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Chapter Text

The phone ringing wakes him up from his unrestful sleep at Selina’s bedside. An unknown number flashing across its screen does little to motivate his answer, though, and the call peters off, ringing easy to ignore as he re-examines Selina’s state. In all of this, the woman remains undisturbed, the rise and fall of her stomach portraying her relaxed breathing. While his observation travels across her body, he flinches when he comes to the reason for her being here. That’s not to say that he would rather Selina be away, no, he will always want her near. But having a place in his heart, should not coincide with having a place in the Batcave’s Medical Bay. Yet, this always ends up the case. For this one in particular, the injury is not too worrying, however the nature of it eats away at him. Selina’s right leg has one gunshot wound too many. And that is because he asked for her help at the museum. He shouldn’t have put her in that danger. He should-

The phone rings again. It must be someone desperate to call at four in the morning. Twice. On his personal phone. Yeah, he should pick up. He moves towards the device, muscles straining due to the lack of proper cool down after his work out that night, the two minute shower Alfred insisted on not doing enough to calm the aches and pains. He reaches the phone on the table and puts it to his ear.

“Who is this?”

The answering voice is young, a thick Gotham accent weaves between their words and the tone screams emergency, desperate, needing, confused, alone, hiding under a thin veil of control and posturing. This is all that makes him listen. “R-right, um. I was told to call this number. Selina, Selina Kyle gave me it. She didn’t make it by tonight-”

He interrupts. He has to. The child’s voice crack betrays all that feeling they tried to hide and spurs him into motion. His brain already has been connecting dots. “You have the right number.”

The other side exhales in relief. “Good. Good. Do you think you could- Do you think- Can you find her? For me? She probably just lost track of time but she made me promise t-to call you if she wasn’t here within three hours.”

“She’s not lost. I know where she is,” he says, staring at the sleeping form he doesn’t want to wake. He may have to if this conversation goes as predicted.

“R-right, um. Why hasn’t she come by then?” The kid is suspicious, nearly interrogating him. It’s the smart play, he concedes. 

“She’s injured.”

There’s outrage now. Anger and revenge mark the other’s words as breaths quicken in panic. “You hurt her! I swear if you lay another hand on her, you disgusting man, I promise-”

The inkling of a threat makes his lips curl up. It’s protective. It’s cute. It portrays a a past of seeing women hurt and he immediately goes to reassure. “No need to fight me. She’s okay. She’s resting.” She will be for a few weeks, unfortunately.

“I wouldn’t fight you.” The first fully confident statement out of the kid is said as if it is a fully believed fact.

He wants to know more. “Hn?”

“I don’t know you. So I can’t fight you.” A reasonable deduction and presented as such. “But Selina will fight you and Selina will WIN.”

He grows more amused. “Hn.”

“Yeah. Cause I know Selina. She’ll beat your ass any day, Mister Growly Voice.”

It seems the child’s hesitance and fear are near gone at the realization that they cannot be hurt over the phone and Selina is not at risk, revealing a hilarious youngster. Do people still say youngster? He’ll have to ask Dick.

The kid sobers. “I need proof. That Selina’s there.”

He figured this was coming. Telling the other that Selina’s asleep will bring more suspicion and merely delay the inevitable. He tells the child to wait a moment and mutes his end. There is still noise on the other side, a shuffling and the undeniable sounds of the city. The kid stays silent, waiting.

He nudges Selina’s shoulder and hands the phone to her, making sure to help her sit up right with a good arrangement of bed pillows. Selina rolls her eyes at him, yet when he mentions the child on the phone, she immediately grabs for it, unmutes, and starts to speak in a honest, gentle voice, very similar to her fake one but he can tell the difference.

“Sweetie, hey.” The kid must be talking because Selina pauses. He can’t hear anything. He could fix that. Tap into the phone line. It would be a breach of privacy and the way Selina is side-eying makes him think she knows, and does NOT approve.

“Jay, Jay, listen. I am okay, just a few bruises. I didn't mean to leave you but you’re right, that’s why you have the number and I’m so glad you did call. Now, I will be out for a few days, just resting, you’ll be good?”

A reply.

“I know. I’ll see you soon.” The call ends and Selina turns to face him. “Bruce?”

“Hn?”

“Bruce!”

“Selina!”

“You will not trace this number. You will not look up Jay. You will save the contact into your phone and forget about him until he calls again.”

He thinks about the boy’s connection with Selina, how they might have met and if-

“Bruce!”

“Okay!”

She smiles then. “Thank you.”

And as she relaxes against the pillows, legs unusually still, she hands the phone to him. It’s clear to him this boy means something to her. It’s also clear to her that he has yet to actually drop the subject, theories still whirling around his mind.

“He’s not my kid,” is Selina’s clarification. “I just... check up on him some weeks.”

