then he did some mental math.

“I missed Thanksgiving?” He asked dumbly.

The man at his bedside suddenly let out a bark of a laugh. “I think it’s alright if we reschedule it,” he chuckled. He still held that overwhelming relief in his eyes, gaze never leaving him for a second. It pulled at Jason’s heart strings.

But still….

“Three days?” he croaked out. Exhaustion was beginning to creep up on him again, swelling back in like a tide now that the turmoil from earlier was slowly dissipating.

Above him Bruce nodded, hand still resting on his cheek. “You suffered a concussion and a fractured clavicle. Not to mention minor dehydration. You needed the rest.”

He felt like he still needed the rest, honestly. His limbs felt like they were weighed down by sandbags, impossible to move even if he wanted to. His right arm was completely immobilized by a sling, shoulder aching through the painkillers he must be on. Some part of him still wanted to panic at the thought of practically being in a coma, but the man (father) in front of him didn’t appear worried in the slightest, so maybe it was okay.

Unconsciously he leaned into the hand resting against his cheek.

“Where’s Robin?” He suddenly asked. If Bruce was here, and Bruce was Batman, that meant Robin had to be somewhere, right?

“Dick’s fetching us some coffee right now,” his father informed him. And god was that weird to say.

Wait.

“Dick?” He frowned.

“My other son,” Bruce explained patiently. “Richard Greyson. I adopted him officially a few years ago.”

Right, the circus kid. He remembered seeing the occasional tabloid about that on the newsstands. Well, it made sense. Batman’s son was Robin, and Robin was from the circus. That actually explained a lot of things about Robin, in retrospect.

The sound of the door opening broke him of his musings.

“Hey B, they didn’t have dark roast so I had to get French-“ A boy, maybe sixteen, was pushing the door open with his elbow, both hands occupied with steaming paper cups. He froze immediately upon seeing Jason awake and staring at him. He looked incredibly familiar.

The boy's face broke into a huge grin. “Jason!”

Jason only gaped at him. “ Dick? ”

Dick, the boy who’d broke into his apartment all those months ago and bought him lunch. The boy who’d given him his burner in case of an emergency. Dick, the boy who Jason had called .

“Dick told me you two met,” Bruce sighed.

Jason couldn’t even get a word in edgewise before Dick was rounding the bed to pull him into a giant bear hug. He was too shocked to even attempt to fight it. Belatedly he wondered what he’d done with the coffee.

“Oh my god,” Dick breathed, relief flooding his voice. “I’m so glad you're okay.”

“Thanks?” Jason offered, words muffled by the arm circling his head. Any tighter and he was sure it was gonna pop off.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he heard Bruce chuckle off to the side. “Let the boy breathe.”

Dick pulled away quickly. “Oh, sorry.” To his credit, the boy had the decency to look ashamed. He backed up a bit before sitting on the edge of the bed, the stiff mattress dipping below him.

“Hey, um,” Dick fiddled with his jacket lapel. “Thanks for calling.”

It took Jason a second longer than it should have for the words to click into place.

“The burner phone,” he croaked out. The one Dick had given him at that diner, the one he’d used to call him in that alley. “Thanks for giving it to me.”

It was a moment of silence before the other boy’s face suddenly twisted into something like grief. Then, “I’m so sorry,” he rushed out. “I’m so sorry I didn’t realize before. If I’d known it was you I would have- and I let you live on the streets for months when-“

Jason had heard enough of this guilt complex crap. “I don’t blame you,” he interrupted, stopping the monologue in its tracks. And he didn’t. Truly. His emotions were still frayed and he was just tired , and there was no point for anyone to be blaming themselves for what should have happened. 

A beat. “You should.”

Jesus. These people.

The rebuttal on his tongue was cut short by a sudden yawn. Oh fuck, the exhaustion was really creeping up on him now. If his limbs had felt heavy before, they felt like absolute lead now. He found himself blinking hard just to keep his eyes focused.

“Alright, I think that’s enough excitement for now,” Bruce noted softly, hand brushing through Jason’s hair again. Hm. That felt really nice. “Get some sleep Jason.”

Yes. Sleep. Sleep was good. Sleep was his friend.

“I’m so glad you’re back, dude,” Dick gushed, sweeping him into another hug. “I swear I’ll be the best big brother ever. You’re gonna be spoiled rotten.”

“Hey, that’s my job,” Bruce admonished.

