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Chapter Text

August: A New Beginning

Alfred said okay! He said that Tim could stay for cookies and lemonade! Harry was so excited to start sharing all the new things that had happened since they’d seen each other last, when Harry was still a street kid. (Was he still a street kid? Harry didn’t feel all that different. He was clean, he supposed, wearing clothes that fit and with a proper haircut—still long-ish, curling around his jaw, but neat this time. But inside he wasn’t any different. Was he?)

Harry shook off those weird thoughts and grinned at Tim in the bathroom mirror while they washed their hands. Tim grinned widely back. Jason poked them both, making Tim squeal and Harry jump, then scowl.

“What was that for?” Harry complained.

Jason smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Harry’s brow furrowed.

“Jay?”

“You guys gotta be more careful,” he said in an undertone. “To anyone else, we just met Tim today. So ya can’t be too familiar, or else they’ll start askin’ questions.”

“So I have to pretend I don’t know him?” Harry asked, his face falling.

Jason hesitated.

Tim smiled shyly. “I’m good at pretending. We can still be friendly, and stuff. We just can’t talk about anything from…well. Before.”

“But…I don’t wanna pretend. Or lie.”

“You already did, little hawk,” Jason pointed out. “When you told Alfred we met Tim skateboarding in his driveway.”

Harry blinked, then his face fell. “Oh. I—I just didn’t wanna get Tim in trouble. I mean, we lived on the streets, but…it’s not normal for kids with parents to run around at night alone, is it?”

Tim flushed.

“Not really,” Jason said. Then he nudged Tim with his elbow. “Lighten up, Timmy! We’re not normal, either, so you fit right in!”

Tim smiled shyly. “Okay.”

Harry grinned back, ignoring the little voice in his head whispering freak.

“C’mon. We’ve been a while, and I can smell the cookies from here!” Jason exclaimed. He grabbed Harry’s wrist, and then Harry grabbed Tim’s hand, and together they hurried out of the bathroom.

They barely made it across the hall when Jason stopped short, making Harry and Tim crash into him and then tumble to the floor.

“Jay, what the hell?” Harry complained.

“Oh. It’s just Dickface,” Jason said, smirking.

Dick, who had just descended the stairs in front of them, gasped dramatically. “How dare you insult my beautiful face!”

Harry snickered and got to his feet. “He didn’t insult it. He just stated a fact. You’re Dick, so your face is Dick’s face. Dickface,” Harry said with an innocent smile. He even tucked his hands behind his back and made his eyes go a little wider.

Jason choked back a laugh.

Dick sputtered. “You—I don’t—are you sure you’re actually nine?!”

Harry shrugged. “I dunno. Bruce never found my birth certificate.”

Tim gave a tiny laugh, which drew Dick’s attention to him.

Dick blinked twice. “Is that Tim Drake?”

Tim squeaked and went bright red. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing Harry’s arm. “Ohmygodit’sDickGrayson!”

“He’s a big fan,” Jason added with a smirk.

Dick blinked again, his brow furrowing a little in confusion. “I…didn’t realize I had any fans, but it’s nice to see you again, Tim. Since the last gala, right?”

Tim squeaked again and nodded, still tongue-tied.

Jason hid a snicker.

Harry just smiled and nudged Tim teasingly. “C’mon. Cookies await!” Harry exclaimed, then he led the way into the breakfast nook—which was quickly becoming one of his favorite places in the manor. He loved the light coming through the big windows, even if it was often cloudy outside. Sometimes he just liked to sit on the big, cushioned window seat and stare outside, marveling at the nature he’d never really seen before.

Jason and Dick brought up the rear, making faces at each other.

They passed Alfred in the kitchen on their way. “Ah, Master Dick. I was just about to call you.” Alfred said. He followed them in and set the plate of cookies on the table in the breakfast nook. Four glasses of ice-cold lemonade were already waiting for them.

Dick grinned. “I was summoned by the smell of fresh cookies.” He slid onto the bench with his back to the window. Jason slid in next to him, leaving Harry and Tim to sit across from them on the other side. “I heard something about skateboarding?” Dick prompted, raising an eyebrow at Harry.

Harry brightened and started gushing about Tim’s skateboard and all the tricks they’d tried on the way over, with Jason chiming in with his own commentary.

“—and then Tim showed me how to do a kick-flip!” Harry gushed. “It’s like the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Tim flushed and ducked his head, but they could all tell he was smiling.

“Oh, really? I never would have guessed proper Timothy Drake was a skater,” Dick teased lightly.

Tim squeaked and took a drink of lemonade to avoid replying, but he drank too quickly and ended up sputtering and choking, the lemonade spilling down his front.

Jason burst out laughing.

Harry laughed a little, but gave Tim a sympathetic smile as he tried to disappear beneath the table.

“You can kill me now,” Tim whispered, his face burning red.

Dick smiled kindly. “No need to be nervous, Tim. I don’t bite.”

Tim squeaked and hid behind Harry.

Jason snickered. “Damn, he’s fanboying hard. And I thought Harry’s reaction was bad.”

“Hey!” Harry protested, playing up his indignation.

“You went tongue-tied, too. I swear there were actual stars in your eyes.”

“There was not!” Harry complained.

“Were too,” Jason corrected. “Honestly, after all I’ve taught you, and you still can’t get your verbs right.” He shook his head in fake dismay. “After all I’ve done for you, and you still talk like a street kid.”

“Verbs are dumb!” Harry retorted. “And your street talk is worse than mine!”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, it ain’t!” Jason retorted heatedly.

Harry grinned. “Hah! You said ain’t!”

Tim giggled softly. Harry pretended to ignore him. (After all, the whole point of the fake argument was to draw attention away from him.)

“Ugh, fine. You’ve caught me. I shall wither away and die of shame.” Jason slumped over against the table. “My gravestone shall read, ‘here lies Jason Todd, who died of shame for saying ‘ain’t’ in a fancy manor house.”

Dick snorted, then burst out laughing.

Harry grinned triumphantly and finally ate his first cookie as a reward.

It was delicious! The very best cookie he had ever tasted!

He passed one to Tim, who’d been too busy being embarrassed to eat. Tim took a tiny bite, then his eyes widened and he gobbled the whole thing down in seconds. With a secret grin, Harry smuggled the rest of the cookies to Tim, while Dick and Jason argued over who was more dramatic. Tim muffled his laughter and wrapped the cookies up in their napkins, then hid them in his pockets and Harry’s.

“You’re still a dramatic old man!” Jason finally said firmly, reaching for a cookie.

His fingers found an empty plate.

“What the hell?” Jason looked around. “This plate was full not two minutes ago. I swear it was.”

“Maybe Dick ate them all,” Harry said, straight-faced.

Dick sputtered. “I was too busy arguing to eat! Man, and I only got three!”

“Only three?!” Jason burst out. “I barely had one!”

“Cuz you eat like a bird,” Tim chirped.

“Nu-uh, that’s you, baby bird,” Jason retorted.

Tim’s cheeks pinked at the nickname.

Dick cooed. “Aw, that’s adorable! Man, now I need a cute nickname for everyone!”

“Then get out and go brainstorm, Dickhead. I have two little birds who need to be tickled until they hand over the cookies they stole!”

Harry made his eyes go wide. “I didn’t steal anything!”

Tim somehow turned a snort into a cough.

Jason scoffed. “You know that look doesn’t work on me, little hawk.”

Harry grinned, his chest feeling warm like it always did when Jason used his nickname.

Dick smiled and ruffled his hair, then Jason’s (and ignored Jason’s indignant squawk). “Fine, fine. I’ll get out of your hair,” he teased. “It was nice to officially meet you, Tim.”

Tim squeaked. “Um! It—it was nice to—to meet you, too, Ro-um, Mr. Grayson.”

Dick cringed. “Eww, please just call me Dick. I’m not old enough to be Mister.”

Tim squeaked again. “I—um. I apologize, M-um. D-Dick.”

Dick grinned and ruffled Tim’s hair. “Much better. Catch you later, Timmy, Jay. Hawklet,” Dick added, winking at Harry.

Harry’s cheeks flushed while his chest warmed again. “Can you show me some flips later? And—and maybe Tim, too? S-some other day?”

Dick ruffled Harry’s hair again. “You betcha.” He got to his feet and threw a teasing salute, then he left.

Tim melted into a puddle against Harry’s chest. “Ohmygodthatwassoembarrasing,” he whisper-screamed.

Harry wrapped him in a hug and lightly patted his head. “It’s okay, twin. He likes you.”

Tim squeaked, then whisper-screamed again, his voice muffled in Harry’s shirt.

Jason snickered. “You’re adorable, baby bird.”

“’M not adorable,” Tim grumbled.

Jason laughed. “Yeah, you are. C’mon, cough up the cookies. I wasn’t lyin’ when I said I only got one.”

“What cookies?” Harry asked innocently.

Jason deliberately stood from his seat, rounded the table, then grabbed Harry in a headlock, driving his knuckles into the top of Harry’s head.

“Ow! Hey, lemme go! I’m holdin’ precious cargo!”

Tim squeaked, his face going pink again as he burrowed deeper into Harry’s chest.

“Timmy’s fine. Hand over the cookies, you little gremlin.”

“Fine! Okay!” Harry shoved Jason away, trying and failing to scowl as he tried to fix his hair with one hand.

Jason just grinned triumphantly, holding one hand out.

With a pout, Harry handed over the two cookies wrapped up in his left pocket—

then rapidly snatched one of them back and stuffed it in his mouth all at once.

Jason rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous, kid.” He took a normal bite of his own cookie, making a show of savoring it.

Harry rapidly chewed and swallowed, then grinned through the cookie crumbs all over his face. “No, you’re ridiculous!”

“Jason? Harry?”

Harry froze. Jason snapped to attention. Tim scrambled to sit up, straightening his clothes and brushing crumbs off his shirt.

Footsteps approached through the dining room. A second later, Bruce rounded the corner. “I thought I heard you two. Would either of you like—oh.” Bruce stopped, blinked, glanced between Harry and Tim several times, then said, “Who might you be?”

Tim tried to stand, bumped his knees on the table, and dropped clumsily back onto the bench.

Tim’s cheeks flushed, but he powered through. Remaining seated, Tim straightened his shoulders. “I-I’m Timothy Drake, sir. Your next-door neighbor. I do hope I’m not intruding.”

Harry stared. He’d never heard Tim speak so formally before.

Bruce blinked again, then recognition spread across his face. “Of course, yes. It’s good to see you again, Timothy.”

“Tim!” Harry piped up, then froze as Bruce turned his attention on Harry. Feeling his own face slowly heat up, Harry continued shyly, “I-I mean, he prefers Tim.”

“I…see. And…what brings you here? I was…unaware that you three were acquainted.”

“W—we met today!” Harry said quickly.

“Yeah. We went for a walk and Timmy here was playin’ all alone in his yard. He looked all lonely and sad, so we invited him over,” Jason said a little defensively, even as he smirked at Tim.

Tim made a face.

“And—and he showed us his skateboard!” Harry chimed in. “And Alfred said it was okay!”

“I see. Well, far be it from me to dispute what Alfred says.” Bruce turned his attention back to Tim. “We’re glad to have you, Tim. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, as long as your parents know where you are.”

Tim stiffened, then gave a nod. “Of course. I asked them before coming over and they said it was fine. I apologize for not asking permission first. I—I don’t want to be a bother.”

Harry bit his cheek as Tim’s shoulders hunched a little.

Bothersome little freak.

“Not at all. As I said, we’re glad to have you. I did have a quick question for Harry and Jason, then I’ll leave you to it.”

Harry and Jason immediately straightened.

Bruce smiled. “Nothing like that, boys. I merely wanted to ask if you’d be interested in looking at furniture and décor for your rooms. You’ve been here almost two weeks and the paperwork is being processed to make it permanent. So I thought you might like to make it official and decorate your rooms.”

“D-decorate?” Harry breathed. “Like—like posters and stuff?”

“And furniture, bedding, paint, and anything else you’d like to make your rooms your own.”

Harry stared, not comprehending.

“Perhaps Tim can help you find ideas?” Bruce asked, looking awkward as neither Harry nor Jason had responded.

“Ooh, can I?” Tim asked eagerly, then he seemed to remember himself. “I mean, I’d be glad to. I know a lot about decorating.”

Jason gave a strained smile. “Sure, Timbit. It’ll be fun.”

Harry kept staring.

Freaks don’t get bedrooms.

Freaks don’t get nice things.

Into your cupboard, nasty freak!

Bruce smiled and set a tablet(!) down on the table. “Feel free to browse whatever you like. Bookmark or save your favorites and I can order them for you.”

Harry nodded woodenly. He didn’t dare touch the tablet.

“T-thank you, sir,” Tim said with a formal nod.

“Please, call me Bruce.”

“Um. Of course, B-Bruce,” Tim said, his cheeks turning pink again.

“Thanks,” Jason said absently.

Bruce smiled. “Have fun, then, boys. And Tim, if you’d like, you’re welcome to stay for dinner in a few hours.”

Tim straightened, then nodded. “T-thank you, sir—I mean, Bruce.”

Bruce nodded, then, a little awkwardly, he waved and shuffled out of the room.

Jason exhaled, long and slow. “He wasn’t mad,” he said, his eyes wide. “We brought over a whole other person without permission and he didn’t get mad.”

Tim nodded, then they both turned their attention to Harry.

“Harry?” Tim asked.

Harry kept staring at the tablet as if afraid it would strike out and bite him.

“Harry? Little hawk?” Jason waved his hand in front of Harry’s face. “Hello? Anyone in there?”

“I—”

“What?”

Harry hunched in on himself. “I’ve never had a room of my own before,” he whispered.

That cupboard is good enough for a freak like you! Out of sight, out of mind!

“Damn. Didja have to share with your jerk cousin, then? That sucks.”

Harry slowly shook his head.

Tim tilted his head, his brow furrowed. “Then where did you sleep? On the couch?”

Again, Harry shook his head. His uncle’s voice still echoed in his ears.

Freaks don’t get nice things!

Freaks don’t get bedrooms!

“On the floor?” Jason asked. “Mom and I slept on a mattress on the floor for a while.” Then Jason furrowed his brow. “But didn’t you say they spoiled your cousin? They should have had the funds to get you a bed, at least.”

Harry shook his head again, tears stinging his eyes as he realized that Bruce—a man he’d known less than two weeks, in essence a complete stranger—had just offered him the one thing he’d always wanted more than anything else: a safe space that was wholly his own.

“Harry?”

Harry curled in on himself, his arms wrapping around his chest. “They had two extra bedrooms, but they put me—they put me in the cupboard, I mean the closet under the stairs,” he whispered.

Jason blanched. “They made you sleep in a closet?”

Harry shivered at the cold rage in Jason’s voice, even knowing it wasn’t directed at him.

Tim gasped, then grabbed Harry in a tight hug. “Your relatives sucked ass,” he declared with all the authority a nine-year-old can muster.

Jason choked on a laugh. “Did Tiny Timmy just curse?”

“They deserve it,” Tim declared, though the tips of his ears turned pink. Then he squeezed Harry tighter before pulling away and grabbing his hands instead. “I’m gonna help you make the best room ever,” he insisted. “Because you deserve it.”

Harry sniffed and wiped his cheeks, trying to smile. “Thanks, twin.”

Jason grabbed Harry in a hug, then, brief but tight and forceful. “Well. We’ve got work to do. Fire it up, Timmy. You’re the tech expert.”

Tim’s eyes glinted. “You got it.” He seized the tablet and switched it on, then flicked through several apps before settling on one. “Now let’s get to work.”

***

Harry, Tim, and Jason spent hours scouring the Internet for the perfect room for Harry. Along the way, Harry ensured Jason got to pick what he wanted, too. At first they were both reluctant to go for anything, but with Tim’s encouragement and “professional” opinion on price versus quality, they slowly relaxed—even when Harry, his fingers trembling, added a $700 but super-cool wooden four-poster bed to his list of favorites. Bruce hadn’t given them any kind of budget, which to Harry meant they had to keep it as cheap as possible, but to Jason it became blanket permission for anything, no matter how ridiculous.

“If he’s serious about keepin’ us,” Jason explained, “then it won’t matter what we ask for. It’s not like he can’t afford it.”

Harry frowned slightly. “Then…then if I’m getting the really, really nice bed, so do you! And that huge, fancy bookcase and that armchair for a reading nook!”

Jason flushed a little. “I don’t need—”

“Nuh-uh!” Harry countered. “If I get nice stuff, so do you! It’s—it’s not fair, otherwise!”

Jason made a face. “All right. You win, little hawk.” Then he got a devious look in his eye. “Let’s see just how ridiculous we can go!”

“It’s hard to be ridiculous with furniture,” Tim said, shrugging. “You might have better luck asking for weird knick-knacks. Like those dumb glass mushrooms we saw.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, those are ridiculous. Hey, wanna see how many hawk figurines we can find?”

Tim lit up. “Yes!”

Harry flushed. “Jay!”

Jason snickered and ruffled Harry’s hair. “You gotta embrace the name, little hawk.”

“Then we’ll get lots and lots of tigers for you!” Harry countered.

Jason grimaced. “I don’t like tigers that much, kid.”

“Ooh! How about book ends? Or those cool hollow books you can use as secret stashes?!” Tim chimed in.

Jason made a face. “I don’t need any a’ that stuff. Just give me a nice mattress, some blankets, and my books and I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t need hawk figurines, either,” Harry pouted (though it would be cool to have a few...)

“Okay, okay. We’ll keep it normal,” Jason said, rolling his eyes. “Or, as normal as a rich-person room can be.”

Tim snickered. “There’s a lot of room for interpretation there. You know I once went to a gala where the sitting room was full of horse figurines? Even a life-sized one! With a saddle and everything!”

Harry giggled.

Jason snorted. “Yeah, rich people are a whole other brand of crazy.”

With that, they began their serious search. Once they’d settled on furniture, they moved on to bedding, décor, and accessories. Then, right as Alfred was about to shoo them out so he could prepare dinner, they (hesitantly) picked paint colors. It felt like the final test, to see if Bruce would let them make such drastic, long-lasting changes to the very walls themselves.