“Hn.” He adds Jay to his contacts and lists him as Selina’s Kid.

Chapter Text

Patrolling Gotham solo is not advisable, so says The Boss. Not that the man has any ruling over him. He’s legally an adult. He can do what he wants. And if Batman remains in charge of Robin, well Dick Grayson doesn’t need to be Robin. So The Boss is really not The Boss, he reasons. Bruce Wayne is just another person who thinks they know best about a life that is not their own. With that, he throws on a jacket and stomps out into the streets of Gotham. 

Okay, so it takes a few bus stops more to really feel like Dick’s hitting the streets of Gotham but it doesn’t degrade the point. He can be as free as he wants out here, not tied down to a house or a job or a responsibility. Just a regular adult walking... And walking... And he has no idea where he wants to go.

He was just too caught up in getting out of the Manor that he ended up in town with no destination. 

The park could be nice? But Robin did just visit when Poison Ivy broke out last week. The museum is out. For cat-related memories. The roller rink was occupied by Harley last Tuesday. And the bowling alley was actually host to Riddler at the beginning of the month.

As he walks and ponders, a sweet aroma surrounds him, making the decision easy. Whatever bakery that is, Dick needs to check it out immediately.

Motive obtained. He begins his march across the road, adhering to the advice of a very wise cereal mascot and following his nose. Dick stops by the front entrance and pats his pocket because he needs the means now. 

As his fingers skim his wallet, so does another’s. Reflexes kick in. Within seconds, Dick stands in front of a kid, pale wrist in hand, wallet left in pocket. The kid has their head down, bushy black hair hiding their face from view but a preliminary scan of the kid shows torn up sneakers, worn through jeans, and a t-shirt way too light for the fall weather. Plus, they are way too thin. Noticeable on their arms are scattered bruises, scratches, and burn marks in a recognizable shape.

The two of them stand still in the moment, the smell of cinnamon rolls thick and inviting, encouraging the sentence that just tumbles out of Dick’s mouth.

“Er, you hungry?”

The kid looks up immediately. Eyes wide, yet closing back in a tired way. Like the kid is just begging for a good night’s sleep. Nonetheless, the kid uses a surprising amount of energy to try to break free of Dick’s grasp, the other hand going back for the wallet.

Just because the strength of the struggle was surprising, does not mean it was enough to undermine Dick as he grabs the other wrist. 

The elder thinks for a minute. He takes a deep breath to rid all his excess anger from Bruce out of mind for the moment. What’s left is a painful amount of loneliness, which should be expected when one really contemplates the move of environments Dick has experienced in life. Especially this year, when he is done with school, done with Bruce, and a lot of the Titans are done with the team. 

“Yeah,” Dick agrees to himself. “I, at least, want food. You better be good company.”

So he pulls the kid into the bakery, moving to just keep both wrists clamped in his left hand as he points at the display case with his right. The kid looks confused and a little overwhelmed so Dick lets them take their time as he orders way too many treats. The warm lighting of the shop highlights the dirt under the kid’s nails and caked under their chin. It’s not as much as expected for someone living on the streets. It makes Dick a little happier to think the kid hasn’t been on their own for so long or at least has someplace to wash up. Afterall, they only look about eleven if that. 

“Oh, shoot. Do you have any allergies or food restrictions?”

A slow head shake no answers and Dick is ecstatic. 

“Alright sweet! There’s a table outside so let’s go out and eat!” 

While they walk, Dick starts his introduction. When they sit down and Dick drops the kid's hands, there is no effort to offer information. He presses just a little. 

“Name? Age? Nickname? Pronouns?” A pause. “Hobbies? Outside stealing wallets. Favorite color? Do you want bread? Best animal? The bread is getting cold. Greatest superhero? I would recommend the bread.”

“O-okay. I’m Ja-Jay. He/him. I'm sorry for stealing your wallet. Can I have bread?”

Dick corrects Jay. "Attempting to steal my wallet."

Somehow Jay looks more angry at himself at that. The boy mumbles, "Shoulda had it."”

"Yeah, well, now you can have bread," Dick shrugs.”

He hands him the first thing in the bag. Jay reaches over to snatch it. Then, eyes the product suspiciously. Jay looks between his hand and Dick before slowly taking a bite. And another. And another.

The sounds of the city are drowned out by both their chewing. That is, until Dick starts up a conversation. Or tries to.

“Do you go to school Jay?” Clearly not. It’s mid-Wednesday in October. He would be in school if he did.

Jay pauses in his meal but does not acknowledge Dick. That’s fine. Dick can talk enough for the both of them.