Jason was too tired to even think of a response. His thoughts were turning into molasses.

“Come on, let’s let the kid sleep,” he heard the man say. Huh, why couldn’t he see him?

Oh, his eyes were closed. When did that happen?

He felt the arms around him untangle and pull back, leaving him feeling a little emptier.

“Don’ leave,” he heard himself mumble. He felt his fingers catch on a warm hand, clinging to it with what little strength he had left. “Don’ wanna be alone.”

The hand squeezed back. “I’m not going anywhere, Jaylad,” Bruce promised.

‘Good’ he meant to say, but it came out more as “Hn.”

A kiss was pressed to his forehead, followed by a whisper in his ear.

“I love you so much Jason,” it said. “I’m so glad to have you back.”

That was the last thing Jason heard before slipping into sweet oblivion.

It took a bit of time for Jason to even wrap his head around his situation.

His name wasn’t Jason Peter Todd, but Jason Thomas Wayne. His birthday was actually August sixteenth instead of the second. His real mothers name was Sheila Haywood, and she apparently wanted nothing to do with him, which had sent him spiraling into another crying fit. Why, he didn’t know. He’d never even met the woman, so why was he so upset about her rejection?

Bruce though clearly seemed to want him. He rarely left his bedside whenever he was awake, and according to Dick, rarely when he was asleep. Something about trauma, he’d said. Jason couldn’t really blame him, but it did feel kinda weird.

But also sort of nice. Mom used to do that when he was sick; stay at his bedside until he felt better. Belatedly he wondered if he should even call her “Mom” anymore, seeing as she wasn’t actually his mother. But he still loved her. It was so confusing.

It also turns out there was a lot of paperwork after being kidnapped. Jason had met with police officers, CPS, a bajillion doctors, and some therapists all within the span of two days. The police were the pushiest, digging for information he just didn’t have. No he didn’t know who Willis was in cahoots with, no he didn’t know how they’d forged his birth certificate. Give him a break, he didn’t even know he was Jason Wayne till last Tuesday.

The story he was sticking with for his rescue though was that he didn’t remember being taken due to the concussion, and all he remembered was Batman saved him. At least part of that story was true, and it wasn’t like they could cross check facts he hadn’t given them. The detectives assigned to him had seemed incredibly annoyed though and that gave Jason a nice surge of satisfaction.

The doctor's visits though were less amusing.

As soon as he’d been able to get out of bed he’d had to do a full physical. Height, weight, basic blood work. All the fun stuff. The prognosis was he was anemic, vitamin deficient, and below average for his height and weight for a boy his age. All that made sense, he hadn’t exactly grown up with guaranteed meals every day, and living on the streets or months certainly hadn’t helped.

That had led to him being assigned a nutrition specialist. Jason hadn’t really been paying attention when they had come in but he’d overheard words like “meal plan” and “diet” being thrown around. Jason had always thought a diet was for when someone wanted to lose weight. Apparently it could also mean the opposite.

And then came the therapists.

He’d refused to talk to any of them. He had nothing to say.

The first one had been a child psychologist. He’d refused to meet her eye for the entire twenty two minutes she’d stayed in the room. Eventually she’d given up and left, much to his bitter glee. The next one was a grief counselor. Again, he refused to talk, staring admiringly out the window the entire time. He didn’t want to talk about shit with people he didn’t know; so just fuck off already.

He didn’t say that out loud, but he desperately wished too.

A trauma specialist met with him next. They must have thought he’d gone mute or something from the way they offered him a pen and paper and some stuffed toys. He scoffed at the childishness of it. And he wasn’t mute, he just didn’t want to talk to anyone. Why didn’t these people get that? Maybe if he glared at this one enough they’d get the memo. Instead all they did was smile sadly and tell him it would be alright.

He was starting to get sick of that phrase.

Hell, he was starting to get sick of this hospital. He just wanted to go home. Whatever home was, now.

“You’re fidgeting again,” Bruce pointed out one afternoon.

And sue him, he was. The IV itched and he hated needles and this room was getting really boring and he just wanted to leave .

“I’m bored,” he spat out petulantly, pulling away from where he’d been picking at the tape over the IV on his arm.

“He’s just as bad as you, B,” Dick smirked from the chair next to him. He was working on his homework (in theory), only glancing up every now and then to make a silly comment or pun. To Jason he added, “Whenever B is on bedrest, he bitches the entire time until Alfred lets him do light work. It’s pathetic.”