Then Alfred did shoo them out so he could prepare dinner, so they left the tablet and went back outside to practice on Tim’s skateboard some more. Jason practiced enough that he could confidently ride, turn, do a basic jump, and stop, then he stood back and watched while Tim taught Harry more tricks.

A while later, Alfred called them in for dinner and told them to wash up. Tim hesitated, but Harry dragged him along and made him stay to eat. Dinner was slightly less awkward (on Tim’s part, anyway) than their initial meeting, but Tim still quickly made his excuses and left shortly after everything was cleaned up.

Since the sun was setting, Alfred insisted on driving Tim home, and Harry insisted on going with them. And since Jason still didn’t like letting Harry out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time, Jason came along, too.

At the gate, Harry and Jason got out alongside Tim to give him a proper hug goodbye.

“Don’t forget me,” Tim whispered tearfully as Harry hugged him tight.

Harry gasped softly and squeezed. “I could never forget my twin! We tried to come see you earlier, I promise, but there was always someone watching and Jason got paranoid and everything was so busy and new and scary. But now you’re right next door, so I can come see you anytime I want!”

Tim sniffled softly and hugged Harry tight. “I was scared you’d left me, too,” he whispered.

“I could never,” Harry insisted, still keeping his voice down because Alfred was watching.

Tim sniffled again and hugged Harry a little tighter before finally, reluctantly, pulling away.

Then Jason yanked him into a hug-slash-headlock. “You ain’t gettin’ rid of us that easy, baby bird,” he teased lightly.

Tim gave a reluctant giggle, then he squirmed free and gave Jason a proper hug. “I’ll see you later?” he said hopefully.

“Every day if you want,” Harry said fiercely. “We can show you the yard, and the forest, and there’s even a creek we can play in! And you have to help decorate my room once we get all the stuff!”

Tim smiled and nodded. “Okay. I’ll…see you later,” he said. Then he waved and went up the long drive to his front door.

Harry bit his lip and grabbed Jason’s hand.

“We gotta make sure he knows we’re always gonna want him around,” Harry said fiercely.

“You read my mind, little hawk. C’mon; let’s go back.”

Harry nodded. They climbed back into the car, then Alfred drove them back to the manor.

***

When they got back, Bruce invited Harry and Jason into the study to share their selections so they could start making plans. Jason did so with affected disinterest and a touch of defiance, Harry with hesitant, hopeful excitement.

“These are some great choices, boys,” Bruce said. “I can tell you put a lot of thought into it.”

Harry and Jason both flushed at the praise.

“Whatever,” Jason muttered.

“If you’d like, I can order everything right away and have someone put it all together. You can have your rooms set up in just two or three days.”

Jason shrugged, his cheeks still pink. “If you insist.”

“I wanna do it.”

They both blinked at Harry’s small declaration.

“Harry?” Bruce asked.

Harry took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “I wanna do the work.”

“Are you sure, lad? That’s a lot of work. It’ll take at least a week if we do it ourselves.”

Harry nodded firmly, though his hands were suddenly sweaty and his heart was pounding.

“I wanna do the work,” Harry repeated. “Cuz—cuz then it doesn’t—I mean, then it’ll…it’ll really, really be…mine.” He trailed off, his heart in his throat.

Jason’s face did something complicated. “Little hawk…”

“I wanna do it,” Harry said again, deliberately meeting Bruce’s eyes.

Bruce stared at Harry.

Harry squeaked and hid behind Jason.

Bruce’s face broke into a smile. “I think we can arrange that.”

Harry gasped softly and poked his head out from behind Jason. “R-really? You—you don’t mind letting me—I mean, letting me do—do the work?”

“If you’d really like to, I don’t mind at all. But.” Bruce’s face grew a little stern. “You will be working under supervision, though, either myself or Alfred. I don’t want you handling the heavy pieces and power tools alone. I’d hate for you to get hurt.”

Harry’s eyes went wide.

Jason nudged Harry’s shoulder. “I agree with him there, little hawk. You’re too little to use a drill; it’ll spin you instead of the screw,” he teased, flattening Harry’s hair.

Harry made a face and ducked away. “I’ve used a drill before!” he countered. The Dursleys had made him fix some loose fence boards the summer he turned seven. “And I’m not that little!”

Jason grinned. “Sorry; you’re right. It’d be Timmy getting spun. I dunno how it’s possible, but he’s still smaller than you.”

Harry giggled at the mental image, then he inhaled softly. “Um!” He began, looking at Bruce. “Can—I mean, could Tim help, too?” Harry asked hesitantly. “I mean, he did help me pick things out. And…and I think he’d like, um. Like to see it all come, um, come together.”

Bruce was staring at them both, something soft and fond in his face that made Harry flush, even as warmth filled his chest.

Then Bruce blinked and the moment was over. “As long as it’s all right with his parents, that would be just fine with me,” he said.

“I’ll help, too, obviously,” Jason put in. “But, if it’s all the same to you…” He shrugged. “I’d rather not do all the work for my room. Don’t feel like waiting. Except…except the paint. I’ll paint my room.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll go ahead and order everything, then. Then, Jason, we’ll get your room set up first, then we’ll do Harry’s. You don’t mind sharing a room for a night while the paint dries, do you?”

Harry shook his head. “We shared a room for ten whole months. We can do one more night.”

“You still sleep with me now,” Jason teased, lightly poking Harry in the ribs.

Harry flushed and scowled and poked Jason back.

Jason poked him again in return.

Harry jabbed his fingers into Jason’s side.

Jason wheezed, then grabbed Harry in a headlock, driving his knuckles into Harry’s hair. “You little brat.”

“Hey! Lemme go, Jay!” Harry protested, trying and failing to pull free (though he wasn’t trying all that hard).

Bruce softly cleared his throat.

They both froze, eyes wide with fear.

Bruce’s face softened. “You’re not in trouble, boys. Though please keep the roughhousing to the open areas of the house or outside; I don’t want either of you getting hurt because you ran into a desk or something.”

Jason’s eyes went wide.

Harry ducked his head and shuffled his feet. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s all right, Harry, lad,” Bruce said gently. “I only wanted to tell you that I’ve ordered your things.” He turned the tablet around to show them the “order complete” page—with a total of ten thousand dollars between them!

Jason paled a little, then cleared his throat and grinned cheekily. “You tryin’ ta buy us, old man?”

“Not at all. These were your selections, after all. I’m more than happy to spend a bit of money to get you the things you’d like in order to feel comfortable here. This is to be your home, after all.”

Jason looked taken aback, then his face turned red. “Thanks, I guess,” he mumbled.

Bruce smiled warmly. “You’re very welcome, Jaylad.”

Jason flushed darker at the nickname. “Whatever.” He grabbed Harry’s hand and tugged. “C’mon, Harry. Let’s go bother Dick.”

Harry blinked, then turned and offered Bruce a shy smile before letting Jason drag him out.

Chapter Text

August: Making It Home

Three days later found Harry, Jason, Tim, Dick, Bruce, and Alfred gathered in Jason’s room—stripped bare of all furniture, the carpet covered in white plastic sheets and tape covering the baseboards and door frames. Paint trays, brushes, and rollers of varying sizes and handle lengths lay along the floor in neat, orderly lines. Four cans of paint—three beige, one a soft red—sat amidst the tools, for now still closed, with a stirring stick beside each of them.

Bruce wore an old t-shirt and jeans, already generously spotted with old paint. Jason wore a t-shirt and jeans he’d insisted on getting at a thrift store, refusing to ruin brand-new clothes. Dick had taken them, with Bruce’s permission. Harry, of course, had gone along, and found a cool hoodie and two matching ball caps. After securing Dick’s permission, Harry had made Jason get the hats. Jason made Harry get the hoodie.

Dick wore brand-new, white denim overalls over a pale blue t-shirt, with a white bandanna tied around his head, covering his long hair.

Jason stared at him like he was insane.

“Gotta look the part,” Dick had insisted with a wink. Dick had then pulled out two other sets of overalls, kid-sized, both of them black denim, and whined and bribed and cajoled until Harry and Tim gave in and wore them just to make him stop. (Dick had overheard Harry calling Tim “twin” when Tim came over two days ago, and he’d latched on to the idea and refused to let it go.)

So, on this the first day of painting, Harry and Tim—reluctantly excited and only half-begrudgingly—wore the overalls over white t-shirts and, at Jason’s insistence, the matching ball caps.

Dick was still cooing over them, his camera only just put away, when Bruce finally cleared his throat.

“Right. I want to lay down some ground rules before we get started, so listen up.”

Harry and Tim straightened importantly. Jason poked Harry teasingly, then stepped out of range of Harry’s retaliation and turned his attention to Bruce.

Dick groaned. “Really, B? We’re just painting!”

“And I still remember how these clothes got paint on them,” Bruce said firmly. “And that was just you and me.”

Jason glanced between them, then raised an eyebrow. “Da-Dang. What did you do, Dickhead?” he teased, smirking.

Dick sputtered at the new nickname? insult? while Bruce cleared his throat.

“Rule number 1: the paint stays in this room. We can wash up in the attached bathroom when we’re done. Rule number 2: Only I or Dick refills the paint trays, and once filled with paint they do not move until they are empty again. Rule number 3: no flinging paint at each other. Am I clear?”

They all nodded, though Dick looked surly.

“Remember, the wall with the closet and bathroom doors is red, the other three walls and the ceiling are beige. Let me or Dick handle the ceiling—with your feet on the ground,” Bruce added with another sharp look at Dick.

“Ugh. You never let me do anything fun!” Dick complained.

“Um. I’m with Jason on this,” Tim said, a little hesitantly. “What did Dick do?”

“I just wanted to try a cool pattern on my walls! It’s not my fault Bruce walked into the path of the paint!”

“You did a series of one-handed cartwheels with a paintbrush in your hand and another between your toes,” Bruce deadpanned.

Dick pouted.

“And you were fourteen.”

Jason poorly stifled a snicker. Harry and Tim didn’t bother.

Dick grimaced. “Fine. Spoil-sport,” he muttered under his breath.

Bruce drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Does everyone understand the rules?”

They all nodded.

“Dick?”

“Feet on the ground at all times and no fun tricks,” he grumbled.

Bruce sighed again.

Jason and Harry exchanged a nervous look, but Bruce didn’t say or do anything else. “All right. Everyone pick your tool and pick a wall. Try to stick to one roller and one paintbrush each.”

Tim and Harry immediately claimed the back wall with the windows. Jason rolled his eyes at their competitiveness and chose the accent wall with the closet and bathroom doors, leaving Dick the wall across and Bruce the one with the door into the hallway. Bruce and Dick then filled the paint trays.

“Remember, the paint goes on the walls, not each other,” Bruce said sternly, eyeing Dick before glancing over Harry and Tim (who gave him twin, wide-eyed, “who, me?” looks). “All right. Let’s get started.”

Dick cheered and immediately started slapping paint onto the wall. Tim and Harry both reached for the same roller, then froze. After a long stare-off, they chose separate rollers and took careful turns rolling them in the paint tray. Then they both stopped, exchanged a long, long look, then, at a silent signal, they raced to opposite ends of the wall and began a fierce competition to see who could paint their half first, complete with trash-talk and playful teasing. Paint splattered everywhere with every stroke and run back to the tray to refill their rollers.

When Dick noticed, he laughed out loud and began commentating, using his paintbrush as a microphone.

Jason laughed at all three of them and lazily began painting his own wall with long, precise strokes.

Bruce gave a long, long sigh and resigned himself to an afternoon of chaos. (He would never admit to the fond smile that curved his lips as he watched his boys.)

At first the task was pleasant and more or less calm. Tim and Harry playfully trash-talked each other as they raced from either end of their wall toward the middle. Jason laughed and teased them both, while Dick added to the fun simply by being himself. Bruce just painted his own wall calmly, keeping an eye on the four boys as he did so.

A couple hours later, they took a break for lunch. They opened the window to air out the paint fumes and ate picnic-style right on the floor of Jason’s half-painted room, each of them with paint speckled across their arms, face, and clothes. When Alfred returned for their dishes, Harry heard a distinct click and looked up in astonishment to see Alfred pocketing a small digital camera.

Alfred gave Harry a smile and a tiny wink. Then, businesslike, he collected their dishes and left them to finish their task.

After a short break to tidy up and refill paint trays, they got right back to work. Dick and Bruce finished their walls first (at least the first coat). Dick then insisted on painting the ceiling. Except, he kept putting too much paint on his roller. As a result, it dripped down and splashed onto his face and arms.

Then Bruce stepped out momentarily, and Dick might have also done a one-handed handstand with the roller held between his feet. He managed to paint a whole corner of the ceiling with his feet! Harry and Tim clapped and gasped while Jason looked on, trying not to look too impressed.

Then Dick stumbled over his own paint tray and toppled to the floor with a thud, splashing paint everywhere.

Harry yelped and gasped, stumbling back out of Dick’s space, only to trip over Jason’s paint tray and splatter them both with red paint, too.

Tim lurched forward to catch Harry, and so did Jason. Tim tripped over Dick’s roller and fell on top of Harry, and Jason forgot he had a paintbrush in his hand and left a streak of red across Tim’s face and arm and then onto Harry’s arm and chest as he reached to catch them both.

Then the door opened and Bruce returned.

All four of them froze, caught in a paint-covered pile right in the middle of the room.

Bruce stared at the chaos and four paint-covered boys for a long moment.

Harry tensed, certain they were about to be yelled at, and then Bruce would call the whole thing off and Harry wouldn’t get to paint his room or make his furniture and maybe he wouldn’t get a room at all or even get dumped back on the streets!

But Bruce just gave a long-suffering sigh. “At least Alfred insisted on covering the entire floor in plastic.”

“You’re…not mad?” Harry asked softly, getting to his feet. Jason and Tim followed suit.

Bruce sighed and shook his head. “I set boundaries hoping to avoid messes, but sometimes things…just happen.”

“Exactly!” Dick said, springing to his feet. “Accidents happen, you know! No use crying over spilled paint!”

Jason poorly stifled a snort of disbelief.

“I hope we have enough paint left after this…accident,” Bruce countered mildly. “Or else someone is making a trip to the hardware store this afternoon, and it isn’t going to be me,” he added with a raised eyebrow at Dick.

A moment of silence, then Tim spoke up. “I think we have enough,” he said quietly. “At least, if each can of paint holds a gallon, and we started with six cans, four beige and two red, that’s six gallons of beige and two of red, and a gallon of paint covers approximately 400 square feet, and we’ve used up three cans, two beige and one red, then we’ve covered about 1200 square feet, not counting the spilled paint, which I would estimate to be about a pint of each color, and the room is approximately 17 feet square with a nine-foot ceiling, then—”

“Whoa, whoa. Hold on. Are you calculating this in your head?” Jason exclaimed.

“—153 square feet times four, minus the area of…huh?” Tim looked up, blinking.

Dick was staring, too. “I mean, I can do those calculations in my head, too, but you’re what, eight?”

“I’m nine,” Tim insisted.

“At least he didn’t think you were six,” Harry teased lightly.

Dick’s jaw dropped.

Bruce sighed, but instead of looking impatient, he looked…fond? “I think it’s safe to say we have enough paint, then. Is that right, Tim?”

Tim blinked, flushed, then nodded. “We still have three cans left, two beige and one red, which means we can finish Jason’s wall with about half a gallon left over, and finish mine and Harry’s wall and the ceiling and do a second coat on all three—that’s about 750 square feet total—and still have about a quart of beige paint left over,” he said shyly.

Dick stared again. “You’re a little genius,” he said lightly, ruffling Tim’s hair.

Tim squeaked and ducked behind Harry, his cheeks flushing.

Harry poked him lightly, grinning.

“Well, we’d best get started, then. Dick, don’t make me remind you—”

“No fun tricks,” Dick finished with a pout.

“Exactly.”

Dick huffed in affected annoyance, refilled his own paint tray, and got back to work. With Bruce’s approval, Jason refilled his own tray, too, and then they got back to painting.

It was quiet for a few minutes, then the chatter and light teasing returned. By midafternoon, the walls were finished, so they moved on to the baseboards, the doors, and the closet and bathroom.

When Alfred came to let them know to clean up for dinner, Jason’s room was fully painted (and so were all four boys), and the colors looked really cool. Harry especially liked the deep red accent wall. They had even painted the bathroom and closet doors to match! And the bathroom and closet walls! It was super, super cool, and Harry couldn’t wait to see how his chosen colors would turn out in his own room!

“We can clean up in here this evening,” Bruce said after Alfred left. “For now, hang your paint clothes in your bathrooms to make sure any wet paint still on them can dry, and wash your hands. Once we’ve cleaned up, you can shower off any paint that got anywhere else.”

They all agreed and went to tidy up and change. After dinner, they all helped clean up. They also left Jason’s window open so the sharp, chemical smell of paint could air out longer. Alfred insisted they wait at least two days before moving Jason back into his room, though, and one day before putting in the furniture to make sure the paint was fully dry.

So for the next two days, Harry and Jason had a sleepover in Harry’s room. Harry tried to get Tim to stay, too, but he insisted on going home for the night, then he’d be back the next day. He did let Alfred drive him home, though, since it was forecasted to rain that evening. (Jason nagging Tim about the risks of getting caught in the storm might have been a contributing factor.)

On day three after painting Jason’s room, they were able to move the furniture in, which professionals had delivered and assembled the previous day. Jason tried to act nonchalant, but it was clear he liked bossing everyone around as to where to put the furniture.

(Harry didn’t realize it at the time, but while he was helping in Jason’s room, more professionals were working in his own room, putting up wood paneling along the bottom half of each wall but the one with the bathroom and closet doors. Harry hadn’t explicitly requested it, but in all the pictures he’d chosen as references for the paint job, there was wood paneling on the walls.)

Then, the day after Jason’s room was all set up, it was time to paint Harry’s room. He was both nervous and excited. He was nervous because he still wasn’t convinced he was allowed to have this at all, but excited because doing Jason’s room had been so much fun, and Harry couldn’t wait to see his own room transformed! He’d thought long and hard about a theme or a color scheme, and with a little help from Tim and Jason, he had the perfect room in his head. He just really, really hoped it turned out the way he hoped.