“My guardian is trying to make me go to a school I don’t want,” he groans. “And it’s not like I feel like school is something to complain about. It’s a privilege that I am grateful to experience. I just- ugh. He doesn’t understand what I want and that’s different from his image, right? Like he’s not even in charge of me anymore. I’ve been taking on certain responsibilities for almost as long as he has too so it’s not like I’m not mature enough. I can figure out my future alone if needed. I just can’t have him breathing down my neck any longer. Sure right now I don’t have a solid plan. But his plan is not what I’ll take as a default! He’s got to give me some space and- Oh man I definitely did not want to talk to you about this. There are so many better things to discuss. I just am still so mad about what he’s doing.” 

Dick looks up from where he’s picking apart his bagel to see Jay, roll finished, staring at him. Dick rummages in the bag and pulls out more food for Jay.

“Dig in because I’ve got more to rant about.”

He does. Jay nods at the right intervals, devouring his baked goods the whole time. The afternoon bleeds into evening and it’s only hours later when Dick gets the impression he’s being more of an annoyance. 

“Got someplace to be, Jay?”

The boy looks like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He nods.

“Gotta meet a friend.”

“Alright, it was good meeting you.” 

Dick holds out his hand for a shake and slips a couple twenties to Jay during the exchange. 

“You or your friend need anything, find me. Got it? If not, the Martha Wayne Foundation has some great resources. Okay?”

Jay cracked a smile at the phrasing of his friend needing assistance but solemnly agrees anyway.

“Thank you. I hope it all works out with your guardian. I’m sure your future will be alright.”

It was the most Jay has said this entire time. Dick processes the words while Jay runs out into the city. 

Dick realizes, he hopes everything will work out with Bruce as well. He also hopes to see the boy again in his lifetime. The company was decent.

Chapter Text

He stumbles off the last step of the fire escape ungracefully. The fact that his camera is safely tucked in his backpack is enough to make it all successful though. The added bonus that tonight’s pictures are sure to develop well sends a feeling of triumph through his veins. The night may have ended early, with Batman seeing Catwoman enter the art gallery and then disappearing. But there were some nice shots of him surprising some muggers on the camera’s memory to make the trip downtown worth it. 

“Why do ya do this?”

He whips around too fast and nearly falls flat on his face out of fright. A frazzled, “Wha?” escapes his lips as he is saved from any harm by being lifted up by the back of his collar. 

“I mean ya followed Batman around tonight with the knowledge of someone experienced. Why?”

He looks around to the owner of the voice. It’s an older boy but not that much bigger. His hair looks recently buzzed off, making it easy to see the details on his freckled face even with the flickering streetlights. 

“Well,” the boy prompts. 

“I- I wasn’t?” Tim tries. 

“Ya weren’t followin' Batman?” The boy clearly does not believe him if the hand on his hip is anything to go by. “We talkin’ about tonight or all the other ones.”

“Tonight. I- I mean never.”

The boy chuckles, letting Tim go in the process. Tim should run. He just stares at the other instead. 

“Little dude, you gotta get better at lyin’.”

“Hey! I’m not little!” There. Wait. “Or lying!”

The boy nods and waves his hand. “Come on.”

Despite confusion and hesitance, Tim follows after the boy. They walk out of the alley, past the gallery, and by abandoned apartments. Tim eyes where they are, making sure he knows how to get back but preserving onward, fueled by his, no-doubt fatal, curious nature. 

“We’re going to get you home.” The boy answers Tim’s unasked question. 

Aw. Tim doesn’t really want to go home. He was following the boy to delay that possibility. Home is, believe it or not, not as inviting as the streets of Gotham. The smell of burning rubber preferable to the lemon citrus cleaner replenished every afternoon by Ms. S. The cool breeze warmer than the stiff air trapped inside windows he is not allowed to open. The city sounds more relaxing compared to the suffocating silence, signaling an absence of bodies. Still. 

“I can get home on my own. You don’t even know the way.”

The boy in front puffs up his chest and near-snarls. Tim is about to take offense before seeing a few drunks slumped around the sidewalk, making remarks that make him question their ability to follow through with their visible extent of intoxication. Only once passing them, does the boy answer. 

“You live uptown for sure. So this is the way.”

The boy is not a conversationalist. But he is right. So they walk in silence for a few blocks, the boy straightening up whenever others pass by. Even a seemingly innocent old man. 

Tim rolled his eyes at that. “Oh, come on. He’s fine.”

The boy just grunted. “He lives in Gotham and goes out at night. He’s either a predator or suicidal.”

Which are you? Tim thought but didn’t say. He didn’t want to think about the question being reversed. After that, the silence just continued.

“I’m Jason.” The boy finally reveals. Which is not actually something Tim’s been waiting for, yet is nice. He figures that most people should wonder about the origins of strange, demanding kids showing up in the middle of the night to protect you. Kind of like Robin! Tim smiles at the image of Jason being the Boy Wonder. It’s a cute visual and Tim believes Jason would do a good job. 