“My own son,” their dad gasped. “Betrayed.”

Jason couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. The sound made Dick’s smile grow.

“But hey,” Bruce said, bringing them back on topic. “If your latest tests look good, you can be brought home tonight.”

That’s what the doctors and nurses had been saying when Jason had eavesdropped on them last night. It felt nice to hear it from Bruce’s mouth though. Made it more real.

“Do I still gotta wear the sling?” He asked, trying to keep the whine out of his voice.

“Yup,” Dick said. “Broken bones take around six weeks to heal. Don’t believe me, ask our dad.”

Their dad of course being Batman, and Dick Robin. Jason had no doubt they’d experienced their fair share of injuries in the field. It still sucked though. He missed his right hand.

“So…” Jason tried, eager to switch topics. “I’m gonna be living in a mansion?”

“Wayne Manor, yes,” Bruce confirmed. Was there a difference between a mansion and a manor? Jason doubted there was, probably just another rich person thing to make them seem more important.

“Are there like, rules?” He asked.

Willis had had rules. None he’d ever spoken, but they were there nonetheless. Don’t break shit unless you want a beating, and if you do; clean it up before he notices. Always fetch him a beer when asked. If there’s no more beer, run. Leave the apartment whenever Mom’s “friend” came over to give her “medicine”. Don’t talk to cops, ever. Stay in your room whenever Willis’ friends were over. And most importantly, don’t argue with Willis. That lesson had been taught with a black eye and bruised ribs.

Hopefully the rules were a little more lax in Wayne Manor.

“Just don’t do anything that’ll piss off Alfred,” Dick offered from his chair, noise buried in his textbook. Alfred was the butler and he apparently was the head of the house.

This information wasn’t as informative as Dick seemed to think it was. Noticing his confusion, the teen elaborated.

“No swinging on the chandeliers, no cooking in the kitchen without Alfred’s supervision, no video games or TV after ten…” He paused, thinking. “What else? Oh! Don’t touch anything in the batcave unless you know how to use it.”

Jason’s mouth dropped open. “You guys have a batcave !?” Holy shit, that was so cool. Did it have actual bats? Did it have trophies from all of Batman’s greatest fights? A supercomputer? Insanely cool tech? Jason was thrumming with excitement at the prospect.

“Dick,” Bruce groaned.

Jason couldn’t wait to get out of this hospital.

Being officially discharged from the hospital released a pressure Jason hadn’t even known was growing in his chest. It had been five horrendous days of sheer boredom. The walls had felt constrictive, suffocating, the bed sheets far too scratchy. Everything about it had seemed, well, clinical. Impersonal. Not exactly a pleasant environment to spay his days in.

Stepping out into the fresh chilly December air was like lifting a weight off his shoulders.

Someone draped a heavy coat over his shoulders. He frowned, turning to look. It was Bruce’s coat.

Glancing up, Jason saw the man smiling down at him, wearing only his turtleneck and scarf. “Don’t want you getting cold,” he offered.

Jason frowned in confusion. He already had a coat, he didn’t need another one. They’d bought him a bunch of new clothes for when he was finally discharged. Besides, wouldn’t Bruce get cold now? He glanced to Dick to see if the thought had crossed his brother's (still weird to say) mind as well, but the boy didn’t seem interested in the slightest, looking down at that smartphone of his.

“Bruce?” He asked.

“Hm?”

Maybe he’d get mad though if Jason pointed it out. Willis always had, after all. But Bruce wasn’t Willis, he had to remind himself.

Even so, the thought of asking twisted his stomach into a knot. “Nevermind,” he mumbled.

A minute later they were in front of a sleek looking car, one Jason would have been itching to get his fingers on the tires a few months ago. Instead of taking a tire iron to it, he was ushered into the backseat, onto a butter soft leather bench. It still smelled vaguely like a new car. Someone had to help him with the seatbelt when he realized he couldn’t do it one handed. Pretty embarrassing.

Dick got in the passengers side and Bruce the drivers.

“It’s a thirty minute drive to Bristol depending on traffic,” Bruce announced. “Any music you wanna listen to?”

Jason hadn’t listened to a radio station since his mom sold their old box radio for drug money when he was eight. Instead of announcing that, he merely shrugged.