It was a Saturday morning when, once again, Harry, Tim, Jason, Dick, and Bruce assembled in their paint clothes in a room draped in plastic, the paint trays and rollers and brushes all cleaned and waiting for Harry’s chosen colors. Harry tried to contain his excitement at seeing the pretty wood panels along the bottom of three of four walls. They were also draped in plastic, taped at the top so paint wouldn’t get on the wood.

“All right, boys. You know the drill. And please try just a little harder to keep the paint on the walls rather than each other,” Bruce said with fond exasperation. (Those two emotions combined was familiar to Harry coming from Jason, but it was new and strange and a little exciting coming from Bruce.)

“Sir, yes, sir!” Dick said, snapping to attention with a mock salute. Harry and Tim snickered. Jason rolled his eyes.

“All right. I’ll be doing the ceiling this time, so each of you can have your own wall.”

“Aye-aye, captain!” Dick said again, this time with a fake pirate accent.

Bruce sighed, but his lips twitched. “Get to work, then, crew.”

They each leapt to the task. Since they were only painting half the wall, it went a little quicker this time, though Harry and Tim, especially, found it more difficult because almost none of the wall they were painting was at or below eye level. Harry became very proficient with an extended roller, much to Tim’s dismay. But once Harry finished the first coat on his own wall, he went to help Tim with his.

Slowly, Harry’s ideal bedroom took shape. The walls were a pretty forest green, to contrast with the ashy brown wood panels, and the ceiling was a green so dark it was nearly black. The dark colors made the room feel close and cozy, which was much more comfortable to Harry, who was used to sleeping in small spaces and didn’t like the feeling of so much space around him. And then they painted the doors and closet to match! The bathroom Harry chose to leave mostly the same, but he changed the beige strip to green. And he had gotten a forest-themed shower curtain with matching towels, and he couldn’t wait to see it all come together!

After the room was painted, the next three days were spent putting together furniture. Unlike with painting, Dick and Jason didn’t help the whole time. Dick helped put together Harry’s bed, but then he got called for a Teen Titans mission(!), so he gave Harry a hug and said he couldn’t wait to see it all finished when he came back.

Jason spent a lot of time fussing with the décor in his own room, which arrived a few days after the furniture. There was even a whole two hours where Jason didn’t even let Harry into his room!

But when Harry went to bed that evening in Jason’s room (because his room was still airing out from the paint), he found Jason curled up with his brand-new Wonder Woman throw blanket in a fluffy armchair, in his very own reading nook by the window that was partially blocked from the rest of the room by a bookshelf, with his new copy of Pride and Prejudice hugged to his chest and his eyes a little red. And Harry completely understood.

On Monday, though, even though Tim had agreed to come over and help, Harry didn’t see him until four o’clock!

“Why’re you so late?” Harry whined half-heartedly from the pile of boards and screws and tools in the middle of his room that would hopefully turn into a bookcase, while Alfred sat in a chair (borrowed from another room) near the door, supervising.

“Today was the first day of school,” Tim said with a shrug. “And I had to go home and change out of my uniform.”

Harry blinked twice. Then he blinked again.

Right. School was a thing. (Eew, uniforms?)

Harry’s stomach filled with dread, but he quickly shook it off and dragged Tim over to help.

Three days later, all of Harry’s furniture was assembled and set up where he liked it, and he’d spent like four hours arranging all his décor and putting his belongings away just so. Then he stood back and stared.

“Well done, lad,” Bruce said gently, putting a careful hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You’ve done a lot of hard work, but I think it’s paid off. Don’t you?”

Harry nodded slowly, still processing.

The dark green walls looked exactly how he’d pictured. And if he squinted, he could see the spot where he’d accidentally used the super-dark green meant for the ceiling before remembering and switching. But the lighter green hadn’t completely covered the spot.

And that was his bed, with four posts and a gauzy canopy secured to the ceiling. He’d stood on a ladder and screwed in the hook while Dick held his waist to keep him steady.

And that was the desk he chose, with the tall hutch with lots of little compartments and the five drawers down the side. There was a notch in the desktop where Harry had dropped a screwdriver, and one of the shelves was a tiny bit crooked.

And that was his dresser, with one of the half a dozen glass or crystal hawk figurines he’d let Jason talk him into sitting on top. It had arrived chipped, but even though Bruce had offered to return it for an undamaged one, Harry chose to keep it.

And on the walls were the posters Tim had made Harry get, all of them in neat coordinating frames, set up like a photography gallery wall on Tim’s recommendation. He and Tim had teased and pushed and shoved each other while they stood on the bed to put them up.

And then there was the mostly-empty shelf Tim had helped him put together, where Harry was storing his craft supplies. Right now it only had the craft kit Bruce had bought him their first time at the store, but it was—it was hope that there would soon be more. (That Harry was allowed to get more, enough to fill the shelves and then some if he wanted!)

Harry blinked rapidly as he looked around the room that was undoubtedly, indubitably, one-hundred percent his.

Bruce gently squeezed his shoulder, then withdrew. Jason and Tim soon took his place, hugging him from either size.

“We did it,” Tim said quietly. “You have a room now.”

“It’s all yours, little hawk,” Jason said, ruffling his hair.

Harry blinked hard, his eyes stinging.

Then Alfred appeared and set a tray of snacks on Harry’s desk. As he was leaving, he squeezed Harry’s shoulder and murmured,

“Welcome home, dear boy.”

Chapter Text

September: The First Test

It was the second week of September, almost four whole weeks after Batman-Bruce picked him and Jason up on the streets, when Harry had to start thinking about school again.

Harry had barely even thought about school (he didn’t want to think about school). He was too busy enjoying the freedom to explore all over the grounds and throughout the whole manor, now that his room was all set up. It turned out, other than the Batcave, there was nowhere Harry wasn’t allowed to go! Bruce didn’t even mind Harry poking around in his room! (Not that Harry did. He glanced around from the doorway once while the door was left open, but didn’t go any further.)

Jason joined him in exploring, just as eager to thoroughly familiarize himself with what he was half-jokingly calling “their new territory.” Dick, though, was frequently busy. He was gone on weekends a lot, and it took a few weeks before Harry remembered that Dick—or rather, Robin—was a member of the Teen Titans! And the Teen Titans met almost every weekend in—get this—San Francisco! And he always came home with the coolest stories!

But regardless. Dick didn’t take part in Harry and Jason’s exploration after their initial grounds and manor tour a couple of days after Bruce picked them up.

But that was okay, because Harry loved exploring. He’d had plenty of freedom to explore while on the streets, but there had always been an element of danger. Now? Exploring the manor and grounds? The only danger was accidentally stepping on Alfred’s plants or scraping a knee after taking a tumble in the woods—which was Harry’s favorite place to go. (Needless to say, he got a lot of scraped knees.)

Jason enjoyed the woods, too, and they’d found a couple of cool places in the manor, like the sitting area on the second floor balcony where you could either look down into the grand entrance hall or out through the wall of windows at the front of the grounds, which were only slightly less expansive than the back, with a long winding drive leading from the gate to a circle drive at the front door. But Jason hadn’t found a favorite place yet.

Until he did.

One day at the beginning of September, Harry and Jason were exploring the East wing on the second floor when they found a pair of tall, fancy oak doors at the end of a hallway. They tested the doorknobs and found them unlocked.

Exchanging a nervous but excited look, they pushed the doors open together—

and gasped.

“There’s a library?” Jason breathed, his eyes wide.

“Wow,” Harry echoed.

It wasn’t just a room with lots of bookshelves. The room was huge! Rows and rows of towering shelves lined every wall but one, which had a huge floor-to-ceiling window letting in the pale Gotham sunlight. And there was even stained glass at the top! It was like a library from a story book come to life! And it was two stories tall, with a balcony and ladders that led up to the second floor with even more shelves! And every single shelf was full to the brim.

The room was bigger than both the ballrooms on the ground floor combined!

And the best part? Shorter shelves throughout the ground floor created little reading nooks! Some had a desk and a chair, and others had super-comfy-looking chairs and couches. A small section of general reference books cut across the middle, neatly dividing the room in half.

Jason stood in the doorway for at least three minutes, just gaping.

But eventually, Harry giggled and nudged him inside. Then they wandered along the shelves, hardly daring to touch anything because so many of those books looked really old and really, really expensive!

The books were really cool, but Harry’s attention was instantly drawn to a little sitting area in the back corner, with a tall window right behind it, spilling sunlight onto a two-seater couch and two armchairs facing a low reading table. He tugged Jason’s sleeve, pointing.

“Jay, look. It’s—it’s like our nook,” he whispered in awe.

“It sure is. Guess I know where my new favorite reading spot will be,” Jason said with a grin.

Harry grinned back.

Then he and Jason had spent the next two hours exploring every inch of the library. They were there so long Alfred had to come and find them! And then—and then Bruce found them and said they could read any book at all! Whatever they wanted! (As long as they were careful with the older books.) They could even take books out and bring them back to their room!

Then Alfred made them come down for lunch (food was not allowed in the library, but they could have water and tea.)

Jason practically inhaled his lunch before he grabbed Harry’s hand and half-dragged him back to the library. Not that Harry complained. He was too busy staring, because he had never seen Jason look this happy and free. His whole face lit up and Harry had the startling realization that Jason was only twelve. He always seemed larger than life. He always knew what to do or what to say and he kept Harry safe when Harry was scared or lonely or upset.

But Jason was just a kid, too.

So Harry was more than happy to go along with his excitement, because Jason deserved to be happy!

When they got back to the library, Jason began searching the shelves even more intently, practically vibrating with excitement. (For once, Harry refrained from teasing him for being like Tim. Because seeing Jason happy made Harry really, really happy, too.)

After an intense search, Jason finally, carefully, reverently removed a first-edition copy of Pride and Prejudice. Then the two of them settled down in their nook and read together for hours. Jason even let Harry read some! Harry was so excited to be able to read aloud for his big brother for a change, now that he could see. He felt so grown-up, with his glasses perched on his nose and the book propped carefully against his knees, reading all those big, fancy words that teased his natural British accent out of hiding. Harry didn’t understand everything he read, but the huge smile on Jason’s face was worth every single second.

That had been the best day at the manor so far.

Then Jason had teased Harry about being the smartest kid in school once they started, and Tim came over to do homework, and suddenly Harry was faced with the very real fact that he would be going back to school soon. Bruce had ordered their aptitude tests the same day he was awarded official custody, and they were due to arrive any day.

The sudden realization that Tim was in the fifth grade, and that school had been in session for three weeks already, and Tim was learning about the Revolutionary War and the Periodic Table, left Harry reeling.

The very next day, their aptitude tests arrived.

And suddenly Harry was terrified.

Sure, he’d been studying from the workbooks for the last couple of weeks, with Jason’s help. (They liked to work either in the quiet of the library or in the breakfast nook with fresh baked goods courtesy of Alfred.) But that didn’t mean Harry wasn’t scared to death of failing. Even with Jason’s help, even with Dick’s help when he wasn’t busy, Harry was certain he’d fail.

(Dick wouldn’t say what he was busy with. Tim and Harry suspected it had to do with a Teen Titans mission. Jason pointed out that Dick was seventeen and college application deadlines were coming up. Also, if it was a mission, he’d be in the Batcave, not his bedroom or the sitting room. Harry and Tim had taken one look at Dick—doing a one-handed handstand in the corner of the sitting room while singing along to a Disney CD—looked back at Jason, and in unison said, “No way.” It was also then that Harry realized Dick must have finished secondary school early, even though he was only seventeen, or he would have been in school, too.)

But that was two days ago. And Harry had been studying, but that was just practice. It didn’t matter.

Today, though. Today mattered. Because today, Alfred was setting up Harry and Jason in opposite corners of the library with pencils, their aptitude tests, and a water bottle and some snacks.

After getting them both situated, Alfred brought them to the middle of the room. Harry automatically grasped Jason’s hand as Alfred gave them instructions.

“Now, there’s no limit on how long you may take,” Alfred continued, “so you both may be here for some time. So if you need to take a break, or get up and walk around, simply let me know. You both have the same test, however, so you will not be allowed to talk to each other or pass each other’s desk.”

Harry bit his lip, then looked up as Jason nudged him. He made a subtle sign at his hip, and then Harry was biting back a giggle.

Alfred gave them both a stern look, to which they both assumed expressions of perfect innocence. Alfred had then made an expression that, to Harry, looked like he’d be rolling his eyes at them if that wasn’t “improper and impolite”, as he’d told Dick a few days ago. Then Alfred motioned for them to return to their desks. With one last hug and a murmured “good luck,” Jason and Harry separated.

Harry bit his lip when Alfred said they could begin, and picked up his pencil. It felt so strange to be at a desk after an entire year of no school. Harry should have been starting Primary 4, or fourth grade. It was equally strange to be taking such an important-sounding test in the huge library, in a manor house (his house!), with sunlight streaming through the high windows and providing more light than the old-fashioned lamps along the walls. And with no Dudley leaning over his shoulder, throwing eraser bits at him or making faces and otherwise doing his best to distract Harry (and sabotaging himself as a result, Harry realized, with a surge of shock at Dudley’s idiocy).

Then Harry looked down at the first question, was momentarily shocked at how clear the words were through his new contacts, and then he was biting his lip in anxiety. He had to do well on this test. Or did he? What if he did too well and Bruce got mad? What if, like the Dursleys, he accused Harry of cheating? What if—and it was a long shot, but just if—he did better than Jason? Jason had missed at least three years of school. What would happen then?!

But Jason would be so disappointed if Harry didn’t try his best. So, Harry swallowed down his fear and determined that, if nothing else, he would make Jason proud. Slowly, carefully—the way he had never been able to before—Harry moved through the test and answered each question the very best he could.

Harry was delighted to find a lot of the same words Jason had taught him in the vocabulary section. It felt nice to be confident in his answers and know Jason would be proud of this little bit, at least. He didn’t know all the words, but Jason had taught him enough about context clues and stuff like that that Harry could make some good guesses!

The reading passages weren’t hard, either, but so much reading when he wasn’t used to it did make Harry’s head hurt. (He hadn’t really read on his own in over a year, Harry realized suddenly.) The questions were harder than Harry was used to, though Jason had at least made sure Harry was familiar with basic reading strategies. So Harry did the best he could, then took a break to rest his head and his eyes.

He glanced around the library, still marveling over the fact that this was his home now, then looked over his shoulder and just around a bookshelf to catch sight of Jason. Harry bit down a smile at the way Jason was rubbing his forehead with the eraser end of the pencil before moving to chew on it and then finally lowering the tip to write his answer.

Then Alfred, dusting nearby (except Harry was pretty sure he was supervising and the dusting was a pretense), caught him looking around and gave him a raised eyebrow that sent a shiver down his spine. Harry gave the old butler a shy, apologetic smile before returning to the test.

The science section was fun, too. Tim had taught Harry a lot about science in his rooftop rants, and Harry had even helped Tim with his homework a few times! (Well, Tim had taught Harry what was on his homework, but it still counted!) And science had been Harry’s favorite subject, before…well, before. The math was a little harder, though Harry didn’t get very far into it before Alfred made them take a break for lunch.

They still weren’t allowed to talk, but Alfred didn’t know that Harry and Jason were both experienced with sign language. So while they ate in the garden (at Alfred’s insistence that the fresh air would be good for their brains), Harry and Jason made a game of signing at each other—not about the test, of course (neither of them condoned cheating), but about lots of other things—whenever Alfred wasn’t looking, to see how long they could go without getting caught.

They managed to make it about ten minutes before Alfred caught the tail end of one of Jason’s signed replies. The Eyebrow of Disappointment, as Jason had dubbed it (and Dick wholeheartedly approved), was immediately raised. Harry and Jason both lowered their hands, sheepish but not fearful. The tiny, tiny uptick to the corners of Alfred’s mouth was telling—he approved of them finding a loophole, even if he disapproved of how they were taking advantage of it.

When lunch was over, they returned to the test, and Harry found it easier to concentrate after the fresh air. So maybe Alfred had a point. He struggled through the math as it got harder, though, until finally he simply didn’t know even how to even begin solving the next question. His lower lip trembling, Harry left the rest of the section blank—as Alfred had said they could do—and moved on to the history.

History was even harder. Harry knew a few basic facts, but he’d learned British history, not American history! He didn’t know about Jamestown, only vaguely remembered something about pilgrims and a tea party in Boston Harbor? He didn’t think those two events were related, but Harry couldn’t remember. He didn’t know. And for the first time in a long time, Harry wondered if there might not have been some truth to Dudley’s (and Petunia’s) favorite insult: stupid freak!

Biting his lip and holding back tears, Harry did his very best. But his best wouldn’t be enough, he already knew. He’d fail. Even if he only failed this section, Harry would fail, and then Jason would be disappointed, and maybe he’d leave like everyone else had, and then even this big amazing manor with an even bigger brother who was determined to spoil him would feel empty and cold.

Blinking back more tears, Harry finally was forced to leave the majority of the history section blank. Then he closed the test booklet and pushed it aside, trying not to cry because he was wearing his contacts and he didn’t want to ruin them, and because crying only made things worse.

(Except he’d cried when he got the contacts, and Bruce hadn’t scolded him. But they had been in public, and Harry hadn’t been alone with him since. Maybe he was just waiting for the right moment.)

Soon enough, Alfred came over and picked up the test booklet. “Master Jason isn’t finished yet, so you can read here quietly or I’ll show you out through the secondary entrance so you can play elsewhere.”

Harry sniffed and rubbed his cheeks impatiently. “C-can I just put my head down?” he asked softly. He didn’t want to be separated from Jason, even if he couldn’t really see him or talk to him right now.

“You may,” Alfred said gently. “I’ll bring you some tea once I’ve put your testing things away.”

Harry sniffed and nodded. “Thank you.”

With that, Alfred took his test booklet, pencil, eraser, and his empty water bottle and swept away. Harry put his head down and tried not to cry, already dreading the idea of getting put in a lower grade because of the test and getting made fun of for being stupid. Maybe he was stupid.

Harry must have drifted off, because the next thing he noticed was a familiar hand shaking his shoulder lightly.

“Wake up, little hawk!” Jason whisper-shouted. “We’re free!”

Harry blinked and lifted his head. Jason’s brow furrowed.

“You okay, little hawk?”