“Timothy.”

Jason pauses. Looks over his shoulder at Tim in an analyzing way. Like when Mom makes sure he’s fit to be seen in public and points out a crumb that landed on his sweater. 

“Not Timmy Drake,” Jason sneers. His whole demeanor has changed and Tim does not like it one bit. 

“Nine year old Timmy Drake,” Jason recounts as if reading a textbook article but his tone gets meaner by the minute. “Sole heir of Drake Industries and- oh, aren’t your parents in another country. What was it this time? Brazil? An archaeological dig no place for children? Is that it? Bet you wander off too much. I mean you can’t even be trusted to stay in your mansion. Nanny falls asleep and you sneak out to follow some guy with a rodent costume!”

“S- Stop.” Tim knows. He knows these are the facts. He knows he shouldn’t get upset. He knows this Jason isn’t important to him anyway. But it was sort of nice to have a friend. And now. “You’re not being nice. Y- You’re being mean.”

Tim sniffles because wants to be trusted and he wants his parents and he likes following Batman too and he wants to get away. Tim runs back. 

The wind carries Jason’s exclamation across the city. “Shit.”

Tim hears footsteps behind him too but he focuses on sprinting away. His tears cloud his vision and all of a sudden he’s tripping on the sidewalk. A sea of laughter rises up from the crowd of drunks that seems to have tripled in his time away. The cement tears away skin on his hands, brought out to catch his fall. 

“Fuck, kid are you alright?” comes from behind Tim and that’s Jason. Not Robin. Not a friend. Just another person who doesn't really care. Except, Jason ran after him? Jason never even had to be with him and he came back for him.

In confusion, Tim nods his head. 

“Right, um. We’re getting out of here. My place is closer.” 

Jason tucks Tim into his side and they walk past the drunks. Not going all the way to the gallery or alley. They stop at the abandoned apartments nearby. Jason’s arm around Tim sends pinpricks through his body the entire time. It’s a freezing sensation. He’s burning.

“How did you know who I am?” Tim asks because Jason shouldn’t. There’s been no big scandal. No reason for the Drakes to have been in the papers recently. Tim even missed school picture day, not seeing the email until it was too late because he forgot to check Dad’s other, other email address. A mistake he will not repeat.

Jason walks into one of the buildings and up the stairs. He pulls back a door off its hinges and climbs through a maintenance closet to a small hole in the wall. He crawls through there and seals it up with cardboard after Tim, shuffling by on his elbows, makes it through. 

“My friend wanted me to memorize some important Gotham people. She says it’s because I ran into Brucie Wayne’s kid without saying hello, but that doesn’t matter. Anyway, your family was one of those people.”

Tim attempts to reign in his delight. “Dick?”

“Hey!”

“Dick Grayson?”

“Oh, yeah. Apparently.”

“How is he?”

“I mean this was months ago. I bet he’s been better. Why do you care?”

Tim shrugs and winces as he accidentally places his bleeding hands down onto the floor. Dust and more probably infects the cuts now, not that he can see in this dark corridor. 

“Right, um. Sorry about that. Here, let me.” Jason turns and tears off the wrist of each sleeve on his dark long sleeved shirt. He wraps the material around Tim’s hand, tenderly. “For now.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t make me fall.” The sidewalk is at fault for that. 

Jason crawls forward again. “No. I meant. I’m sorry for saying all that mean stuff to you.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to say sorry.”

“No. I do. I was just jealous. That’s all. I don’t mean any of those things. I bet you’re a great kid. I know you are.”

The words warm Tim’s stomach. “Oh.” Wait. “Why were you jealous? Did you want to go to Brazil with your family?”

Jason laughs and it echoes. 

“Timmy-”

“Tim.”

“Tim. I’m bringing you to my place in an abandoned building off the streets near Crime Alley. I’m all alone at fourteen and have been watching you follow the Bat all night because it caught my eye when I was on the streets doing other things.” Tim knows this. Not the age part, Jason looks younger actually probably lying about his age. But the situation was comprehensible. He just didn’t want to deny Jason’s dream. “A family trip is not what I need.”

The two pause.

“I'm alone, Tim.”

“Oh.”

Jason finally stops the crawl and eases back into another room. Tim copies him, yet his feet can’t get a grip on the floor beneath and his sight does little in the dark room to help. Jason’s hands guide him though. Gentle on his waist, the touch leads him to safety. 

Once there, Jason fires up a flashlight. It illuminates the room, which is small but still has a window, no fire escape. The main entrance is backed up by pieces of the building that must have collapsed. Jason looks like he set up a bucket in the window for collecting rainwater, a milk crate on the side as a pantry, and a collection of many miscellaneous items to make up a bed. 