The drive ended up being closer to forty minutes. Apparently with the start of the holidays meant the start of congested roads. It was never something Jason had had to deal with, so it was a strange experience. It cleared up though once they got into Bristol, houses becoming bigger and farther apart, interspersed by trees and other vegetation.

And then they turned a corner, and there was a giant mansion towering over the countryside.

It was huge, architecture reminiscent of gothic and Haussmann combined. The manor was surrounded by acres of fields followed by a tree line that seemed to stretch on forever. A long gravel driveway stretched from a wrought iron gate all the way to a loop at the front of the building.

There was a man already waiting for them at the door. Older, thinning gray hair, and wearing an incredibly sharp suit that reminded Jason slightly of a penguin.

The car rolled to a stop on the gravel, and Jason had to wait for someone to help him out of the car. Cursed arm sling.

“Jason,” Bruce started, stopping at the steps in front of the mystery man. “I’d like to introduce you to Alfred. He’s my butler and has run this house for the past twenty five years. I wouldn’t be the man I am today without him.”

People actually had butlers? Those were still a thing?

“Uh, hi,” he offered, giving a small wave.

The man- Alfred- just broke into a huge grin. To Jason’s shock, he offered a small bow. “My dear boy, it is an absolute pleasure to finally meet you.”

Jason couldn’t help the half step backwards he took. He immediately regretted it though when he saw the man's face fall. It was subtle, but Jason had learned to read people a long time ago.

Bruce took the initiative and broke the ice. “Alfred was almost as excited as I was to bring you home back then,” he informed him. “He double checked all the baby proofing I did as well as lecture me on proper child care.”

He sounded more like a Grandpa than a butler, then.

“Shall we show you your room, young Master Wayne?”

Eagerly, Jason nodded, and the troupe was led into the manor.

The place was gigantic. It felt like walking through one of those castles he’d read about in books. Endless hallways, paintings hanging on nearly every wall, rooms filled with lavish furniture… it was like a fairytale. And it was his .

He was led up a large staircase to the second floor, then down a hallway to something called the “west wing”, whatever that was. Dick was constantly pointing out things about the house and commentating on them. Like the portrait of their grandparents, and the various suits of armor lining the hallway. Seriously, suits of armor. It was insane .

“And this is your room,” Dick grinned, stopping in front of a heavy oak door. It didn’t look any different from any of the other doors in this hall, so Jason had no idea how Dick knew it was his. Or maybe they’d just picked one at random.

Stepping around the doorway, Jason managed to get a look inside.

It was… it was HUGE. Easily the size of his and Mom’s apartment, possibly with room for more. The furniture was so opulent , that was a word he’d just recently learned. It looked old too, like rich people old. Solid wood chairs and tables, oiled by use and age. Large windows stretched across one of the walls, spilling weak afternoon sunlight onto the richly carpeted floor.

Tentatively, Jason took a step into the room.

It was… it was amazing.

There was a large mural of dinosaurs on the wall, depicting the cretaceous period. The four poster bed had fresh sheets depicting the Justice League on them, Batman of course front and center. Glancing over he saw the walls were lined with bookshelves and cubbies. The bookshelves themselves were bursting with titles, ranging from simple things like Magic Tree House to more sophisticated readings like Three Musketeers. Inside the cubbies he could see toys and stuffies kids his age would usually like.

But the thing was, none of it looked particularly new . Not like something bought a week ago would have. And they’d only found him a week ago, so when had they had time to get all this stuff? Maybe Dick had decided to repurpose his old toys and stuff. Yeah, that was probably it. But then who’d painted the walls? Alfred didn’t strike him as a painter, and Bruce and Dick had been with him at the hospital this whole time.

SLowly, he turned around to face his new family. “This is all… mine?” He asked, brow furrowed in faint confusion.

Dick just nodded, seemingly unaware of his inner turmoil. “Yup,” the teen confirmed. “Bruce painted the mural before you were born, and I added the glowy stars when I was like ten.” He gestured towards the ceiling where indeed there were glow in the dark stars plastered haphazardly across the drywall. “The books we kind of kept collecting over time, same with the toys. Didn’t know what you’d be into so we got a bit of everything,” he explained.

The teens face suddenly lit up as if remembering something important. “Oh! Can’t forget the best thing.” He moved past him towards the bed and reached over onto the king mattress before pulling back, something suspiciously hidden behind his back. “This was my best friend for years when I was a kid,” he announced. “And I want him to now be yours.”