Harry bit his lip, for the first time contemplating lying. Because what if Jason also thought he was stupid because he didn’t know history? Harry couldn’t bear it if Jason were to leave him.

Instead of lying, Harry just shrugged. It was as much an admission as anything else.

Jason frowned slightly, then seized Harry and slung him over one shoulder—something Dick had taken to doing with Jason the moment he realized he could (and never failed to end with Jason’s flailing fists and screeches of protest that were less and less insistent as the weeks passed). And Jason was determined to pass on the indignity because Harry laughed at him every time.

Harry yelped as he suddenly found himself upside-down. “Hey! Lemme down!” he protested, half-laughing and startling himself with the laughter in his own voice.

“Nope! You’re gonna mope all afternoon if I put you down. We’re gonna explore the creek before it gets too cold. And if you’re still pouting when we get there, I’m tossing you in.”

“No!” Harry protested, still half-laughing. “I’ll stop pouting, promise!”

Jason grinned and righted Harry, settling him (awkwardly) on his hip instead. “You better. C’mon. Let’s go.”

“Put me down!” Harry wriggled and squirmed until Jason was forced to release him. Then Harry took off for the back door, laughing as Jason chased after him.

Chapter Text

September: Back to School – Part 1

A week and a half later, Harry and Jason received the results of their aptitude tests. Harry had almost forgotten about them until Alfred handed him the envelope with his name on it ten days before the end of September. (It had been six weeks! Six whole weeks in a manor with two big brothers and Tim’s frequent visits after school and food and his own room that he’d decorated himself and an actual bed and it was the best six weeks ever!)

Harry was terrified. If he did better than Jason, would Bruce (or Jason?!) be mad? If he did poorly, would Bruce (or Jason?!) be mad? He knew he did poorly. He’d had to skip almost half of the math section, and he’d only been able to answer ten questions about history. Ten! Out of fifty! He was gonna get teased, or yelled at, and Bruce would finally know he’d made a mistake taking in the Freak and then he’d be kicked out and—

In other words, Harry just couldn’t win.

“There’s no need to be scared, Harry,” Bruce said gently.

Harry squeaked and looked up with wide eyes, only just realizing his hands were shaking around the envelope containing his test scores.

“I won’t be mad no matter what your results are,” Bruce continued. “If you did well, that’s great! If there are some things you struggled with, that’s okay, too. I’m here to help you, and so are Dick and Jason and Alfred.”

Harry couldn’t help but protest. “B-but, wh-what if I did better than Jason? W-what if I make him look bad?”

Jason snorted. “Harry, if you did better than me, I’ll be beyond proud because that would make you a child genius.”

“And I would never pit the two of you against one another,” Bruce added firmly. “You are two different people, with vastly different talents and interests, despite having some experiences in common. Frankly, I’d be worried if you were too similar. Your results are your own, and reflect nothing more or less than your own capabilities.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Y-you promise? Y-you won’t be mad?” he asked softly. “E-even if…even if I failed?”

“I promise I won’t be mad about any of your school grades, from now until whenever you’re done with school. I may be disappointed if it looks like you’re not trying your best, but I will never be mad.”

Hesitantly, Harry nodded.

“Let’s open them together, okay, little hawk?” Jason suggested.

Harry took a deep breath. “Okay.”

They shared a look, silently counting down, then tore open the envelopes at roughly the same time. Then Harry pulled out his score sheets.

He blinked. There were a lot of numbers and graphs and percentages that didn’t make sense. But after a moment, he found the corner where the actual score was reported in a number over 1600. (Harry didn’t understand why that number, though.) Each section was scored out of 800 and added together for the final score.

Scanning through the papers, Harry was pleased to see that most of his scores were at or near the 700 mark. His English score was at seven hundred twenty-three! And his science score was at six hundred fifty-eight!

His history score, though, was below five hundred.

Harry’s face fell and his lower lip trembled as he set his papers down.

“What’s wrong, lad?” Bruce asked, reaching for the papers. “May I?”

Harry flinched at movement. Bruce immediately withdrew with an apology.

Harry bit his lip, then, slowly, his hands shaking, he slid the papers toward Bruce.

Bruce picked them up, scanning the scores.

“I didn’t do good in history,” Harry barely whispered.

“Did you try your best?”

Harry nodded. “But there—there were so many names and dates and I didn’t know any of them.”

“You did primary school in a different country, Harry,” Jason stated. “Of course you don’t know American history. I bet you’d smoke me in British history, though.”

Harry smiled shyly. “I bet you don’t know about King Alfred,” he said. “Everyone knows about King Alfred.”

Jason laughed. “You hear that, Alfie? You’re named after a king!”

(Harry hid a smile at the new nickname Jason had given Alfred.)

Alfred, who had just entered to provide them with refreshments, smiled faintly. “I do recall my father once mentioning something to that effect. Would you refresh my memory, Master Harry?”

Harry nodded. “He’s the king who finally united all the little kingdoms England used to be under one king!”

“That’s a really cool fact,” Bruce said, smiling.

Harry preened.

“And all your other scores look good, Harry. How did you get so good at English, though? Some of these questions are sixth grade level.”

“Jason read to me all the time, and we’d talk about the books when we were cold and hungry and needed a distraction,” Harry answered quickly, his smile growing. “He taught me lots of new words, too,” he added eagerly. “Like patronize and eviscerate.”

Jason snorted.

Bruce coughed. “I see.” Then he cleared his throat and turned to Jason. “Jaylad, how do your scores look?”

Jason shrugged, his cheeks going pink at his own new nickname. “Pretty average, except for English,” he said dismissively. “I scored pretty high on that one.”

“May I?”

Jason shrugged again and passed over his stack of score sheets. Bruce flipped through them and nodded.

“It looks like you’re perfectly on track to enter seventh grade at Gotham Academy, then, Jaylad. Though I’d recommend you for the advanced English class.”

Jason ducked his head, flushing a little. Harry poked him, giggling.

“Harry, you’re a little behind fourth grade in history, but on a fifth grade level in English and science.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Really? I could go to fifth grade?” He could skip up a grade? Even though he failed history?!

He could be with Tim!

“Well, you have some choices,” Bruce clarified.

Harry went still, watching him carefully.

“On the one hand, you’ll definitely struggle in fifth grade history, though of course we’ll help you in any way you need,” Bruce began.

Help? They’d help him with his schoolwork?! Well, Dick had helped him study for the tests, and even Bruce had dropped a few test-taking strategies and trivia in the days leading up to them.

Was this real? Could school…actually be a good thing? Something Harry didn’t have to dread?

“—the other hand, I think you’d be bored in fourth grade science and English.”

Harry stiffened, realizing he hadn’t been listening. “Um. W-what does that mean?” he asked, then he froze as Bruce turned his full attention on Harry.

“Well, one option is you go to fourth grade, where you’ll be in the regular fourth grade electives, homeroom, and math and history, but you attend the fifth grade English and science classes,” Bruce said, addressing Harry directly. And he wasn’t yelling! (And he was answering Harry’s question! Without getting mad!)

“That will help you get to know people right in your age group while still keeping you from being bored,” Bruce continued. “The other option is to put you in fifth grade, where you’ll be with older kids all day, and either I or a tutor help you catch up in history.”

A tutor? Bruce would hire a tutor to help him?! This had to be a dream!

Harry pinched himself. It hurt.

Bruce continued talking. “You’re good enough in math that you shouldn’t struggle too much with the fifth grade level work, but Dick would love to help you with that, or the tutor can cover both subjects if it proves to be a problem.”

Harry blinked, only half understanding his choices and not understanding why Bruce was being so…so accommodating! (Was it a trick?)

Jason clarified. “Basically, you either get a tutor for history and go to fifth grade, or you go to fourth grade for everything but English and science.”

Oh. That was easier to understand. But still, a tutor? Just for Harry? (For the Freak?)

Bruce cleared his throat. “Yes. Thank you, Jason.”

Harry didn’t fully believe it yet. But he really, really would rather go up a grade than down.

Harry bit his lip. “C-can I go to fifth grade?”

Bruce nodded. He nodded! Just like that!

“I can arrange that. Any particular reason you don’t want to be with your peer group, though?”

Harry hunched his shoulders a little. “Tim’s in fifth grade,” he nearly whispered.

Selfish freak!

Harry shook away the echo of Vernon’s voice and looked at Bruce. Still big, but his expression was so gentle.

And…confused? “Isn’t Tim your age?” he asked.

Harry nodded. “But he started kindergarten early, he said.”

“Ah. It would be nice for you to already have a friend when you start.” Bruce nodded.

He nodded! Again! Just like that!

“Okay, then. I’ll talk to the principal and get you enrolled for fifth grade. Would you like me or Alfred to tutor you in history, or would you prefer I hire someone?”

Harry blinked. “I get to choose?” Wait. “You would tutor me?” Bruce would tutor him? Batman would tutor him?!

“I would love to tutor you,” Bruce said with a soft smile. “Is that what you’d like?”

Harry hesitated, his shoulders hunching again. “O-only if you’re not too busy,” he said softly.

Bruce smiled. “I won’t promise to be available every day, because sometimes there are emergencies, but I’ll do my best to make time for you. If ever I’m not available, Alfred would be happy to help.”

Harry looked over at Alfred, who was still there, listening quietly. “Would you really help tutor me?”

“I’d be delighted to, Master Harry. I will also ensure that, whenever possible, Master Bruce makes time in his schedule for you.” Alfred gave Bruce a stern look.

Bruce smiled sheepishly. “Message received, Alfred.”

That…that was so easy. This…this was too good to be true!

But so was everything else Harry had experienced in the past month. It hadn’t disappeared yet. And they were talking about school. That meant Bruce was planning to keep them for a long time! At least a whole year!

“So…when do we start school, then?” Jason asked, faux-casual as a barely-contained smile threatened to break across his face.

“It will probably take about a week to get all the papers filed, and we’ll need to get you both fitted for uniforms…” Bruce mused. “Today’s Tuesday, so…probably next Monday, to make it easier on everyone,” he said. “While we’re out getting your uniforms, we can also pick up school supplies.”

Uniforms? School supplies?

More shopping?

“C-can Dick come?” Harry asked shyly. Dick had made their first shopping trip fun.

Bruce smiled.

He smiled! No don’t ask questions, freak or none of your business, freak, or how dare you ask for something so selfish, freak!

“He’s with his friends today, but why don’t you call him?” Bruce continued. He passed over his phone. “You can share your scores, too. I bet he’ll be proud.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “R-really?”

“Really. Jason can chime in, too.”

“What day should we tell him?” Jason asked.

“See when Dick is free, but we can plan on tomorrow or Thursday.”

“Okay.” Jason took the phone (very carefully, glancing repeatedly at Bruce for permission) and opened the contacts app. He scrolled to Dick’s name and pressed “call.”

***

As it turned out, Dick was more than happy to come along. He even offered to come home early, but Bruce pointed out that it was already late afternoon. So Dick agreed that he could wait twelve hours. But he came home that evening anyway.

The next day, since it was their first real outing since their big shopping trip over a month ago, and Harry was unreasonably excited, he dressed his very best: the red hawk shirt, the grey skinny jeans, and his red high-top Converse sneakers. (He smiled remembering Tim had the same ones.) Harry also pulled a black and grey flannel on over the t-shirt, because it was getting chilly outside, and slung his dark grey cross-body bag over his shoulder. Briefly he traced a finger over the printed quote: “Books let your imagination take flight.”

Inside the bag, Harry put his pocket knife, his lucky hawk pin that he’d found in a gutter after just a few days on the street, his wallet! (that was red and real leather with a hawk(!) stamped on it), a water bottle, and some snacks—he and Jason were still not over the habit of carrying their most important possessions and emergency food or cash everywhere they went. Jason had a stash of non-perishable snacks in his room that Harry helped add to when he could. But whereas Jason had no trouble stealing from the pantry, Harry was too scared to.

Glancing at himself in the full-length mirror on the inside of his closet door, Harry nodded in approval. He only wished he could do something with his hair. It hung long and wavy down to his chin, and while he liked it most of the time, he did get annoyed with it in his face sometimes. Especially when it was windy outside.

Dick had long hair, too. How did he do it?

Oh! Maybe Dick could help!

Harry dashed across the hall and knocked on Dick’s door.

“Come in!”

Harry slipped inside just in time to see Dick’s head emerge from a white graphic tee. He shook his hair out of his face, then grinned. “Hey there, hawklet. Don’t you look cool?”

Harry smiled, his cheeks flushing in pleasure at the nickname Dick had given him. It never failed to make him feel special.

“Hi. C-can you help me do something with my hair?”

Dick smirked. “Of course! After all, I am an expert.” He flipped his own long hair over his shoulder with a dramatic flourish. “Come on.”

Dick guided him into the en-suite bathroom and lifted him up (extra-high!), then plopped him on the counter. “Fancy or casual?”

“Casual, please.”

“Anything in particular you had in mind?” Dick asked, running his fingers through Harry’s hair experimentally.

(Harry leaned into the touch with a happy sigh.)

“I don’t like it in my face when it’s windy.”

Dick smiled. “Then I’ve got just the thing. Turn around.”

Harry obediently turned around to face the mirror, sitting cross-legged on the wide bathroom counter and trying not to knock over any of the many bottles Dick had spread around the sink.

Using his fingers to comb out any tangles, Dick pulled half of Harry’s hair back and secured it with an elastic. Harry’s hair was just long enough to pull back, but too short to leave anything more than a little tuft at the back.

“Done! Turn back around, and take a look.” Dick held up a hand mirror in front of Harry, facing the big mirror, and positioned the reflection so Harry could see the back of his head.

He giggled at the little tuft of hair. Then he shook his head vigorously. A few strands came loose, but the majority of it stayed back, and the tuft was undisturbed.

“You like it?”

Harry nodded. “Thank you!”

Dick smiled at him and lightly ruffled his hair. “You’re welcome, hawklet. Go make sure Jason is ready while I get my shoes on, ‘kay?”

Harry nodded again and hopped off the counter, then hurried across the hall to Jason’s room.

“Just a sec!” Jason called when Harry knocked. Harry waited, rocking back on his heels with his hands behind his back. A moment later, Jason opened the door.

His eyes widened, then he grinned at seeing Harry’s outfit. “We match,” Jason stated. “Well, sort of.”

Jason was wearing a plain red t-shirt over his own grey skinny jeans, his red combat boots, and a black denim jacket over the t-shirt. He also carried his own cross-body bag.

Harry giggled. “We do.”

Jason flicked Harry’s little ponytail as he followed him out the door. “Dick help you with that?”

“Yep. I got tired of my hair in my face.”

“I don’t understand how Dick can keep his hair so long,” Jason said, shaking his head. (He’d gotten his shaggy curls trimmed just a week ago.) “It would drive me crazy.”

“Believe me, little wing. It drives me crazy, too,” Dick chimed in as he joined them in the hallway. (Jason pinked at the relatively new nickname.) “And that is why it’s in a stupid little bun today instead of long and flowing and elegant.”

Harry giggled at Dick’s phrasing. His hair was tied back in a ponytail, but with the tail pulled only halfway through, and Harry spotted at least four bobby pins restraining a number of stray hairs on each side. Dick also wore black jeans tucked into combat boots, and slung a black motorcycle jacket over his shoulder as he closed his bedroom door.

“It is a stupid-looking bun,” Jason stated.

Dick narrowed his eyes and playfully ruffled Jason’s hair. Harry was glad to see Jason only flinched a tiny bit, and he didn’t protest or complain. (He did make a face, though.)

“Come on. I bet we’re ready before Bruce is. Maybe we can snatch another scone before we have to leave.”

Grinning, Harry took Dick’s offered hand, grabbed Jason’s, and eagerly followed Dick down into the kitchen.

They did have to wait a few minutes for Bruce, and they did get the extra scone. Harry was still getting used to the idea that he could eat whenever he wanted; all he had to do was ask Alfred, or pick a snack from the part of the pantry Alfred had pointed out as being especially for them, at any time.

Bruce eventually joined them, wearing a white Henley shirt under a dark jacket, black jeans, and black sneakers. “Everyone ready?”

“Ready before you,” Dick said, grinning. “Honestly, you’d think with three kids, you’d be the one waiting.”

“I guess you kids are just faster and more independent than most,” Bruce stated. “Let’s get going, then.” He led the way out to the garage, where he picked one of the more nondescript models (that probably still cost as much as the Dursleys’ house had). They all piled in, and then they were on their way!

A few moments later, they were pulling up in front of a tailor shop in the nicer shopping area in town—an area Harry had never been to. Harry had also never, ever been to a tailor. He knew they existed, because Uncle Vernon had always complained that he couldn’t get his suits tailored. But never in his life had Harry ever imagined he’d be going to one, and for something as simple as a school uniform, too. After an hour of measurements, poking, prodding, and tutting—in Jason’s words, an hour of torture—the assistant had a notepad full of their measurements, and said their Gotham Academy uniforms would be ready for pickup in three hours.

It was a relief to leave for a more normal store. Well, if normal meant a specialty stationary store in a shopping center full of specialty stores. It was overwhelming getting new supplies for once. Harry had always been stuck with Dudley’s half-used, battered notebooks and broken pencil stubs. But Bruce insisted on getting him and Jason a different colored notebook for each subject—and Jason had seven!—plus a fancy zip case for pens and pencils. They both also got binders and notebook paper, markers, colored pencils, highlighters, and a dozen other little things that Harry had never imagined a kid would ever need just for school.

After the fourth or fifth time Harry or Jason protested that they didn’t need all this, Dick chuckled and said, “Just go with it. Spending excessive amounts of money is how Bruce shows he cares.”

Harry blinked. That—that was so opposite what he was used to. But…in a certain way, it made sense. The Dursleys had avoided spending money on him because they didn’t care. So…so Harry supposed he could accept the idea that Bruce going out of his way to spend money on Harry meant he did care.

Harry still wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea of an adult actually caring for and about him. But if it was always like this…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

When they finally finished getting their things at the stationary store, they went to a music store to buy Harry a recorder, because he’d be learning to play one in his fifth grade music class. And it wasn’t a boring standard one. It was green, a pretty forest green, with a woven neck strap and a black cloth case and a pretty wooden box for long-term storage. Harry had only looked at it for a second or two longer than the rest, and suddenly Bruce was buying it.