“Okay, let’s take a look at your hands. My first aid kit is over here.”

Tim gets his wounds washed, with the bucket water, and bandaged. He carefully sets his bag down on the milk crate and sits himself on Jason’s bed. 

“Relax,” Jason instructs from where he is organizing the first aid kit again. “You don’t have to check in with anyone? Be anywhere by a certain time?”

Tim shakes his head with a yawn. It’s Saturday. Sunday morning maybe. He kicks off his shoes and rolls his jacket up like a pillow, planning to lay across the bed in a way that will give Jason equal room. He hears said boy approaching too, though he cannot be bothered to open his eyes. 

Jason lies down and it's actually super nice. Weird. But nice. Jason’s body heat is warm and inviting. Tim sighs into his side like he could fall asleep there, knowing he’s protected. Even when the flashlight turns off, he knows it’s safe. 

Just as Tim is about to fall asleep near Jason, who’s on his bed with his shoes still on, which is strange, he remembers. “Why were you near Batman anyway?” 

“I was checking in with my friend.”

“See,” Tim slurs, sleep catching up to him fast. “You’re not alone.”

You have her, Tim thinks, and you have me. Then, Tim smiles. And I have you. 

Chapter Text

A phone rings and Dick picks it up, not because he was expecting a call but because he needs something, anything to do. Only after he accepts the call and puts it to his ear, does he even register that it’s Bruce’s clunky case in his hand.

“Hello?” Dick says while checking if the contact is saved. The words ‘Selina’s Kid’ stare back at him from the screen. Weird.

The unmistakably young voice on the other end clears their throat before throwing out the accusation, “Who are you?”

“Well, who are you?” Dick defends. “You called me.”

“No,” the kid insists. “I called the man-”

“I am a man!”

“No. No! The man Se- Mister Growly Voice. Right, um. Sounds constipated? Sad. That man!”

So the person doesn’t even know names. Yet, they are listed in Bruce’s personal phone. Dick mutes his end as feet stomp down into the cave.

“Dick? Are you down here?” Bruce calls. 

“Yup.”

“Oh, good.” And yeah, he does sound constipated. “I wanted to… talk with you before you left.”

“Can it wait? You got someone on the phone asking about you.”

Bruce approaches with confusion, prompting Dick to turn himself off mute and the phone into speaker mode.

“Alright. I got your man here with me,” he informs the other.

“I wanna hear him.”

At the sound, Bruce seems to have understood what was going on and he relaxes. “Good afternoon, Jay.”

Jay? Dick searches his mind for a kid that matches the name and feels as though he is missing something.

Jay speaks up with fervor since the statement has been confirmed. “No, bad afternoon.”

Bruce seems upset. He makes the face he does when he is trying to explain his actions but what could he have done to this Jay?

“Chum, I’m sorry. What happened?”

“You know what you did! Ya made this happen. And now Selina is- is- well ya hurt her.”

Selina? For real? Dick tries to throw a ‘What The Fuck’ face to Bruce with little success. He wants answers. 

“No, no. I was protecting her.”

“She can protect herself! She’s been doin’ it all this time!” Jay is breathing heavily down the line. His tone turns from defensive to insecure towards the end. “She’s even- she’s even protectin’ me.”

Silence falls on all ends. Then, Jay’s anger rises up once more.

“So she’s worth it. She’s able and perfect and kind and more than worth it. She’s worth protectin’ and defendin’ and lovin’ and all those risks that ya think comes with dat. She deserves to have ever-thin' she wants and she’s worth so much more dan you, you simple man, goin’ around, paradin’ Gotham City at night like you know best. But ya don’t, right? Because she wants ya for some reason and ya can’t fuckin’ handle dat so you act like a fool and hurt both parties. Life takes a lot and ya can’t. Even. Find it in yourself. To give. Just an ounce of love back to the strongest, most deserving, person we know. You’re stupid, Batman. And I don’t know why Selina likes ya.”

Alfred’s sophisticated, “Well, then,” breaks up the tense atmosphere in the room that was suffocating them all. Dick swears the butler is half ninja due to how silent his approach was. Though, Jay’s speech did catch his full attention. The passionate way Jay spoke, thick Crime Alley accent infecting each word, it left Dick in awe. 

Bruce seems almost defeated when he asks, “How did you know?”

“Ya give everyone much less credit dan they deserve. Selina gives me a number to call in emergencies and since I’ve known her for quite a while, I know she has about five people she trusts that aren’t in Arkham. Minus the fact that you are not female and that leaves me with the Dark Knight.”

Dick smiles. Jay’s lecture was also very revealing of a bias towards Catwoman, but if Selina is really protecting this kid then there is a clear reason for it. 