Jason watched as the teen revealed a stuffed animal from behind his back. It was worn from love and time, fur pilling just a bit in places and bleached from exposure to sunlight. It looked like an elephant.

“This is Zitka,” Dick announced proudly. “I had him before I met Bruce, back when I was in the circus. He helped me out on the bad days.” He held the stuffy out towards Jason, clearly intending for the boy to take it.

Jason did so with some hesitancy. It was a bit awkward to hold with one hand, but he made do.

That wasn’t what was on his mind though.

He turned to Bruce. “You guys had all this stuff before…?” Before they found him? Before Dick intercepted the call? Before they knew anything?

Why?

Bruce’s expression seemed caught somewhere between a smile and a grimace.

Behind him Dick shrugged. “Well, yeah. Couldn’t let you come home to an empty room.”

The way he said it, like it was obvious Jason would be with them eventually, it pulled something in his chest.

“Oh,” was all he replied with. “Cool.”

He… didn’t really know how to feel about that. It was a recurring emotion, he was coming to find.

“Do you wanna get settled in here or would you like a tour of the rest of the manor?” Bruce inquired, earnest expression upon his face. Jason wasn’t used to actually being given a choice like this.

“Uh, I’m kinda tired,” he replied. And he was, loathe as he was to admit it. The drive here, then walking around the giant house, all the emotions , it had taken its toll on his still healing body.

“Alright,” Bruce smiled. “If you need anything just let us know.”

Jason nodded, showing he’d understood. The man nodded again and moved to head out of the room when Jason stopped him.

“Hey Bruce?” He called out. The man turned around in the doorway, giving him his full attention.

Jason fiddled with the sleeve of his jacket, glancing everywhere but at his father.

“What am I supposed to call you?” He finally asked.

Bruce frowned at the question. “What do you mean, lad?”

“Dick calls you B, or Bruce,” Jason began. “And, you’re technically my dad, but…” But the last dad he’d had was an absolute bastard, and he still didn’t feel entirely comfortable with this whole new situation his life had turned into. Bruce was his dad, yes, but he hardly knew the man! He knew logically he loved Jason, but knowing and feeling were two entirely different things as he was coming to find.

“Hey, Jaylad, look at me.” Bruce was crouched in front of him, hands resting on his shoulders. When had he moved? “You can call me anything you're comfortable with. I promise I won’t mind.”

The sincerity in his blue eyes made Jason glance away. It hurt too much to face.

“But you want me to call you ‘dad’,” he muttered.

The man merely sighed. “Yes, I will admit I wish that,” he replied steadily. “But ultimately it’s not about me. As a father, it is my job to make sure you are okay. Do you understand?”

No, he didn’t. Dads were mean and selfish and yelled at their kids for not doing what they wanted. They hit their kids for acting out, then yelled at them again for crying. They didn’t have whole rooms prepared for them or books ready to be read or clothing or any of that shit. And they certainly didn’t listen or care about what their kids wanted.

Belatedly he realized he was crying.

“Jason?” A hand came up to brush a tear off his cheek. “Hey, look at me.”

He didn’t want to. He didn’t want Bruce to see how pathetic he was. But if he didn’t… he didn’t want to know what Bruce would do. Maybe it would be the final strike and he’d lose his patience with him. Show his true colors. Batman beat people up after all, who’s to say he didn’t do it to misbehaving kids?

“Jason, please.”

Blue met blue, and it wasn't at all what Jason was expecting.

Bruce looked distraught. Nothing like an angry man about to punish a child. It was so striking to see Jason nearly forgot to breathe.

“All I have wanted for the past ten years,” he explained slowly. “Was for you to be here. Safe. And by some miracle you are. So know that I would never do anything to hurt you, or to make you feel unsafe or unhappy. Your comfort comes first. In everything .” Tears slipped down the man's cheek unnoticed. “I would bear a thousand years of pain if it meant you were happy. So I don’t care if you don’t call me ‘dad’. Okay?”

Jason’s tears hitched in his throat, practically choking him. “But why ?” he sobbed.

Bruce smiled, eyes shining with tears.“Because,” he said softly. “You’re my son .”

And that was the tipping point.