He tried very, very hard not to look too long at the really fancy guitars on display.

Their next stop was a store specializing in seasonal and outdoor sports wear. Bruce explained that since it was getting colder, they might as well get coats now, with a little room to grow. And, he said gently to Harry,

“If you’re going to keep running with Dick in the evenings, you’ll need something warmer than track pants and a t-shirt.”

(Dick had started teaching Harry acrobatics a few weeks ago, but insisted they run together to build stamina before doing anything complicated. So they went running together almost every day when Dick was home.)

Reluctantly, Harry agreed. So they went inside.

The store was way bigger inside than it had looked from the outside. The store front was two stories, but it had been narrow. Inside, it was sooo much bigger. And Harry gaped at the sheer variety of sports wear available. From swim trucks and wet suits to running and hiking clothes to ski coats, Harry was certain they had everything.

“Let’s get some warm running and exercise gear first. Then we can explore the other sections. Fair?”

Harry nodded, still somewhat dazed.

Jason chuckled as his expression, then sobered. “Can I—can I go look at the hiking stuff?” he asked tentatively.

“Sure. We’ll meet you over there,” Bruce said.

Jason nodded, then gave Harry a little wave and walked away.

Dick immediately took Harry’s hand and led him to the winter exercise gear. After some debate, and some hesitance on Harry’s part, they settled on two pairs of fleece-lined pants, a pair of fleece leggings, two long-sleeved shirts designed for warmth and breathability, a fleece pullover jacket, a hat, and running gloves that were thin but surprisingly warm.

“It’s so much, though,” Harry didn’t whine.

“I’ve got similar clothes at home, kiddo,” Dick said with a smile. “It just seems like a lot since you’re buying it all at once, instead of one or two things at a time like I did. So, unless you hit a major growth spurt all of a sudden, you’ll probably never have to buy so much at once ever again.” Dick lightly ruffled his hair (taking care not to mess up Harry’s half-ponytail).

“Do you want a pair of running shoes, too?” Bruce asked. “Sneakers just for running in?”

Harry shook his head. “My sneakers are fine,” he said softly.

“Okay, then. Let’s go see what Jason’s up to.” Bruce lightly touched Harry’s back and guided him toward the hiking section. (Harry was proud of himself when he hardly flinched at all at Bruce’s proximity and light touch.)

They found Jason in front of the wall of hiking boots. He turned at their approach, quickly hiding something behind his back.

“Whacha got there, little wing?” Dick asked with a grin. Harry smiled again at the nickname Dick had coined for Jason. Jason blushed, but scowled in an attempt to disguise it.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure we can get it,” Bruce said.

Jason bit his lip, then slowly revealed his find.

Harry gasped. “Those—those are my boots!”

“Your old ones are too small for you now,” Jason said shyly. “So…I thought I’d look, and…well, I found them. In your new size, with room to grow.”

Harry looked up at Jason, his eyes wide and filling with tears. “You…you found them for me?”

Jason shrugged uncomfortably. “Well, yeah. I know how attached you were, and…they’re not exactly the same, but…”

“That’s so sweet of you, little wing,” Dick gushed, miming wiping away a tear.

“You—you said we could get them. Right, Bruce?” Jason challenged.

Bruce smiled a little. “I did say that. Yes, we can. Actually, it might be nice to plan a hiking trip one weekend soon, so Harry has a good reason to wear them.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “R-really? We-we can get them? And…and you’ll take us actual hiking?”

“Sure. It’s been a while since we’ve been on a family trip. What do you think, Dick?”

“I think…that I’m gonna need some new hiking boots,” Dick replied, grinning. “And since Harry’s the expert, he can help me and Jason choose some. What do you think, Harry?”

Harry’s eyes widened even further, and he nodded eagerly. “Yes!”

With Harry’s enthusiastic assistance, it wasn’t long before all three of them were leaving with new hiking boots, nice coats and hiking pants for Harry and Jason, and some specialty hiking socks made of real wool. And plans were made for another shopping trip in a week or two for gear! (Harry couldn’t wait!)

By then, it was lunchtime. So they stopped at a cafe nearby for a light lunch before going to pick up Harry’s and Jason’s uniforms for school. They had to try them on at the store to make sure everything fit. In the changing room, Harry was shocked at how different the uniform made him look. He looked…well, he looked like a rich kid. Which he had mixed feelings about. But more than that, he looked normal, part of a crowd he would soon meet. Harry had always wanted to be normal. He wasn’t sure that was possible anymore (being adopted by a multi-millionaire was kind of not normal already) but he could at least look the part.

And as he took off the uniform and traded it for his regular clothes, Harry found himself excited.

Before they left the tailor’s shop, they picked up some Gotham Academy approved outerwear and uniform shoes off the racks, as well as gym clothes. They both had blazers as part of the uniform, but there were also sweater vests, cardigans, and pullover jackets, as well as sports jackets, sweat pants, and branded hoodies. Harry really liked the hoodie, which came in either navy blue or light grey with the Academy crest in gold, while Jason preferred the navy sports jacket. Harry couldn’t decide if he liked the blue or the grey better, so Dick told him he could have both. So, with Bruce’s approval, Harry did. He and Jason also each got a pair of shorts, a pair of sweatpants, and two t-shirts for gym. Harry got one grey and one blue; both of Jason’s were grey.

As the shop assistant rang up their extra purchases, Harry found his excitement growing. He was sure he had never been this excited about school before. But the next several days just couldn’t pass quickly enough. Even with Tim coming over on Thursday and again on Saturday, both times eagerly gushing about his latest skateboarding tricks and how excited he was that Harry was joining him in fifth grade, Harry still wished there was a way to speed up time.

Chapter Text

September: Back to School – Part 2

Finally, it was Monday morning. For the first time ever, Harry woke to an alarm (that wasn’t his aunt pounding on his door telling him to hurry). At first he groaned and rolled over, still tired after going to bed late the night before. Then he remembered that today was his first day of school and excitement flooded through him.

Eagerly, Harry pulled on his uniform of dark grey slacks, a white button-down, and his navy Gotham Academy hoodie under his blazer. (He’d tried it over the blazer, but the blazer had bunched up uncomfortably, so Harry swapped them.) He pulled his hair into the little half-ponytail (Dick had showed him how) and brushed his teeth. Then Harry checked his backpack to make sure all his supplies were inside, and deep in the front pocket, under his pencil case, he stashed his pocket knife. His hawk pin he slipped into his pants pocket.

Then Harry grabbed his shoes, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and hurried downstairs for breakfast. He was the first one. Harry put his shoes and backpack next to the chair and jumped to help Alfred set out the last of the food—after one too many incidents, either of Harry panicking that he was too late to make breakfast or because Alfred told him he couldn’t help, they’d come to an understanding: if Harry was early enough (by accident, not by design), he could help Alfred set out breakfast, and on Thursdays he could help cook dinner. Wednesday was Jason’s day to help, after Alfred found him cooking tomato soup for lunch one day while Alfred was out shopping and Dick and Bruce were busy (Dick and Bruce were banned from the kitchen).

“Good morning, Master Harry,” Alfred greeted him with a smile and a nod. “The platter of fruit is on the counter by the stove. That’s the last thing to bring out.”

Harry nodded and hurried to get it, then made himself slow down enough to carry it carefully to the table. He sat down just as Jason entered, stifling a yawn. He was dressed, too, and dropped his backpack at the base of his chair as he sat down.

“Good morning, Master Jason. I’ve prepared some of your favorites on this special occasion of your first day at school.”

Jason smiled a little. “Thanks, Alfie.”

He and Harry happily ate their fill of pancakes, bacon, and hash browns, then they raced upstairs to brush their teeth and make sure they had everything.

When they returned, Bruce was there, ready to drive them over.

“But I thought Alfred—?” Jason trailed off, looking uncertain.

“Most days, Alfred will be the one dropping you off. But I thought I’d do it today, since it’s your first day,” Bruce said with a smile. “Every once in a while, if he’s awake, Dick might drive you, too. But he’s rarely out of bed before nine these days. So are you two ready?”

Harry nodded, tightening his hands on his backpack straps. Jason shrugged beside him. Bruce nodded, then led the way to the garage and to his most nondescript car. The drive started out full of Harry’s excited chatter, though most of it was directed at Jason, and the older boy’s indulgent responses. But as they drew closer to the school, they both fell silent as nerves crept back in.

Soon enough, the school was in view. The school was, in fact, two large buildings situated on several acres of land, separated by more than a mile. These were the elementary and middle school branches of the Academy. The high school branch that made up the main school was on a hill several miles away, in an old repurposed 18th-century cathedral and manor house, linked by newer constructions in between.

Harry did a double-take when he saw the two separate buildings. “We’re…in separate buildings?”

“Well, yeah. They’re not gonna house the babies with the older kids,” Jason said. “What did you expect?”

“I thought…well, first through seventh are all in the same building, back…back in England. And the eighth graders were part of secondary.”

“They do things a little differently here in the States, I guess,” Bruce said.

“But…that means Jason and me…we’ll be separated. I…I won’t see him at all until school is over.” Harry bit his lip so it wouldn’t quiver. “This…will be the farthest and the longest we’ve ever been separated. Ever.” (And Harry had only just graduated from sneaking into Jason’s room every other night to sleep with him, having become accustomed to his proximity over the last year.)

Jason squeezed his hand. “You’ll be fine, little hawk,” he said quietly. “I’m just a building away. If you shout loud enough, I’m sure I’ll hear you.”

Harry gave a reluctant giggle.

“I know this is going to be a big change for both of you. There are going to be some hard parts, and a lot of adjustments,” Bruce explained as he pulled into the car pool line at the middle school.

“Just think of all the cool stories you’ll get to tell me this afternoon,” Jason said. “And of all the mischief you and Tim will get up to without me.”

Harry smiled reluctantly at the idea of Tim being with him. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

“See? You’ll be fine,” Jason added, poking Harry’s cheek. “This is my stop. I’ll see you later, little hawk.” He hesitated, glancing at Bruce, then signed to Harry, ‘I love you.’

Biting his lip, Harry signed it back. “Bye, Jason,” he added with a reluctant wave.

Jason waved back, then slid out of the car and turned to face the school. He seemed to take a deep breath, readjusting his backpack on his shoulders, then marched forward. He soon merged with the other arriving students.

“Okay, Harry?” Bruce asked as he pulled out of the line.

Harry set his jaw. “I’m okay.”

“Just wait. Once you and Tim get to playing, you’ll forget all about missing Jason.”

Harry made a non-committal noise and tightened his hands on his backpack straps.

Soon enough, it was Harry’s turn to get out. His stomach churned with nerves, but Harry was determined to be brave like Jason.

“Have a good day, Harry,” Bruce said as Harry got out of the car.

Harry hummed in acknowledgment and took a deep breath, then shrugged his shoulders to resettle his backpack before marching forward like Jason had done.

Harry’s nerves only got worse as he entered the school itself. Especially because he had to go to the principal’s office first to get directions to his new homeroom class and a bunch of other boring forms. Dick had warned him about that—that the first day or two would be absolutely horrible no matter what. Ever since submitting the adoption paperwork, Harry was officially a Wayne. And, like it or not, the Wayne name was famous. Carrying it would already draw attention. Being a new student, and technically foreign on top of it, meant Harry would probably endure stares at the least, and nasty rumors and bullying at worst. Harry was no stranger to any of that. At least here, though, there wouldn’t be one person who had it out for him personally.

He hoped.

The principal handed Harry his class schedule and a few other papers, then directed him down the hall to the back half of the school and around the corner to the left for Mr. Aldmin’s class. That was Harry’s homeroom teacher, and he also taught math. Harry was disappointed that he wasn’t in Tim’s homeroom—he remembered Tim’s homeroom teacher was Mrs. Caldwell. But hopefully they’d still see each other.

The first couple hours went about as Harry expected. After introducing him to the class, Mr. Aldmin had immediately started on the day’s advisory lesson. Something about building social skills and connections? Harry tried to pay attention, but the rest of his table was staring at him, and one of them kept muttering under his breath. Some of the other students were whispering, too.

Harry kept his eyes forward, dutifully taking notes and completing the worksheet that was passed out and trying to ignore the churning in his stomach and the fluttering of his too-fast heartbeat. His hand kept reaching impulsively, only to close on empty air because Jason wasn’t there. So Harry clutched his pencil too tightly and tried to distract himself.

After the morning advisory, they had a ten-minute break before their first subject, math.

A few people tried to talk to Harry, among them a girl with blonde pigtails who introduced herself as Stephanie “but call me Steph!” and a boy who introduced himself with so much pomp that Harry had laughed despite himself. Offended, the boy huffed and stormed away without another word.

Steph stuck her tongue out after him. “Loser!”

“He was just trying to be nice,” Harry mumbled.

Steph snorted. “Trust me, Harrikins, when someone introduces themselves like that, they want you to pay attention to how important their daddy is.”

Harry squeaked. “H-Harrikins?”

Steph grinned. “I give everyone nicknames. For example, he’s Pompous Buttface.”

Harry snorted, tried to stop himself, then burst into stifled laughter. Steph smirked, her eyes glinting. “I knew you would understand. You just don’t look stuffy enough to be a Wayne.”

Harry smiled shyly. “I’m…adopted, actually,” he admitted. “Like, really recently.”

“Hmm. I think I saw that in the papers, way in the back pages. A tiny little blurb, really.” Steph grinned again. “I only saw it ‘cuz I was using the newspaper to make papier mache.”

“What’d you make?” Harry asked.

Steph leaned in, like she was about to tell a grand secret. “A bomb,” she whispered.

“A bomb?” Harry barely whispered.

“Not a real one, duh. I was gonna fill it with glitter paint and rig it to a door so it would drop on my dad. But he caught me before I could.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “W-what did he do?”

A brief shadow crossed Steph’s face before she wiped it away and shrugged. “Gave me a stern talking-to about the proper use of my arts and crafts materials. I thought I was being creative.”

“I—I think so, too. I-I like arts and crafts, too. Like cord and leather and stuff, though.”

Steph lit up. “Can you make bracelets and stuff?”

Harry flushed. “I’ve only made one so far. It took me hours and hours of practice to get it right.”

“Can I see?”

“I’m not wearing it. I…I gave it to my brother for his birthday,” Harry said shyly, smiling a little at claiming Jason as his brother to an outsider.

“Aw, that’s nice. I wish I had a brother. But I’m an only child. It’s boring being the only kid around sometimes.”

“I guess.”

“Break’s over! Back in your seats!” Mr. Aldmin called, clapping his hands three times in a distinct pattern. The rest of the class clapped back, echoing the pattern. Harry was a little late on the uptake, though.

“Don’t worry about it; it took the whole class weeks to learn it,” Steph murmured as they returned to their seats. “You’ll catch on fast.”

“Thanks,” Harry murmured back as they separated.

Their first subject was math, and Harry knew right away he’d have to ask for help from someone to catch up. Thankfully, Mr. Aldmin walked him through the steps the class had already learned after assigning their classwork, so he wasn’t as lost.

Maybe Steph would be able to help him. She seemed smart, if she could make a glitter bomb out of papier mache. Or maybe Tim.

After math was science, and they had to switch classrooms. This was so different from what Harry had expected that he automatically fell in beside Steph as the class filed out, sticking close to the one thing that was (sort of) familiar as his stomach clenched with nerves again.

Mrs. Caldwell was the science teacher, and Harry caught a glimpse of Tim as his class was leaving. Immediately Harry felt more secure. Everyone was chatting quietly, so Harry didn’t feel out of place calling out to him.

“Tim!” Harry called, waving.

Tim turned, then grinned brightly. “Hi, Harry! We can’t talk much now, but I’ll see you at lunch!”

“Save me a seat!”

“I will!”

Grinning, feeling the last of his nerves settle, Harry was more than ready to start his favorite class. In this room, it looked like they didn’t have assigned seats. Harry picked an empty desk, and Steph immediately plopped down next to him, grinning.

“Thought you’d be lonely,” she quipped.

Harry smiled shyly. “Thanks.”

Steph gave him a thumbs-up, then they both turned their attention to Mrs. Caldwell as she began her lesson. Harry eagerly took notes, glad that he understood everything Mrs. Caldwell was saying.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Steph doodling in her notebook, her lips pursed and her brow furrowed. Over about ten minutes, Harry watched a drawing form along the bottom of her page. It featured what looked like a volcano, with an arrow drawn to a…rocket launcher? Aimed at a stick figure with crossed-out eyes. Then Steph scribbled in the space between with her red colored pencil, like fire.

Then Harry realized that he’d missed Mrs. Caldwell’s question. Hiding a blush, Harry returned his attention to the lesson. Then he and Steph worked together on a packet that, according to Mrs. Caldwell, they’d be using as their notes and homework for the whole week. According to Steph, this was normal. Mrs. Caldwell would assign a packet on Monday, refer to it throughout the week, and then do a small project or experiment on Friday using what they’d learned and then they’d turn in the completed packet.

After science was lunch. They returned to their homeroom to get their lunchboxes, which Harry had forgotten was a thing until Alfred handed him his that morning. Not that Harry had ever had one before anyway. If he was lucky enough to bring lunch at all, it was either a loose, wrinkled apple or a squished all-peanut butter sandwich on stale bread, wrapped in plastic.

The lunchbox was one item for school that Bruce had forgotten about, too, so it was lucky Alfred remembered and bought them. Harry’s was hunter green with orange trim, with hawks and deer on it, with an attached matching water bottle. He hadn’t picked it, but he loved it. He wondered how Alfred had somehow known exactly what to get.

Steph’s lunchbox was a brown paper bag with a yellow crayon drawing on it. It looked like a cartoon creature that Harry was pretty sure he’d seen before, but he didn’t immediately recognize it. So he asked.

“Oh, that’s Pikachu, from the Pokemon cartoon. Or does it qualify as an anime?” Steph shrugged. “I don’t know. But I draw a different one every day. It keeps me from being bored while waiting for my mom to get up and cook breakfast. I’ve got a how-to-draw book that I use as a reference.”

“Hmm. That’s neat.” Harry frowned lightly. “I’ve never seen the show before, but I think I’ve seen the cards and toys at the store.”