Dick opens his mouth for some kind of response. His brain had other plans, however. “Jay? Bread Jay?”

And yep. He should not have said that. He didn’t even think that until the words left his mouth. The connection is obvious now but at the moment Bruce stares at him like he has three heads and Alfred seems to want to chide him for his manners. Worse than all that, Jay speaks with recognition. 

“No way.”

The phone clicks. 

Technically, this has to be Bruce’s fault for taking him in as Robin, emotionally draining him today, and every other thing the man did in between. Still, the end result appears to be:

“I just, might have, revealed our identities to Jay.” Look. “I bet he would have figured it out soon, with you and Selina dating and all that.”

“Don’t you turn this on me,” Bruce orders but that’s exactly what Dick’s going to do. “You are going to explain this situation, now.”

Hm, no. “You’re going to explain why Jay had to call you. What, you finally became conscious of the fact that being with you puts others at risk so you made the choice for them? Cause I’ve already told you to stop with that. Adults can make their own decisions. Sure, I’m not the biggest fan of Selina. But I respect her enough to believe she has some capability when it comes to figuring out what’s best for herself.” There.

“Master Richard, I believe you should additionally be inclined to explain yourself.”

He was almost in the clear too.

“Only if Bruce talks to Selina tonight.”

“Master Bruce, this is a reasonable request.”

“Alfred. He lit-“

“Master Bruce!”

“Hn. Fine.”

Well no escaping now. At least something good may come of this. Sure his mistake was stupid, preventable, and not thought through at all. But Dick gets to meet Jay again. Well, he has to. The kid knows. 

Except the next time he sees Bruce, the Dark Knight informs him that the situation has been ‘dealt with’ in the way that makes Dick thankful Batman doesn’t kill cause what the fuck does that even mean. Well, he has other problems than the mess going on between Cats, Bats, and strange kids from the street. He kind of wishes he could be let in on the situation but Bruce has been too much over the past days. Dick wishes the best for Jay, but if he’s not needed, he’s out. 

Situation: Dealt With

Whatever.

Chapter Text

He got hurt. She holds up all his weight. He’s bracing his hand against the exterior wall. She’s balanced on the fire escape railing. A cat in mannerisms. She unlocks the security on the window. They slide in. 

He doesn’t much recall what happens next in great detail, a worrying situation but. He trusts her. He can strain to stay aware. He doesn’t need to. 

When he becomes more himself he can see the bandage along his leg and feel the washcloth on his forehead. His foot has been propped up by a collection of pillows. A weird collection of pillows. There’s the classic decorative ones he expected to find. Colored royal purple and emerald. Then there’s the comical ones. Littered with cat images and ironic messages. Though, the pillows are of little import. He continues the surveillance of his surroundings, a part of his mind keeping preoccupied on the previous items. 

He’s sitting on a couch. In his uniform, bits ripped off and his cowl on the seat beside him. He assesses the damage of his suit when she walks in, smirk in action. She’s changed out of her nightwear and has on sweats with an oversized Property of Gotham sweatshirt. She looks warm. It was a cold night. 

“Sorry about the costume, Bats,” she quips, having seen him observing the tears. “You were only bleeding out.”

“Hn.” he grunts. He means ‘Thank you.’

She strides closer with a glass of water and packet of pills.

“How are you feeling?” Concern leaks through her voice and he feels himself relax. 

‘Better,’ is the obvious answer. The gash in his leg feels less life-threatening at least. The upending days of mandatory rest are a dread. His cover story for Brucie Wayne won’t have to be too intricate. Tim has a good handle on how to deal with Wayne Industries. Damian will need a call, and Alfred a raise for the babysitting hours to come. Dick might even come over to patrol with the others if Gotham gets bad. But that’s the rest of his life. All that matters here, is that she’s with him. He’s great.

“Hn.”

She takes the answer as means to snuggle up next to him, sticking her cold feet into his thigh, and materializing a remote for the television plastered to the wall, unevenly. For the sitting room, the object of interest is not the modern day entertainment system, it’s the clearly well-loved shelves of books surrounding them. Above some shelves are even pictures. This reinforces the idea that Selina didn’t take him to another safe house. She took him home.

Yeah, they have been together for a while. Maybe they haven’t been dating for the last five consecutive years, but he hasn’t been with anyone else. Not in any way that counts. Still, they are secretive. They do not live inside each other. They are both too independent for that. She lives at the manor for some months. He comes over to her places some nights. Her home is different. She hasn’t invited him there yet. Sure, he does know the address, he’s followed the financials and the fake names. It’s a matter of trust though. And Alfred’s weigh in.

Selina pinches him when he tries squinting at the photos on the wall. He gives her the attention she wants and she gestures to the TV. He gives her a shrug, he doesn’t know what’s on anymore. She sighs as she often does when he reveals his less than stellar knowledge of pop culture.