Desperately, with an ugly sob, Jason launched himself forward into the man's chest. Strong arms caught him and wrapped around him, large hands immediately tangling in his curls and circling his back. Jason’s knees went weak but Bruce was there to pick up the slack, pulling him tighter against his body, keeping him from slipping to the floor. He was getting tears and snot all over his dad's clothing, but part of him said the man wouldn’t mind. He wanted to believe that part.

“It’s alright,” his dad whispered into his ear. “You’re alright.”

For once, Jason actually believed him.

The next morning, Jason had a proposition for Bruce.

“You want to what?” He asked.

They were sitting around the smaller dining table (apparently there was a bigger one somewhere else) eating breakfast- or trying to, in Jason’s case (damn arm sling)- when he’d brought up the topic.

“I wanna visit my mom’s grave,” the ten year old repeated. She’d died a little over four months ago, surely that was enough time to have held a funeral for her. There had to be a grave somewhere .

Bruce stiffened in his seat at the head of the table. “Jason, lad,” he sighed tightly. “I know she raised you, but Catherine helped kidnap you. She wasn’t a good person.”

Fury rose up in his throat.

“That’s not true!” He cried, slamming his fork on the table. Across the table Dick startled in his chair. “She kept Willis away from me, she was good! ”

“Jason-”

“ No! ” He cut his dad off. “You wanna believe she was bad so you don’t gotta feel sad that she died!” He screamed. “But-”

Words he long pushed down into the recesses of his mind came bubbling up.

“Your father is coming to get you.”

“No, no, no, baby, no. Not Willis. Not Willis.”

“Willis was a very bad man, Jason, and you’ll never have to see him again. He did something unforgivable, and I called the police as soon as I found out. Baby I swear, I never meant to hurt you. And I am so sorry .”

That didn’t sound like someone who only wanted Jason for the money. Or someone on Willis’ side for that matter. No, she had protected him till the very end, made sure he had what he needed, fought for him to go to school. She’d even called in the tip that alerted Dick. She wasn’t a bad person.

“She didn’t know!” He finished. Emotions were clawing up his throat, threatening to spill out through his eyes. But he had to tell Bruce. He had to.

“The last thing she did before she got her brains blown out was tell me I was goin’ to my dad,” he exclaimed. “An’ she sure as shit didn’ mean Willis. Even called him a shithead!” Well, paraphrasing. “An’-” A hiccup. “An’ she kept apologizing. I didn’t know why then, but I do now. She didn’t know! ”

An uncomfortable silence fell heavily after his tirade had finished.

Dick, Alfred, and Bruce were all looking at him in horror.

“Jason?” Bruce asked calmly. “Did you witness Catherine’s murder?”

His throat was too tight to speak. Instead he gave a tearful nod.

A choked sound escaped the man. “Oh Jaylad .”

There wasn’t even time to think before strong arms were wrapped around him, pulling him against a broad chest. A hand tangled into his hair, smoothing it down in frantic repetition. He didn’t even notice it until he was forced against another chest, but Jason’s breathing had hitched into near hyperventilation, breaths rushing in and out far too fast.

“You never should have gone through that,” Bruce hushed. Jason barely heard him, mouth moving faster than his thoughts.

“She di-didn’t know,” he hiccuped. “She took photos without him kn-knowing. He didn’ wan’ her to. She wanted me to- to go to school. She- she protected me!”

Memories of hiding in a closet while Willis screamed at her rang through his head.

“She used to take me to the zoo on my birthday,” he continued, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “We had to keep it a secret cuz Willis hated when we went anywhere.” He remembered the cupcakes she used to buy him back then, from that shop over on 5th. “She was good. Mom was good! ”

And she still ended up dead on the floor of their apartment in Crime Alley, eyes staring forever into the void.

Warm hands rubbed soothing circles into his back, helping to steady his hitched breathing.

Fuck. He was so tired of crying . It felt like it was all he did these days. He didn’t want these feelings. He didn’t want to constantly be on edge or on guard or any of that shit. It fucking sucked.

The hand on his back was still rubbing soothing circles, easing the tension that had built up.

“It’s alright,” Bruce hushed. “I believe you. I believe you."

Jason wasn’t sure if he believed that, but he didn’t argue.

“You said something about photos?” Bruce offered, changing the topic. Jason was grateful for it, too exhausted to continue.

He managed a stilted nod. “Yeah,” he sniffed. “In a shoe box back at my place.” He didn’t say that his place was a condemned hotel, or how long he’d been staying there. They didn’t need to know. Or they would figure it out on their own anyway. His dad was Batman, he knew everything.