“Eh. It’s okay. It’s about a kid that travels around collecting Pokemon, which are weird-looking creatures with special powers. I dunno how they can trust a ten-year-old to travel the world on his own with nothing but an oversized yellow mouse with an attitude problem as supervision—as cool as that would be—but they look neat, so.” Steph shrugged again.

Harry made a noise of acknowledgment. They fell into step on the way to the cafeteria, then Harry started scanning for Tim. When he caught Tim’s eye, Harry waved, grinning. Tim waved back and beckoned them forward. He had a school lunch, which looked much better quality than what Harry had gotten at Little Whinging Primary (if Dudley or one of his friends hadn’t made him spill it first). But it also still looked and smelled like a school lunch, so he was glad Alfred had packed something for him.

“Hi, Harry!” Tim grabbed Harry in a hug as soon as he was in range.

Harry squeezed him in return. “Hi, Tim! This is Steph. She’s in my class. Steph, this is Tim.”

Steph bobbed her head. “Hey.” Then she glanced between them. “This isn’t the brother you gave the bracelet to, is it?”

Flushing, Harry shook his head.

Tim lit up. “You think we’re brothers?”

“Um. Other than your eye color, you guys are practically identical.”

Tim and Harry both flushed. “We—we’re not related, no,” Harry corrected softly. “But…” He bit his lip shyly. “He’s still my brother.”

Tim’s flush deepened, though his smile grew. “I’m just his neighbour,” Tim murmured.

“Technicalities are for losers. I say you’re twins.” Steph made a dramatic gesture, tapping each of them on the shoulder once with her juice box. “I dub thee twins.”

Still blushing, Harry and Tim burst into startled giggles. “D-did you just knight us?” Harry stammered through his laughter.

Steph grinned. “Yep. From now on, consider yourselves my knights in shining armor, Sir Harrikins and Sir, uh…” Steph huffed in frustration. “Darn. Your name doesn’t work with that ending. Um. Timkins? Thompkins? No, that’s the Crime Alley doctor. Um. Timmykins?” Steph frowned. “Oh! Tim-Tam!”

Tim squeaked. “Just Tim is fine,” he stammered.

Steph grinned. “Nope. I give everyone nicknames. I told Harry already. So from now on, you’re Tim-Tam.”

Harry leaned over and stage-whispered to Tim, “I’ve only known her for three hours and I already know it’s best not to argue with her.”

Steph pointed at Harry with a celery stick. “You, sir, are a wise man.”

Harry flushed, smiling shyly, and finally unzipped his lunchbox to see what he had. To his delight, he found a cream cheese and turkey wrap, fresh strawberries and cucumber slices with a sweet dip, and a brownie—all his favorites—along with a bag of healthy chips and a note that read, in Alfred’s thin, spidery hand: Good luck on your first day of school, Master Harry. Do enjoy.

“Wow. You’re so lucky to have a home-packed lunch like that,” Tim said, poking in distaste at what passed for macaroni and cheese on his tray.

“I bet Alfred would make you one, too, if you asked,” Harry said. “You’re over every other day anyway. And maybe, if we ask nicely enough, we could give you a ride, too?”

Tim shook his head quickly. “No, that’s okay. I’m fine with the bus. And I would never ask Alfred to make me extra food.”

“Who’s Alfred?” Steph asked around a mouthful of peanut butter sandwich.

“He’s the Wayne butler,” Tim answered, as Harry had just taken a bite of his wrap.

“You have a butler?” Steph asked after she swallowed. “That’s so cool! Man, I keep promising myself I won’t be jealous of all you rich kids, but you make it damn hard sometimes!”

Harry and Tim exchanged a glance. “But you’re attending Gotham Academy,” Tim spoke up. “The tuition is…pretty expensive. If you’re not a rich kid…” he trailed off, but they all heard the unspoken, what are you doing here?

“’M on a Wayne Scholarship,” Steph answered through another bite of peanut butter. “I think my mom applied at random, but somehow I got it. Full ride all the way through sixth grade and everything, uniform and school supplies included.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to thank Bruce, for…helping me find a friend,” Harry said shyly. At least, he really, really hoped Steph would stay his friend.

Steph smiled—a real, genuine smile, not the smirks she’d been giving him all day. It looked nice on her. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll write a letter.”

They enjoyed the rest of their lunch, chatting happily. Harry eventually took pity on Tim, who was making a face at every reluctant bite of the school lunch, and shared out half his lunch with his friend.

“I can ask Alfred to pack me extra, if you don’t want to ask for a lunch of your own,” Harry offered. “I’ll even offer to help prepare it.”

Tim ducked his head. “You’d really do that for me?”

Harry bit his lip, then grinned and bumped Tim’s shoulder. “’Course I will. You’re my twin, after all.” He winked at Steph as he said it.

Steph grinned and nodded in approval.

“Besides,” Harry added quietly while Steph was distracted, “it’s just payback.”

Tim flushed red and smiled shyly. “Okay.”

A few minutes later, they were dismissed from lunch to go to recess, which was combined with the sixth grade. Harry, Tim, and Steph stuck together, and Steph managed to steal a soccer ball from a group of sixth graders, so they spent most of their half-hour outside kicking or tossing it around.

The rest of the day flew by like a breeze. Flushed from recess and thrilled at having a new friend and getting to spend time with Tim, Harry didn’t even get frustrated when Mr. Sullivan, the history teacher, singled him out with a question about the French and Indian War—which Harry knew nothing about. When did the French fight India? Why would the French wage war all the way in India? Wasn’t it England that colonized it?

Of course, when he asked that question, the entire class laughed at him (though Steph’s laughter was softer and less mocking than everyone else’s.)

Mr. Sullivan was distinctly not amused. “The Indians are the native peoples who already lived in America before settlers arrived.”

“But why call them Indians? Isn’t that confusing?” Harry asked. “Why not just call them natives? Or use the name they call themselves? Isn’t there a tribe called the Cherokee or something? Why not just use those names?”

Mr. Sullivan’s face reddened. “That is not the subject of our discussion today. So you will refrain from further questioning on this topic.”

Harry’s brain finally caught up with his mouth and he went instantly silent, shrinking in on himself. He tried not to flinch when Mr. Sullivan swept behind him to move around the classroom again. (He wasn’t very successful).

When he was on the other side of the classroom, his lecture resumed, a small piece of paper folded into a triangle suddenly landed on Harry’s desk. Blinking, Harry glanced around and saw Steph smiling at him, then she mimed unfolding the paper.

Harry did so cautiously, keeping his hands in his desk cubby and his eyes on Mr. Sullivan until the paper was completely unfolded. He glanced down to see a humorous drawing of a group of stick figures carrying what looked like boomerangs chasing another stick figure with a remarkably accurate depiction of Mr. Sullivan’s moustache. Harry giggled, then bit his lip to stifle it. When he next glanced at Steph, she gave him another smile and a subtle thumbs-up.

Pressing his lips together to smother a pleased grin, Harry refolded the drawing and slipped it into his pocket.

History finally ended with a long worksheet due the next day, and then it was time for specials. Harry knew they had gym, music, and art in rotation each week, but he couldn’t remember what today was.

Harry really hoped it wasn’t gym or music, because he didn’t bring his recorder or his gym clothes.

“We’ve got art on Mondays, gym on Tuesdays and Fridays, music on Wednesdays, and computer lab on Thursdays,” Steph supplied as they lined up to go.

“Thanks,” Harry said softly. “For the note, too.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a jerk.”

Harry smiled a little. “Yeah. Kinda.”

Steph bumped his shoulder lightly. “I got your back, Harrikins,” she teased lightly.

Harry smiled bigger, feeling warm all the way to his toes.

In art class, they got to do a free draw, which according to Steph they only did on special occasions, “or when Mrs. Wilcox is too lazy to teach,” she added, grinning. “It happens about once a month. More often around the holidays, though.”

After some thought, Harry decided to try his hand at drawing a hawk. They were allowed to use the computers to look up and print references, so with a little help from Steph (re: a lot of help, because other than the old-fashioned library computers—which Jason had managed while Harry just watched over his shoulder—Harry had very little experience with technology of any kind), Harry looked up some good reference pictures to print off. Steph looked up cat memes. Then they took their reference pages back to their table and got to work.

By the end of the hour, Harry had a pretty decent hawk sketched out on the first page of his sketchbook. He had just started coloring it when time ran out. Sadly, Harry put everything away, silently vowing to finish it as soon as he could. Steph showed him the meme she’d copied, but she’d inverted the colors, “as an experiment,” she said. “I like seeing just how wacky I can make an ordinary picture look.”

“That’s so cool!” Harry exclaimed.

Steph grinned. “Yep.”

They put away their sketchbooks, which Mrs. Wilcox insisted they keep in the classroom so they didn’t get ruined or lost. Then they left again for the last class of the day, the one Harry had been most looking forward to: English.

Steph made a face when she saw how excited he was. But that quickly changed when she figured out that Harry knew more than most of their classmates, and when he was able to fill out his vocabulary sheet halfway all on his own before Mr. Robles even started going through them, Steph begged him (in an undertone) to “teach her his secrets.”

Harry shyly admitted that Jason had just read to him a lot, sometimes even harder books meant for older kids.

Steph screwed up her face. “Ew, reading. The only things I read are ‘Science Experiments for Kids’ and pranking handbooks.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t read a lot on my own either. But I like it when my big brother reads to me.”

“You’re gonna have to introduce me to this big brother of yours, since you mention him so often,” Steph stated.

“If he’s picked up before me, and you haven’t left yet, you could maybe meet him in the car pool line? He’s in the seventh grade,” Harry shyly bragged.

“Ooh, middle school. Cool.”

After that, their conversation had to stop as Mr. Robles began explaining their assignment. They had to write sentences using four of their new vocabulary words, and read the next chapter in their book by Friday. They were reading Number the Stars, which Steph said they’d started the week after school started. (Seeing as it was now the last week of September, that meant Harry had a bit of catching up to do.) They also had a standing assignment to read anything at all for at least twenty minutes a night, and an adult had to sign their reading log.

About ten minutes before school let out, Mr. Robles released them back to their homeroom to collect their things.

In the bustle of collecting their backpacks, jackets, and lunchboxes from their cubbies, some jostling was expected.

What Harry was not expecting was for the boy from that morning, whom Steph had dubbed Pompous Butthead (though Harry thought his name was actually Alexander), to ram into Harry’s shoulder, knocking him flat to the ground, and then kick his leg by “accident” as he walked past.

Harry stared in shock. He wasn’t really hurt, and he wasn’t angry. Not really. But…that was so random. And unexpected. And needlessly cruel. Harry hadn’t even done anything. He had no idea how to react.

Steph tried to shove the boy back, but Harry grabbed her arm. “Let it go,” he said quietly. “You’ll only make it worse.” Then Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If…if he keeps it up, then…then I’ll do something about it.”

“Do what?”

Harry shrugged. “Depends on what he does first.” If Harry was shoved or otherwise physically assaulted, fighting back would only get him in trouble, too. He’d learned that lesson very well with Dudley as his cousin. But if he started with insults…well. Harry was very good at eviscerating people with his words. He’d gotten away with a lot of insults at Dudley simply because his dumb cousin hadn’t understood that he was being insulted in the first place.

“Hmph. Stupid butthead,” Steph muttered.

Harry snickered. He could think of a dozen other, much nastier insults off the top of his head. But then he remembered that these kids were sheltered, and “stupid” was considered a bad word. And he’d probably get in much bigger trouble for cussing if he said any of them out loud. So Harry kept silent.

Steph helped Harry to his feet, then glared over his shoulder at Alexander. Harry’s chest filled with unfamiliar warmth. He smiled shyly and murmured, “Thanks, Steph.”

Steph waved him off. “Just defending my knight,” she said dismissively, but her cheeks were pink.

Harry bit back a smile and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Then the two of them joined the rest of the class as they filed to their pick-up line. He spotted Tim leaving with the walkers, though Harry knew he’d be walking to the bus station. (He’d have to work harder to convince Tim to come home with him.) He waved, and Tim waved back.

Then cold nerves started gnawing in his stomach. There had been dozens of times in primary school that Aunt Petunia had just…left him at school, to find his own way back. In the rain, in the cold, in the scorching heat, Harry had had to walk the mile from the school back to the Dursleys’. In good weather, Dudley had walked, too, and other than recess, those were the times when he and his friends reverted to their favorite game of Harry Hunting.

So Harry didn’t know if he could even expect a ride. And what if Jason wasn’t there? What if something had happened during the day? What if he’d run away and left Harry behind? (Jason wouldn’t do that, Harry reminded himself. But his heart rate picked up and his hands grew slick with sweat anyway.)

Shuffling nervously, Harry tightened his hands on his backpack straps. Steph was eyeing him in mingled concern and confusion every time Harry tensed when the name called wasn’t his.

Finally, two names were called in quick succession. “Brown! Wayne!”

Harry let out a relieved sigh and started walking. To his surprise, Steph kept pace with him.

She grinned at his confusion. “My last name’s Brown,” she said.

“Oh. Oh! Maybe you can meet Jason, then!”

“Can’t wait.”

They walked through the doors at the end of the hallway together. Harry saw Alfred in the driver’s seat of the car Bruce had driven that morning. Before Harry had taken three steps out of the school, though, Jason launched himself out of the car and rushed toward him. Harry ran to meet him, throwing his arms around his waist and clinging tightly.

“I missed you,” Harry whispered.

“Me, too.” Jason squeezed him briefly, then let him go, clearing his throat. It was then Harry noticed the stares. And the stifled laughter from some of the other fifth and sixth graders.

Harry felt his cheeks turn red. But he refused to be embarrassed by how much he loved his brother.

“I take it this is Jason?”

Harry coughed and took a half-step away from Jason. “Um. Yeah. Jason, this is Steph. She’s in my class. Steph, this is my big brother, Jason.”

Jason crossed his arms and stared at her. She stared right back. For a long moment, neither of them broke eye contact. Then Jason frowned lightly.

“Since Harry is still in one piece, I guess ya did okay watching out for ‘im in my place,” he said, letting his accent bleed out a little more than usual (he’d been trying to tame it over the last month).

Steph blinked, then grinned. “He’s my knighted protector. It’s only my duty to keep an eye on ‘im. I turn ‘im over inta your care, sir knight.” She saluted, and Harry tried not to gape as he heard Crime Alley in her voice, too.

Jason blinked, then chuckled. “Okay, Harry. You can keep her.”

Harry gaped.

Steph feigned wiping sweat off her brow. “Thank goodness. I feel like I just withstood the Spanish Inquisition.”

Jason laughed more genuinely. “I like you.” Then he put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Come on; I’m hungry and Alfred promised cookies.”

Harry grinned, then he waved. “Bye, Steph. See you tomorrow!”

Steph waved back with a grin, then hurried off to a battered brown sedan that had just honked its horn. Harry glimpsed a careworn woman in the front seat, her lips pursed in a frown, as he got into Alfred’s car. (Well, Bruce’s car, but Alfred was driving it.)

“Welcome back, Master Harry,” Alfred greeted him. “How went your first day of school?”

Harry grinned and started gushing about everything that had happened, with Jason chiming in with a question or comment every now and then.

“And we had lunch with Tim, and he takes the bus to school, Alfred. The city bus. I need you and Jason to help me convince him to ride back with us—um, as long as that’s okay.”

“Seeing as Master Tim is our neighbour, it only makes logical sense for him to ride back with us if his own ride is unavailable,”Alfred replied primly. “Especially seeing as he’ll be coming over within the hour anyway,” he added with just a touch of amusement.

Harry nodded eagerly, then continued the run-down of his day.

They arrived back at the manor in good time, and Harry immediately set to doing his homework. Tim arrived, as predicted, within an hour of them returning to the manor (it took the bus nearly that long to get to Bristol). He happily sat down with Harry and they worked together on their science packet, and their math and history worksheets. Jason had chosen to do his homework at the dining room table, too, and ended up helping them through a math equation that had both Harry and Tim stumped. Then Jason and Tim worked together to help Harry with his history worksheet. There was still a lot of context Harry was missing, but Alfred promised to pick up some workbooks and a few historical novels to help fill in the gaps. He would need the workbooks anyway for when Bruce started tutoring him.

After nearly two hours, all Harry’s homework was done except for the reading. And then Harry was stuck.

“I need to read the first eight chapters of Number the Stars by Friday,” Harry said glumly. “Since they started before I got here.”

“I do believe there may be a copy in the manor’s library,” Alfred mused.

“Great!” Jason hopped to his feet, pulling Harry with him—Jason never missed a chance to hang out in the library.

“I-I guess I’ll go finish my vocabulary homework,” Tim said, shuffling aside.

“What are you talking about?” Jason asked. “You and Harry are reading the same book, ain’tcha? We can read together.”

Tim’s eyes widened. “R-really?”

Jason ruffled his hair. “Of course, baby bird.”

“You’d be most likely to find Number the Stars in the small fiction section, that way,” Alfred said, gesturing toward the shelves across from the door. “If you are unable to locate it, let me know and I’ll order a copy. You did say you had until Friday, correct?”

Harry nodded.

“Then feel free to read anything else you want in the meantime.”

“Thanks,” Jason said, staring around in awe at the library. (Harry wasn’t sure Jason would ever get used to having their very own library. But Harry didn’t mind, either.)

They did in fact find a copy of Number the Stars on the shelves Alfred indicated, as well as a bunch of other young fiction novels that Harry was eager to read. Jason also pulled a copy of Hunger Games for himself. Then, with Harry and Tim trailing behind him, he brought the books over to their nook—and it was theirs now, no matter what anyone said—and sat in the middle of the couch. Tim and Harry immediately curled up on either side of him, and Jason gladly began to read.

He only made it through two chapters before both younger boys were fast asleep. Smiling softly, Jason switched to Hunger Games and continued to read to himself until Alfred called them for dinner.

Chapter Text

October: Trouble in Paradise

Harry sat with Bruce at the dining room table, biting the end of his pencil in annoyance as Bruce walked him through the American half of the Revolutionary War. His tutoring sessions were scheduled for three times a week in the hour before dinner, and so far Bruce had only missed one! Alfred was glad because it got Bruce upstairs in time for dinner at least half the time. Because Bruce had been spending a lot of time in the Cave lately, because Two-Face had gotten loose recently. Harry still didn’t understand all the rogues and their various gimmicks, but he knew that Two-Face was only a little better than the Joker, who was the worst. So while Harry had been disappointed, he at least understood.