“I’m going to have to call the boys,” he informs her. He updated them last night but they’ll want a check in.

“Oh, what time is it?” She yawns in a way that reveals how little she slept when he was out, injured. 

“Nine thirty.”

“Oh, my boy will be home soon.”

Her what?

The door to the left unlocks and swings open to reveal a teenager. He’s big with a muscular jawline but he holds himself as if to appear smaller. The jacket on him is a size too large and gets scrunched up by his backpack, that’s pulled as tight as possible indicated by the dangling straps. His movements are quiet too at first. He slips off his shoes upon entry with extra care not to make a sound.

“Hey, kitten,” Selina starts, making the stranger look towards the two of them on the couch. His gaze is neither annoyed or frightened. The slight widening of his eyes portray surprise for a second before they sparkle in joy. Joy?

“Were we expecting company?” 'Kitten' asks as if this was on the calendar. Bruce looks down at his wrapped leg. He’s pretty sure this was not planned. 

“Do you mind?” Selina counters. 

This better not have been planned, Cat.

The other shrugs. “Does he like omelets?”

Selina pokes him in the side with sharp nails, though thankfully not her claws. “I don’t know.” Poke. Poke. “It might mess up his intricate programming.”

The stranger chuckles as Selina smiles. Evilly. The situation outwardly can seem very light-hearted. But the little control he has over what’s going on is getting to him.

Bruce Wayne is sitting on the couch of Selina Kyle’s home getting poked and mocked by people he doesn’t know while in half a Batman suit, still severely injured. It’s been too long a night. However. This is Selina. He eloquently voices his complaints into a single, “Hn.”

Selina hears him. She always does. “Alright, alright.” No more pokes. “Bruce, you remember Jay?”

She gestures to the man in front of him and Bruce’s mind is reeling. “Nice to meet you, officially,” he says aloud.

In his head it’s: You looked different on the video conference years ago. What happened to the private boys’ school? Did you stay with Selina this whole time? Why was I not informed? Are there any legal documents for this? How old would you be by now? Were you at work?

The last question is paired with a point he cannot leave silent. Afterall, he look like a, "Security guard?”

Jay’s clothes are what gives Bruce push to ask. Everything to the flashlight holster on the belt does little to hide it.

Selina sighs in a way that screams the topic is too talked about.

Jay, on the other hand, speaks up with self satisfaction lacing his words, “Yup. Work in a museum and everythin’. Had to disappoint her in some way durin’ by rebellion phase so I became the enemy. But y’know, the best job tips come from those who tryna beat ya at ya job.”

“I’m very proud you did not follow my first boy in utilizing fashion during this rebellion of yours.”

He says this as a joke and the room can tell but Jay still lights up at the recognition that he did right. Well, Bruce believes he deserves to know and gain way more credit too. Especially for a boy who lived on the streets for some childhood years, trying to minimally steal for food, based off Selina’s story she shared on the previously mentioned conference call that occurred after Dick’s ‘spilling of the beans.’

Selina laughs hard about being reminded of the fashion disaster phase.

“I’m forever grateful for this one.” She shoots Jay, Jason Peter Todd if he remembers correctly, a genuine smile. Then, goes on to add, “I’m also grateful for his omelets that he’s on his way to make. Right?”

Jay nods as if he’s happy to complete the task rather than forced to. 

They eat breakfast on Selina’s couch. His leg is propped up by mismatching pillows. His heart is lighter than it’s been in days. Selina smiles more than she ever has. He really gets to know a good kid. They are all happy.

Chapter Text

She goes on a walk to clear her head, not that the walk will do much but, that’s what she tells the others. The circus of thoughts marching across her consciousness has been too much for the day. The week. The month. She has all these mixed emotions she doesn’t need and an impending date that seems to hold more importance than she knows. What does Thanksgiving at Wayne Manor even mean?

Tim says he doesn’t know, he hasn’t gone. His response held so much sadness that she didn’t want to leave him. It was that kind of sadness. Tim revealed that sometimes he wants to have one at Drake Manor, with Dana, one last time. He told her, his celebrations never really worked out. Jobs. Cases. Trips. Just. Schedules. But he holds onto a different meaning of Thanksgiving. The one at Wayne Manor is different. They will both find out exactly how.

This year Alfred reached out a while ago about Thanksgiving. Bruce, surprisingly excited, seconded the notion. Dick, when he heard the tentative invite, agreed wholeheartedly. And Selina is even going to be there, which she thinks is partly the reason it’s occurring. Afterall, Tim says he doesn’t remember a very big happening for this date in all the time he’s known the Wayne’s.

So Bruce spoke with her about it privately, making sure she understood. She still doesn't. Her stomach grows nervous at the thought of the occurrence. She doesn’t understand that either.