A soft smile lit up Bruce’s features. “I would love to see them.”

And Jason… Jason wanted to show him.

Dick had ended up being the one to fetch the shoe box full of polaroids from Jason’s hidey hole. The rest of the morning had been spent going through the photos and holding back tears. The tears were mostly from Bruce though, who held every photo as if it were spun glass. Then they’d spoken of Catherine, and had come to an agreement to visit her grave on the morrow. Both for Jason to get some closure and for whatever his father was going through.

It was covered with a thin dusting of snow when they arrived.

Bruce had tracked it down yesterday after they’d gone through the photos. Apparently there had been a funeral, but not many people had attended. Jason couldn’t claim to be surprised, Willis had them living like hermits at the best of times, it was no wonder she hadn’t had any close friends in the end.

It still hurt though to think that. She deserves so much more than life had given her. More than death had given her. She deserved a huge memorial or statue in the sun, somewhere everyone would see. Not…

The troupe arrived at their destination.

A solitary plot next to a tree, grave marker a plain granite headstone.

Catherine Todd, it read. Beloved Daughter, Wife, Mother. 1975-2009.

It wasn’t right, Jason thought to himself. She shouldn’t be down there.

Maybe some part of him had still expected her to be able to have gotten up and walked it off like the last time she’s OD’d. He just hadn’t been there to see it. She was fine.

This made it real. Final.

She was really gone.

“Um.” He turned to Bruce. His dad. “Can I… can I have a moment? By myself?”

Bruce nodded. “Of course.”

Pulling away from the group, he stumbled forwards towards the headstone.

Shaky legs brought him right up to the granite slab, bending down until he was kneeling in the light snow. He was sure Bruce or Alfred would throw a fit about getting his pants wet, but he didn’t particularly care at the moment.

He reached forward and set the handful of daffodils he’d brought on the ground. They’d always been Mom’s favorite.

“Hey Mom,” he managed to get out. His voice sounded like it had back at the hospital, croaky and strangled. “I uh, I found my dad, like you wanted. Kinda took a while though.” The grave didn’t respond. He was acutely aware of the three people standing a little behind him, listening to his every word. It made the back of his neck burn.

“Um…” He fiddled with his sleeve, empty hand now searching for something to do. “He’s pretty nice. Really missed me. An’ I got a big brother now, too. And a butler, though I’m pretty sure he’s a grandpa.”

A chuckle disguised as a cough sounded behind him.

“An’... I’m sorry for all the stealing I did,” he mumbled. “I didn’t want to do it, but I needed food.” And clothes, and shelter. “I made sure not to mess with the gangs again, though. You always said they were bad news. So…”

Overhead he heard the distant call of a crow echo through the sharp winter air.

“I made a friend,” he told her. “She made sure I ate my vegetables, even if I thought they were gross.”

Even in their tightest spots, his mom had always stressed the importance of veggies. Even if they could rarely afford fresh stuff. The thought of anyone chastising him to eat them created a lump in his throat.

“An’ I’m-” he sucked in a breath. “I’m really sorry Willis dragged you into this. You didn’t deserve it.” She might still be alive if not for Willis’ stupid plan. If not for Jason . God, he ruined everything by just existing. First he ruined Bruce and Alfred’s life by being taken, then Catherine’s for just living there… Where did it end?

His lip quivered uncontrollably. “ I really miss you ,” he gasped. “I miss you so much, Mom. I still- I don’t know-“ a heaving gasp overtook his words. “I know what Willis did. I know you wanted to stop him. You didn’t deserve to die for that.”

Blood spraying in the air . Vacant eyes.

“Mom, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed.

She didn’t deserve it. Not for him. It was all Willis’ fault! She shouldn’t have been caught in the crossfire.

A hand settled on his shoulder, warm and heavy. Grounding.

Jason  whipped around and looked up to see the face of Bru-- his father, holding back tears. His lips were pressed into a tight line, jaw jutting out just a bit like Jason’s did when he got upset. Blue eyes were swimming with emotion, mirroring Jason’s own.

Bruce knelt down in the snow, hand shifting from Jason’s shoulder to wrapping around the boy in a protective motion. Jason watched as he raised his other hand to rest on top of the headstone.

In a voice thick with tears, he said, “Thank you for raising such an amazing boy.” A shuddering breath ran through him. “Thank you for taking care of our son.”