Today Bruce was quizzing him on important dates and people related to the Revolutionary War. And Harry just couldn’t keep them all straight!

“Why are there so many stupid dates to remember?” Harry grumbled. “And why isn’t it enough to just know that America fought England and won and that’s why America exists?”

Bruce sighed, and Harry froze.

He’d forgotten the number one rule: Don’t ask questions.

“’M sorry. I didn’t mean to ask questions,” Harry murmured, shrinking in on himself. He rarely asked questions directly of Bruce. He still wasn’t completely convinced Bruce didn’t mind. Especially since he’d been on edge lately with Dick. Or, with Robin, anyway. But Dick was Robin, so it counted both ways, and—

“Harry?”

Harry stiffened. He hadn’t been listening!

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, his shoulders hunching. “I didn’t mean—never mind.”

Bruce frowned a little. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. How are you supposed to learn if you don’t ask questions? You can ask any questions you like in this house, even if you think it might a stupid or obvious one.”

Harry stifled a giggle, his shoulders relaxing. Batman said stupid.

Bruce smiledfaintly. “As for history, think of it like a puzzle. You like puzzles, yes?”

Harry shrugged.

“See, if you have a puzzle, but there are pieces missing, there are important things you might be missing out on,” Bruce continued. “So you have to have all the pieces, so you can see the whole picture and understand why it’s important.”

“And,” Alfred chimed in as he set down a plate of snacks, “As they say, those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

“What’s that mean?” Harry asked automatically. He stiffened as their attention turned to him. Then, seeing the encouraging smiles on both Bruce’s and Alfred’s faces, Harry slowly relaxed and made sure to listen.

“What it means, Master Harry,” Alfred began, “is that if we do not know what our forefathers did wrong, we will keep making the same mistakes. And if we do not know what they did well, we will not be able to emulate them.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Em-u-late?”

“Imitate, or adopt similar principles and qualities,” Bruce supplied. “We want to emulate our founding fathers, such as George Washington, and learn from the losing side, in this case General Howe. And the dates are important so you can remember which mistake they made. There were entirely different mistakes made by the leaders in the American Civil War than by those in the Revolution. Keeping the dates straight will help you see the whole puzzle.”

“There’s got to be an easier way, though,” Harry grumbled. “They keep getting mixed up in my head.”

“Well, we could try—”

“Bruce, what is this?”

They all looked up as Dick entered the room, holding a stack of envelopes.

“What’s what, chum?” Bruce asked.

Dick came up next to them and tossed all but one of the envelopes carelessly across the table.

“This.” He held up an official-looking envelope, and a full-sized one at that. There was a fancy letterhead stamped at the top containing the intertwined letters G and U.

Bruce furrowed his brow. “Looks like your acceptance letter.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Dick looked straight at Bruce, his eyes slightly narrowed. “Except I never applied. So what did you do?”

Bruce blinked. “What do you mean? I saw the email you sent titled GU Application.”

(Huh. So Dick actually was looking at colleges. Harry owed Jason a cookie now, he thought with a slight pout.)

Dick’s eyes flew wide. “That was an inquiry letter, that’s all! And what are you doing looking through my emails? Actually, don’t answer that. Of course you were looking at my emails. You’re Batman.” Dick’s eyes narrowed again, his voice dropping. “So I ask you again. What did you do?”

Harry tensed at Dick’s tone, his body going stiff.

“It was past time for the acceptance letters to go out for the winter term. I made a phone call.”

“You made a phone call. Is that all you did, Bruce?” Dick demanded. “Or did you bribe someone to let me in without an application?!”

“I would never bribe someone to admit you! I only use bribes when I have no other choice!” Bruce’s voice rose.

Harry froze entirely, except for the slight trembling in his fingers. His breathing grew faster.

“Then how did I get in? Huh? I never once said I wanted to attend college! I only ever said I was thinking about it!” Dick shouted.

Bruce moved to stand.

Harry flinched, a tiny whimper escaping. And they finally took notice of him.

Dick went still, his fists clenching.

Bruce tensed. “Let’s go up to the study,” he said tersely. “We’ll finish this conversation there.”

We’ll be talking at home, boy, and you’ll learn your lesson good!

“Lead the way, then,” Dick gestured sarcastically with the envelope.

Harry stayed frozen until they were gone. Then he started shaking.

Alfred touched his shoulder. Harry flinched violently.

Alfred immediately removed his hand. “Why don’t you go up to your room, Master Harry? Surely the American Revolution can wait a few hours.”

Harry fled.

As he passed the study he heard raised, angry voices, Bruce’s and Dick’s. Shaking, his eyes filling with tears, Harry burst into Jason’s room and flung himself into Jason’s arms.

Jason grunted as the impact made him bump his head against the wall, his book falling closed on the bed beside him.

“What’s wrong, little hawk?”

Harry shook his head, burying his face in Jason’s chest. Then the raised voices drifted down the hall. Harry whimpered and flinched again at the angry tones, and Jason stiffened.

“You just stay right here with me, little hawk,” Jason said, wrapping his arms tightly around Harry—too tightly for it to be purely for Harry’s comfort.

At first it was only Dick’s voice they could hear. Then, suddenly, without warning, a loud, deep, furious voice shouted in reply.

Harry completely froze in terror.

He was six. He was so, so hungry. He’d been banished to his cupboard three days ago, after the Roof Incident, and hadn’t been let out except for school. He hadn’t been given anything to eat since the morning of the Incident. Aunt Petunia had given him two water bottles after school that day, and nothing else.

But the house had long since gone quiet. And Aunt Petunia had forgotten to lock him in when he got home from school.

He was so hungry.

Maybe…maybe he could sneak a granola bar or something from the pantry? Just one or two. Just enough to keep him going a few more days, until his punishment was over. Surely they wouldn’t miss one or two, right? Especially if he took one of the ones Aunt Petunia didn’t like?

Listening carefully, Harry verified that the house was still and silent. Then, ever so carefully, he eased open his cupboard door. It didn’t creak, because Aunt Petunia hated creaky doors, even cupboards and cabinets. Harry slipped out and closed it behind him, then ghosted his way into the kitchen and to the pantry.

He eased the pantry door open, trying to find the granola bars in the dark. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust, then he spotted them. His hand shaking, Harry reached out—

And heard footsteps on the stairs.

He jumped, squeaked, and knocked over three boxes and two cans. They crashed to the floor.

“BOY!”

Vernon burst into the kitchen, his face purple with fury as he took in the scene. He grabbed Harry by the upper arm and slammed him into the wall.

“What do you mean by it, boy? You thought you could steal from us?!” he roared, right in Harry’s face.

Harry flinched and shook his head.

“We give you clothes and a roof over your head! We let you go to school, even though you’re a freak! Is that not good enough for you? Do we not feed you enough, boy, is that it? Well, guess what?” Vernon shook him. “You’re a goddamn freak, and a bloody heathen. We’re already giving you more than you deserve! And if that weren’t enough, now you’re a thief!” Vernon shook him. “You thought you could steal from us?!”

Harry shook his head frantically. “I’m sorry!” he sobbed. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just—I was hungry, and—I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again, I swear! Please, please, Uncle Vernon!”

“You’re damn right you’ll never do it again!” Vernon grabbed Harry’s other wrist and pinned it to the wall. “You know what they used to do to thieves, you freak?”

Harry shook his head, his eyes welling with tears from the pain of Vernon’s bruising grip and from sheer terror.

Vernon shoved him harder into the wall. “Well, boy?”

Harry shook his head. “N-no, sir.”

Vernon leaned in close, tightening his grip on Harry’s wrist. “They used to cut off their thieving little hands.”

Harry froze in terror.

Vernon smirked nastily. “I won’t do that. Too messy. But you’re still gonna learn your lesson well, boy.”

His hand tightened on Harry’s wrist, squeezing until his bones creaked and groaned against each other. Harry whimpered in pain.

“You’ll take your punishment like a man, or it’s going to get much, much worse,” Vernon sneered.

Harry held his breath so he wouldn’t make a sound. Vernon’s grip continued to tighten slowly, painfully, until a sharp crack broke the silence. Harry bit his tongue, but a whimper still escaped as his tears spilled over.

Vernon squeezed Harry’s now-broken wrist, a nasty smirk on his face. Harry couldn’t help it; he cried out.

Vernon threw him to the floor. “You want to cry? I’ll give you something to cry about.”

He unbuckled his belt and lifted it up.

The next several minutes were a blur of pain and terror. Then he was thrown back into his cupboard, bruised, bloodied, fresh welts on his back and chest, his wrist hanging at an odd angle.

And he was still hungry.

A door slammed across the hall, jolting Harry from his flashback.

And there was only one thought in his mind: Dick.

Catching his breath and scrubbing away his tears, Harry scrambled off the bed.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?!” Jason whisper-shouted. “You don’t want to go out there!”

Harry shook his head. “Dick. What if—what if Dick is hurt? Bruce—Bruce was shouting, and he sounded so angry. And Dick was shouting back. If I had shouted back—I have to check. I have—I have to know!”

“You’re crazy, little hawk!” Jason hissed. “Don’t—”

Harry shook his head and ran across the hall. He hesitated, for just a second.

Was that…crying he heard?

Seized with fear, Harry burst in. “Dick! Are you okay? Did he hit you? Are you hurt?”

“Wha—Harry?” Dick jerked upright and scrubbed his face. “What are you doing?” Dick’s voice was tight, and it caught twice.

Harry stared at him intently, scanning from head to toe. No visible marks. But then, other than his broken wrist, Vernon had never left any, either.

“He was so loud, and so angry. Did he hit you? Are you okay?” Harry asked frantically.

Dick shook his head, wiping his face again. “He didn’t hit me, hawklet. Promise.”

Harry carefully crossed the room, then stopped beside Dick’s bed. “Are you sure? You—you were crying. C-can I check?”

Dick gave a watery laugh. “Sure. Poke and prod me all you want.”

Hesitantly, Harry climbed onto the bed and lightly pressed on Dick’s ribs, stomach, and back. When Dick didn’t flinch, Harry felt something in his chest loosen. Just a little.

“But you were crying. That means you’re hurt.”

Dick bit his lip. “He hurt my feelings, hawklet, that’s all.”

“That’s still hurt. He still hurt you,” Harry insisted, some anger entering his voice. “Hurt feelings are worse than bruises. The bruises go away. The hurt…the hurt doesn’t. Not for a long, long time.” Only meeting Jason and Tim had finally healed some of the hurt Vernon had inflicted on him. Vernon and Petunia.

Dick sniffed and wiped his face again. “I guess you’re right. He did hurt me.”

“But he promised he wouldn’t. When he took me in, and Jason, he promised he wouldn’t hurt us! But he hurt you.” Harry felt his eyes sting. “He hurt you. He—he shouldn’t have. That’s wrong. And he promised.”

Dick’s breath hitched. He looked away, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

Harry bit his lip, then pushed his anger aside (for now) because his big brother was hurt.

“Can I hug you?” he burst out.

Dick choked on a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I—I’d like that.”

Harry immediately wrapped his arms tightly around Dick’s middle. Dick pulled him in tight and buried his face in Harry’s hair.

Harry pretended not to notice that Dick was shaking, and Harry’s hair was growing damp.

Several minutes later, Dick lifted his head and raised one arm to wipe his face before replacing it around Harry.

“Are—are you okay now?” Harry asked softly.

Dick sniffed and nodded. “Almost. You want to hang out with me for a while? I could use some company.”

Harry opened his mouth to reply when there was a knock on the door.

“If you’re Bruce, go away!” Dick called, his voice cracking in anger. “But Jason or Alfred, you can come in.”

The door opened and Jason slipped in, shifting awkwardly. He grew visibly uncomfortable as he saw the redness in Dick’s eyes, and Harry wrapped tightly in his arms.

“Um…are you…okay?” Jason asked awkwardly, his eyes shifting between the two of them.

“I’m fine,” Harry chirped.

Dick’s arms tightened around him a little. “No one’s hurt, little wing, unless you count feelings. Harry’s just keeping me company.”

“Oh. Um. I’ll just—”

“Jay. Come here,” Dick said softly, beckoning.

Hesitantly, Jason crossed the room and paused beside the bed.

Dick opened one arm to him. Harry shuffled over so there was space. Jason’s eyes widened, then, slowly, he climbed onto the bed and, hesitating, he leaned in. Dick immediately pulled him into the hug, and Harry slipped an arm around Jason’s waist, effectively trapping him.

“You’re sweet for checking on me, little wing. And you, hawklet. Thank you.”

Jason mumbled something against Dick’s chest neither of them could quite make out.

Dick hugged them both a little tighter. “I love you both. So much,” he whispered hoarsely.

Harry froze in surprise, then he curled into Dick with a soft, content hum. Jason’s face turned pink.

For a little while, they just sat there. Then there was a soft, distinct knock on the door—the one Alfred always used.

“I come bearing cocoa, and a listening ear if you wish it,” he called through the door.

“Come in,” Dick called. “I hope you’ve got three mugs,” he quipped.

Alfred smiled at seeing the three of them curled up on the bed. “I did anticipate something like this, after Master Harry fled the dining room after you left.” He set a tray of, indeed, three mugs on the desk.

Dick winced. “Right. Sorry, hawklet, for scaring you.”

Harry shook his head. “It wasn’t you I was scared of,” he whispered. “I—I was scared for you.”

Dick gave a watery laugh. “You’re the sweetest, hawklet.” Then he looked up and nodded. “Thanks, Alfred. I might talk later, but the cocoa is enough for now.”

“Very good. I shall speak with Master Bruce, and call you all down for supper when it’s ready.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Harry spoke up. “Tell Bruce that he promised he wouldn’t hurt us. When he took in me and Jay, he promised. And feelings still count.” Harry would tell Bruce himself, except he was still too intimidated to challenge him that directly.

Alfred grinned a little sharply. “I shall relay your words with pleasure, Master Harry.”

With that, he swept out of the room with purposeful strides.

Once the door closed, Harry giggled while Jason stared wide-eyed at the door.

“Some-one’s in trou-ble,” Harry chanted in a sing-song voice.

Dick and Jason both burst into stifled laughter while Harry grinned widely.

Chapter Text

October: Breaking Point

The promised hiking trip was coming up on the last weekend of October, and Harry was nervous. He was just nervous. He wasn’t scared. Nope. Not at all. But he was nervous for good reason!

Everything was a mess! Dick and Bruce had been fighting a lot lately. Sometimes Harry heard them shouting when they came upstairs after patrol. Harry was too scared to check on Dick in the middle of the night, but he listened really closely to make sure no one was actually hurt. And Dick had been distant lately. Less hugs and hair ruffles when he was home, which was less and less often the closer to Halloween it got. And once, Harry thought he saw something like resentment when Dick walked in on another of Harry’s tutoring sessions with Bruce.

Jason was often in a bad mood because the kids at school were picking on him. So he was angrier and overprotective and just a little overbearing. He and Dick started getting into little arguments, too. And then there were the yelling matches late at night between Dick and Bruce (or was it Robin and Batman? Was there a difference?) Practically every other day, Harry was waking up to find Jason sleeping next to him, curled up tightly around Harry just like he had done last October. (The way Jason did was Jason was scared.)

Then there was Tim. Tim’s parents were supposed to come home the same weekend the hiking trip was scheduled, or else Harry would have invited him. (Well, technically, he had as soon as Bruce made reservations, but Harry hadn’t actually asked Bruce if Tim could come. Now Tim couldn’t.) But the prospect of his parents coming home made Tim both anxious and excited, which in turn made Harry anxious for Tim, remembering how disappointed he’d been the last time his parents didn’t come home as planned.

And Steph’s dad was in jail!! She’d come to school a couple days ago angry, gotten into a fight with Alexander (because of something he said to Harry!) and got suspended! For a whole week! (Leaving Harry alone in a class full of kids who were indifferent at best and hostile at worst.)

So really, everything was a mess.

(Oh, and Harry was having nightmares about that thing that happened last October, ever since the weather turned cold and gloomy. But Harry wasn’t thinking about that. Nope. Not at all.)

In short, everything was a mess, and Harry was convinced this hiking trip would make or break everything. So really, could you blame him for being just a little nervous?

Then, suddenly, it was the day of their hiking trip. It was just a day trip, because they still had school and apparently October was when all the rogues went extra-crazy, so Batman couldn’t take a break. So an overnight trip was out of the question. But it would still be several hours, with only Jason, Dick, and Bruce. While all of them were on edge.

But! Harry was brave! (Because everyone kept telling him so. Jason had, and then Doctor Thompkins, and even Dick and Bruce!) So! Harry gathered up his courage and his packed bag (double- and triple-checked by himself, Jason, and even Tim!) and went downstairs for breakfast on the last Saturday of October, just a few days before Halloween.

Unusually, he was the last one there, a fact that still made him nervous. And…the room felt tense. Dick was deliberately avoiding Bruce’s gaze. Bruce’s face was as cold and unreadable as stone. And Jason sat tense in his seat, pointedly not looking at either one of them.

Cautiously, Harry took his seat beside Jason and across from Dick. Biting his lip, Harry carefully filled his plate (with many sideways glances and jumping at unexpected movements). Then, ignoring the twinging in his stomach, Harry ate his sausages and French toast and finished with some fresh strawberries dipped in Alfred’s special fruit dip.

None of it tasted quite as good as it usually did. Not even the strawberries.

Just as Harry was finishing, Bruce cleared his throat. Harry flinched involuntarily, and Jason’s hand was suddenly tight around his wrist.

“Let me review the plan for today,” Bruce said stiffly. “We’ll leave at precisely nine o’clock. Make sure all your gear is packed and ready by then. Wear layers. I hope you’ve all broken in your new boots. Alfred is packing our trail lunches. We’ll hike to the waterfall, then eat lunch there and return. We’ll have about an hour to look around the nature trails and Visitor’s Center, then we’ll leave the park at four o’clock to arrive back home around five. Any questions?”

Harry bit his lip and shook his head, trying not to shrink in on himself. He didn’t like this Bruce. His stiff, stern voice and tense body language made Harry anxious. It was too much like Batman, whom Harry still found intimidating. He really, really hoped Bruce would relax a little once they were on the trail.