She wants to spend more time with each person. But all together? That might be a point of concern. 

Dinner at Wayne Manor seems to hold a sort of expectation too. Is that a worry? 

Sitting next to all the others who are successful in their positions, the others who know what they’re doing in… in life! Maybe that’s what’s making this such an anxiety filled event. 

She kicks the broken pieces of sidewalk under her shoe and shrugs to herself. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s trying though.

She sighs. She’s trying.

“Aw, man,” someone within an alley says after a particularly large piece of cement tumbled over there.

She freezes with curiosity and peers down the way between the buildings.

The voice’s owner emerges, revealing a fairly large young man. “Listen, I can agree with taking out anger on sidewalks. I’m all for it. But I’m trying to lure Desdemona out with chicken here.”

She continues to stare down the other, trying to make out the meaning in his words. He does not seem threatening, especially standing here speaking his actions, clearly disheveled. But he is big, and luring never is a good thing. She crosses her arms menacingly and glares, willing the other to explain himself. It’s better to be wary than caught off guard.

“Do ya wanna help? Follow me, okay?” The man walks back to the alley, where shadows move around him and a white cat sits on a dumpster. 

She follows at a distance, not tempting fate by getting close to someone who had admitted their struggles of luring. Still, all she could see from this man was good intentions. She is not often wrong. But she could be.

The man points to a white cat. “That is Desdemona. She is living up to her namesake by rebelling against me, though I am most definitely in the right in wanting her to go to the vet. She is having kittens and I just wanna make sure they’re okay!”

She nods along to his story. The man is a lot like her little brother with his care for animals. 

“Ya think you can help? I’m Jason, by the way,” Jason says, not holding his hand out like most do when introducing themself, but instead nodding to greet her.

She nods back. “I can help. I am fast.”

Jason nearly pouts. “I thought I was too but Desdemona bamboozled me once again.”

“I am better,” she tells him, then swipes up the cat. 

Jason looks at her with awe and simply agrees, “Yes.”

Jason then instructs her where the vet is and they continue the walk. It is a nice day for a walk. Jason talks to her about Desdemona and how she’s a repeat offender of sneaking out before she is supposed to get checked up.

When there is a lull in the conversation, she says, “I’m Cass.”

Jason replies with the obligatory “nice to meet you” with an added “thanks for all your help,” but his tone is weird. He had known her name, this wasn’t new information. He probably knows who she is. Yet, the honesty in his first introduction was no trick. 

She persists in holding his cat and walking to the vet. As they begin to part ways at the entrance to the building, though, she pops the question. Or rather, the statement. “You know me.”

“We just met,” Jason counters. “But yeah, I know you, Cass. My… ah… well, Selina is my guardian. She made sure I knew all the Waynes, especially since she wants me there on Thanksgiving.”

Again, the holiday mention brings with it an overwhelming sense of weight, yet Jason’s eyes remain honest, carrying no judgement. She will help him with his cat more, and he may be able to help her bear this upcoming event. They go into the vet together.

Thanksgiving morning comes with less dread than she previously would have held, thanks to Jason. Cass is looking forward to seeing him again later in the day. And she has to ask about the cat. But the sight of him in the kitchen of Wayne Manor before noon is a surprise.

“Jason,” she greets.

Jason turns around and meets her eyes, a little embarrassed for some reason. “Heya, Cass. I was just- well, ya told me Mr. Pennyworth cooks and I was wondering if he would like some help so I came around to ask and I-”

“I said it would certainly be a pleasure to have some more hands to prepare this dinner,” the older butler finished, while coming into the room with an extra apron.

“Oh.” That makes sense. During their small conversation, Jason mentioned his worry about showing up empty handed when she informed him about Mr. Pennyworth making everything. The way Jason was measuring out the ingredients seemed to please him, too, putting him at ease in an obviously unfamiliar environment. She watched his shoulders relax with envy as hers rose at hearing all the people entering the den, laughing and talking. Cass realized she didn’t want to leave the smaller room. “Can I help, too?”

“Of course, Miss Cassandra,” Mr. Pennyworth says. “Jason, why don’t you help her cut some of these vegetables, I will set the table.”

Cass worries, for a bit, that she is doing everything wrong. The precision and knowledge Jason has in the kitchen outshines her inexperience by far. However, Jason makes sure she isn’t left behind, helping her understand her instructions.

When they finally get to eat, she is so eager after having smelt and seen the food all day long, she barely recognizes all of her past fears. Yes, there are a lot of people here. Some she is unfamiliar with like Selina. But she is Jason’s guardian and Bruce’s girlfriend. And they are all her family. As she watches them all interact with smiles, she thinks she should be thankful to have met such a nice younger brother this year because she knows they will have awesome adventures together.