Jason had cried enough in the past week to fulfill a lifetime's worth of tears. But hearing his father, his dad , say that, it felt like a dam had been burst open.

Everything he’d been through in the past few months- the past few years - it was all gonna be okay. He had his dad. He had his brother and his grandfather. He had a house he got to live in and a room all for himself, complete with books and posters and toys and anything he could ever want for. And none of that had come at the price of losing his mother for who she was. Yes it still hurt that she was gone. Incredibly so. But it didn’t discount her for what she sacrificed, what she gave for him.

She had loved him. Had wanted only the best for him.

If heaven existed, Jason knew she was up there, finally happy that her baby got everything she’d ever wanted for him. A family. His family. And he was never letting it go.

    Epilogue

“This is the weirdest birthday party ever,” Jason grumbled.

“Hey,” Dick pouted. “It’s a birthday-thanksgiving-unkidnapping-Christmas party. ‘Course it’s gonna be weird!”

“There’s no such thing as an ‘unkidnapping party’,” Jason shot back.

“Well there is now.”

Someone cleared their throat loudly behind them “Boys.”

The two turned around to see their father, Bruce Wayne, standing in the doorway of the room, arms crossed over his chest with a playfully amused expression on his face.

“I see I wasn’t wrong to think you couldn’t handle such a simple task as putting up the streamers,” he noted with a grin.

The streamers were abandoned on the floor, tape forgotten on the table. They hadn’t touched them in five minutes. Bruce knew this.

“We, uh…” Dick fumbled for an excuse. “Got distracted?”

“I only have one good arm,” Jason pointed out, wiggling his sling. “It’s completely Dick’s fault.” Behind him he heard a squawk of indingece come from the teen.

The scene only made his dad's smirk grow. “I’m glad you’re able to take responsibility, Jason,” he drawled sarcastically. Jason only threw an innocent smile back at him.

Apparently they all had missed Dicks birthday. It had been the day before Jason had been released from the hospital, forgotten and pushed aside in all the chaos of that week. And it being his “sweet sixteen”, they couldn’t let that slide. Then seeing as Jason had missed his own birthday a few months ago, Dick had proposed an idea.

A combination party, to celebrate Jason’s tenth birthday, Dicks sixteenth birthday, the Thanksgiving they missed, and a general welcome home party for Jason.

Jason watched as Bruce pushed off the doorway before walking up to them. He held a hand out to the younger boy. “Why don’t you come with me to the kitchen for some taste testing while Dick here finishes up.”

The teen gaped. “Hey! That’s not fair, it’s my party too!”

“Sorry Dickie, I only have one good hand. I’m a cripple.”

The teen glowered at him as Jason followed Bruce out of the room. “You only get two more weeks of that excuse!” He called out. Jason made a show of ignoring him, earning another barely suppressed chuckle from his father.

Walking through the walls to the kitchen, Jason got to take in all that they’d managed to set up for the strange amalgamation of a party.

Lining the walls were the photos from Jason’s childhood. His first birthday, first day of kindergarten, him winning second place in his second grade science fair. All pictures taken in moments growing up by someone who was filled with love for him. Snapshots nearly taken from the family, returned with grace. Bruce had cried when he’d seen them for the first time.

Streamers hung from every ceiling (where he and Dick had managed not to get distracted), ranging in color scheme from thanksgiving orange and browns, to birthday blue’s and whites, to Christmas reds and greens. It was like a party store had thrown up in the manor.

A few people had been invited. Bruce’s friends from “work” (he knew it was the Justice League), a woman named Selina (who was totally banging his dad. What? He’d grown up in Crime Alley, he knew these things), an actual friend from work named Mr. Fox, and some of Dick’s friends from out of town who were in on the whole superhero thing. Honestly Jason was fairly sure they were heroes themselves; but didn’t want to set a “bad example” for the ten year old and make him think of joining in on the action.

There would be cake and presents, turkey, Christmas cookies, and so much more promised for him. It was going to be the best   party ever.

And no, things weren’t perfect. They wouldn’t be for a while. There were still meltdowns ahead. Tantrums, panic attacks, confusion, and more in store for them. You can’t snap your fingers and instantly become a family after all, especially after having been through the trauma all of them had. But there were also new memories to make, pictures that would be taken, smiles to be had.

But that was for another story. For now, Jason Thomas Wayne was with his family, and he couldn’t be happier.