Dick and Jason both shook their heads as well.

“Very well. Meet in the entry at eight-fifty. Adjourned.”

Abruptly, Bruce got to his feet (making Harry flinch again) and walked away. Alfred’s lips thinned as Bruce disappeared through the doorway.

Dick made a face and left a moment later, muttering to himself.

Jason and Harry exchanged an anxious look, then headed upstairs several minutes later, hand in hand.

Harry followed Jason into his room, because Harry was already packed and ready. He perched on the edge of Jason’s bed as Jason mechanically got dressed and packed his backpack. For a long moment, Harry watched in silence. He bit his lip, hesitating, then he spoke.

“…Jay? D-do you think we did the right thing? Letting…letting Batman take us in?” he asked softly.

Jason jerked up and stared at him. “What? Where’s this comin’ from, little hawk?”

Harry bit his lip and hugged himself. “I—I really like going to school, and having a warm bed and food every day. And I like Alfred and Dick, and Bruce…most of the time. But—but are we in the way? Is—is it our fault Dick and Bruce are fighting?”

Jason opened his mouth, then closed it. “I dunno, little hawk,” he admitted. “I…think they were havin’ problems before we got here, but…I dunno if us comin’ made it worse.”

Harry bit his lip again. “If…if this trip doesn’t go well…”

“If it doesn’t go well…then I guess that’s it,” Jason said. “No point stayin’ where we’re not wanted. And no reason to make their problems bigger.”

Harry blinked hard and tried to smile. “We—we could go live with Tim. He’s got lots of rooms. We can hide in one of them whenever his parents come home.”

Jason smiled back, but it was easy to see it was forced. “Sure. Timbit could use some company in that huge house of his. We could disappear easy if we needed to.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll…go finish packing,” he said quietly, sliding off the bed. If the trip went badly…they’d have to leave right away. And there were a few things Harry wanted to make sure he had if…if that happened.

Jason nodded, turning to contemplate his half-packed bag. Just before he closed the door, Harry saw Jason add his new paperback copy of The Hobbit to his bag.

Harry went back downstairs to get his backpack, then brought it back upstairs. He took out his extra extra change of clothes and filled the space with his own copy of Inkheart, his green hoodie, and, after a long internal debate, the wolf plushie, too. In a front pocket Harry put the too-big cuff bracelet Jason had given him, and, after a moment, the tools from his craft kit. Then he changed into his favorite t-shirt over a long-sleeved hiking shirt and his running jacket, and pulled his coat on over all of it. His gloves and hat went into the backpack. Then Harry pulled his exercise leggings on underneath his hiking pants. It wasn’t quite cold enough to justify all the layers, but…

Just in case.

Harry double-checked everything again, just in case. Then he shouldered his—now extra heavy—backpack and went back downstairs. Jason was just behind him, his face tense as he shouldered his own backpack. Harry hesitantly reached out, and Jason’s bigger hand closed tightly around his own.

They stopped by the kitchen for their trail lunches. Harry tried hard, but his new school lunchbox wouldn’t fit into his backpack with everything else inside. Blinking hard, he quietly asked Alfred for a brown paper bag, rather than take anything out.

Harry saw…something in Alfred’s eyes as he shifted aside the wolf plushie in order to fit the paper lunchbag into his backpack. Alfred brushed his hand over the top of Harry’s head as he passed back into the kitchen, and the gesture was so warm and fond and reassuring that Harry almost burst into tears. He didn’t want to leave!

But he had to be strong. If—if Bruce didn’t want him, if Dick blamed Harry and Jason for taking his place, then Harry would leave. He knew too well what was like to live with people who didn’t want him, and he’d rather be cold and alone in the streets than cold and alone in a house where, ever so briefly, he had felt wanted.

Blinking hard, Harry pulled his backpack on. It was so heavy now, but Harry was strong enough! He could carry it however far he had to go. He could.

(He just really, really hoped he didn’t have to carry it any farther than to the waterfall and back.)

At eight-fifty precisely, Bruce walked purposefully into the entryway, with Dick right on his heels looking surly. Harry’s hands tightened on his backpack straps, and Jason moved closer, their shoulders brushing.

Bruce cast his eyes over all of them, cold and calculating. Harry did his best not to squirm as Bruce’s heavy gaze landed on him, lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders.

I can take it, whatever you do to me, Harry thought defiantly. (I can be good. I promise I can be good. Please don’t kick me out.)

Finally, Bruce gave a tiny, approving nod. Harry held his breath at the rush of pride and delight that flooded through him at that tiny, tiny gesture of approval.

It wasn’t a mistake taking me in, Harry thought hard at Bruce. It wasn’t. I’ll prove it wasn’t if you just let me stay!

A moment later, Jason and Dick had each received an approving nod as well.

“Let’s go,” came the gruff order. Like soldiers, they all snapped to attention and filed out the door.

But the long drive was tense and quiet. Harry wanted to chatter about all the cool things they might see (Tim had helped him research the park as soon as he’d learned about the trip). But he couldn’t make his mouth form the words. It was scary, not being able to talk. (Just like that other time last year. But Harry wasn’t thinking about that. Nope.) He held Jason’s hand tightly, but what Harry really wanted was to curl up in his big brother’s arms so all the scary things would go away.

But he couldn’t, because Bruce made him sit in a stupid booster seat! It was new as of his last check-up with Doc Leslie (because that was what Jason called her) just two weeks ago. She had asked if Bruce needed any help adjusting his booster seat to accommodate the two inches of height Harry had gained (in just a month and a half!). That led to Bruce admitting he didn’t have one, that he thought Harry was old enough to not need one. (Harry firmly agreed!) But Doc Leslie then gave Bruce a scathing lecture and made him go get one before they even left the clinic! Because Harry was still, apparently, six inches too short (and almost ten pounds too light) to sit in a car without a booster seat! (Jason was just barely tall enough).

Harry had never ridden in a booster seat before. He vaguely remembered a car seat until he was three or four, which was Dudley’s old one and really gross. Then on the rare occasions the Dursleys had to put him in their car, Harry sat on the seat normally.

Harry hadn’t dared fight it (Dudley had thrown a tantrum when he turned five declaring he was too big for a booster seat), but he had definitely pouted the whole way home, even after Bruce explained it was for his safety. (The idea that anyone besides Jason—and Tim—was concerned for his safety was still a very new concept.)

But regardless, the stupid booster seat kept Harry from moving much, so he couldn’t curl up against Jason like he wanted. But he wanted to hug something…

Oh. His wolf plushie. Harry didn’t hug it that much, preferring to go find Jason if he wanted a hug. Or Dick, if he was home and not fighting with Bruce. But…that was what the plushie was for, right? And it was really soft and warm…

Biting his lip, Harry poked Jason and, in a whisper, asked him to get it from his backpack because Harry couldn’t reach. Because the stupid booster seat buckled across his chest and stomach! Harry could easily undo them, but then Bruce would be disappointed, maybe even mad.

(Harry had tried, the day after getting the seat. He wasn’t trying to escape; he just wanted to get something from his backpack to show Jason on the way to school. Alfred noticed, pulled over, and gave Harry the scariest look he had ever seen—pursed lips and a single raised eyebrow. “We are not moving,” Alfred had said sternly, “until you are back in that seat properly. And if it happens again, rest assured I will be informing Master Bruce.” Flushing, Harry had buckled himself back in and remained silent the rest of the drive to school.)

Jason didn’t even blink at the request, because he’d gotten used to similar ones in the last couple of weeks. Though he was a little surprised to find the other stuff underneath the big plushie. (Okay, so maybe Harry had tried to bring his favorite puzzle toy and a soft, fuzzy blanket in addition to Inkheart…and its sequels. It was just in case they had to leave before the trip was over; he hadn’t gotten to read either of them yet!)

But rather than tease Harry, Jason just got sad. He didn’t show it on his face—he never did—but Harry recognized the way his shoulders slumped and his fists clenched on the sleeves of his coat. Harry hugged his wolf plushie tightly, wishing he could be hugging Jason instead.

Then there was a laugh. From the front seat.

“Aw, you brought your wolf friend?” Dick cooed, his eyes light and mischievous as he turned around in his seat.

Harry felt his cheeks burn. Dick was sitting in the front, next to Bruce! Harry was right behind him! No one was supposed to know but Jason!

“What’s it to you, Dickface?” Jason retorted. He’d come up with a dozen half-insults for Dick that he cycled through regularly. It was the same thing he always did with Tim’s name, and sometimes with Harry’s. They just always sounded bad because, well, Dick’s name was Dick.

“I just think it’s cute!” Dick countered. “Maybe Harry wanted to show his wolf the waterfall! Hey, does it have a name yet?”

Harry shook his head. He didn’t see the sense in naming a stuffed animal. Or any possession, really, while Dick had apparently been the one to name the Batcave and all its paraphernalia. (Jason had taught him that word a long time ago, talking about needles and little glass vials or tiny white packets on the street and telling Harry to stay far away from them. Harry couldn’t quite say it right and he definitely couldn’t spell it, but Harry knew it well enough to use it!) There just wasn’t any point, when the toy would end up broken, lost, or stolen anyway. Number One Rule of the Streets (and at the Dursleys for that matter) was Do Not Get Attached. And naming things—or finding out someone’s name—was instant attachment.

(Jason and Harry had both broken that rule, with each other and then with Tim, but that was the exception!)

“Aw, why not?” Dick asked.

Harry shrugged.

“Hmm. Haven’t found the right name? Hey, maybe I could help you name it!” Dick exclaimed eagerly. “I’m great at naming things!”

Jason gave a tiny snort.

Dick looked offended. “Hey, I’ll have you know I named every single thing in the Batcave!”

“I know,” Jason drawled. “That’s why I laughed.”

“Hey!”

Jason just shrugged.

Dick pouted for a moment, then turned back to Harry. Specifically, the wolf plushie. Harry hugged it protectively, not appreciating Dick’s appraising gaze.

“Hmm. I think he looks like a Wallace,” Dick finally said, grinning.

Harry made a face.

“We are not naming anything after Kid Flash,” Jason cut in.

Dick’s jaw dropped. “Wh-how do you know his name?”

“His contact in your phone is listed as KF aka Wally,” Jason drawled. “And you left your phone open on the dining room table the other day.”

“Dick. That’s a security breach,” Bruce said coolly, not taking his eyes off the road. “You need to be more careful.”

Dick gave an exasperated sigh. “Oh my god, Bruce! Is everything about the Mission for you? It’s my house!”

“I’m only concerned because it might have been someone other than Jason who saw. Tim is over frequently, after all. You could have compromised your own identity as well as his.”

“Oh. My. God!” Dick threw up his hands. “I make one joke and suddenly, ‘that’s a security breach, Dick’ and ‘be more careful, Dick.’ I just can’t do anything right, can I?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You might as well have!” Dick burst out.

Harry whimpered, hugging his plushie closer.

Jason stiffened.

“Dick,” Bruce began, a warning in his tone.

“What, Bruce? Gonna tell me something else I did wrong? Did I forget to tuck my shirt in or something?”

“Richard.”

Dick scoffed. “Oh, it’s ‘Richard,’ now? Might as well go all the way and just call me Grayson. Or maybe just boy, since apparently my name isn’t important enough to you!”

Listen here, boy!

Clean that up, boy!

Shut up, boy!

Harry whimpered again, tears pricking his eyes.

This. This is why he didn’t name things.

“Shut the hell up, Dickface!” Jason snapped.

“Language, Jason,” Bruce said coldly.

“I’ll say whatever the fuck I like when you make my brother cry!”

Harry inhaled sharply.

The front seat went silent.

Then Bruce let out a long, heavy breath and pulled the car over.

Harry couldn’t breathe. This was it. This was the moment. He was gonna kick them both out, and then that was it. The dream was over.

“This was a bad idea,” Dick muttered as the car came to a stop.

Harry’s breath hitched.

“Dick,” Bruce said sharply.

“What? It was always gonna end like this.”

“End like what?” Jason cut in sharply. “You gonna kick us out, then? Dump us on the side of the road and move on?”

“What?!” Dick inhaled sharply. “No, of course not!”

“Then why’d we stop, huh?”

“We stopped because, clearly, we need to go over some ground rules for this trip,” Bruce said tersely. “Dick, I will…attempt to remain civil if you can refrain from deliberately antagonizing me.”

“So, what? You just want me to shut up and be a good little soldier? Follow orders without question, just because you’re Batman?”

Bruce’s face tightened. “That is…not my intention.”

“Then you’d better start talking, or I’m kicking you out and taking the boys to the waterfall on my own!”

Harry’s breath caught. “You—you still want us?” he whispered. “E—even though we—even though we…took your place?”

Dick inhaled sharply, then turned around and squeezed Harry’s knee. “Of course I want you, Harry! And Jason! I—” His face did something funny, then he threw a look at Bruce before sighing forcefully. “Look. Bruce and I have problems. We’ve had problems since before you got here. We both backed off for a while to let you adjust, but the problems didn’t just go away.” Dick took another look at Harry’s tear-streaked face and cringed. “I—I’m sorry, Harry, Jason. I know our fighting upsets you. I—I shouldn’t have let my temper get away from me.”

Dick turned an expectant look at Bruce.

Bruce’s face also did something funny before it twisted into something resembling remorse. “I…also apologize,” he bit out. “I…should have waited until a better time to…speak to you.” His face visibly softened as he looked at Harry. “I know you were looking forward to this trip,” he said. “I hope we haven’t ruined it.”

Dick huffed, clearly biting back a harsh comment, then deliberately looked away from Bruce. “Can we go now?”

Bruce glanced at Dick, then back at Jason and Harry. “Are you both okay with continuing?”

Jason looked startled at being asked his opinion.

Harry curled in on himself, hugging his stuffed wolf tighter. “I don’t wanna cause problems,” he said softly.

“It’s not a problem,” Bruce said. “We set this day aside for the trip. I just want to know if you’re comfortable continuing.”

Jason scoffed. “We’re already halfway there. Might as well go.”

Bruce’s gaze lingered on Jason, then Harry.

“All right, then. We’ll continue. And…” Bruce glanced at Dick, his face doing something complicated. “I will refrain from mentioning the…Mission for the remainder of this trip.”

“Finally, something we can both agree on,” Dick said bitterly.

Bruce gave Dick a long look, then turned the key and started the car again.

A pit formed in Harry’s stomach as they continued down the road. He felt like an intruder. This was supposed to be his trip, but he’d already ruined it by getting Dick into trouble. It was all his fault. Just like getting Steph suspended, and getting Jason in trouble for defending him.

It was always Harry’s fault.

For several long minutes, the air felt thick with tension. Jason sat as close to Harry as his seatbelt and Harry’s booster seat would allow, his hand tight around Harry’s. Harry continued to hug his stuffed wolf, wishing the ache in his chest and the pit in his stomach would go away.

Then Dick turned around, smiling. “Can I still help you name your plushie?”

Harry shook his head. “Don’t wanna name it,” he barely whispered.

Dick’s brow furrowed. “Why not? A plushie is supposed to be a kid’s best friend! And your wolf is so handsome; he deserves a good name.”

Harry shook his head again.

“Don’t push him, Dick,” Bruce said, with just the faintest edge in his voice.

“Ugh. You’re no fun,” Dick muttered. “At least tell me why you won’t name it?”

Harry curled tighter around his plushie, drawing his knees up to his chest as much as the buckles and straps of his seat would allow. “Not ‘sposed to get attached,” he whispered.

“What was that?”

The pit in Harry’s stomach moved into his chest and started to burn. Heat rose in his face. It wasn’t fair. This was supposed to be his trip. He’d been looking forward to it for ages! But no meant no! He shouldn’t have to explain himself. Why couldn’t Dick just let it go?

Jason squeezed Harry’s wrist, but it felt like a warning. “Little hawk…” he said quietly.

“Harry, can you repeat what you said?” Dick asked again.

“I’m not supposed to get attached!” Harry burst out. “I never get to keep anything nice! It always gets ruined or stolen or taken away! It’s not fair! I don’t want to leave! But you won’t listen to me and I’m always just in the way! If—if all I am is a burden, then I might as well just go!”

Ringing silence.

Harry’s chest heaved, his cheeks burning and his hands shaking. He fumbled at the straps of his seat, feeling a sudden, desperate need to run. To run, to leave before he was left behind again. To leave before everything was taken away. To run away before he was kicked out, because then it wouldn’t hurt so bad.

Bruce pulled the car over again.

The buckle clicked as Harry finally got it unlatched.

Jason inhaled sharply and reached for his own seatbelt.

The driver’s side door opened. Footsteps crunched on gravel. Harry’s door opened.

Harry lurched out of his seat, tripping over the straps and buckles, and tumbled headlong out of the car—

right into a pair of warm, strong arms.

Harry burst into tears, wailing and sobbing and pleading. A last, desperate attempt for someone to care.

Strong arms held him gently, securely, and oh so carefully. (Like Harry mattered.) A warm, strong hand rubbed circles into his back. (Like someone cared.) A rough but gentle voice murmured something in his ear.

(You’re safe. You’re not a burden. We want you.)

Harry cried harder, because those strong, secure, gentle arms, that large, gentle hand, that rough but gentle voice felt so safe.

(But freaks didn’t get nice things.)

Chapter Text

October: Breaking Point (Part 2)

A while later, Harry’s cries grew softer and his tears began to dry. Then the realization of what he’d just done hit him all at once. He’d cried out loud, he’d screamed and begged and sobbed and he’d yelled at both Bruce and Dick!

He lurched back, terrified and stammering apologies. But Bruce had been holding him, so Harry tumbled backward into thin air, his stomach swooping—and those strong, gentle arms caught him, strong, gentle hands held him and set him safely on the edge of the seat.

Harry looked up, his teary eyes wide.

Bruce knelt in front of him—in the mud! On the side of the road! He started to reach out, then stopped.

“Harry, lad? Can I touch you?”

Eyes even wider, Harry nodded cautiously.

Big, strong, gentle hands carefully grasped his shoulders. Then Bruce caught and held Harry’s gaze. “Harry. You are not in trouble. You are not a burden. I am not kicking you or Jason out. Nothing you can do will make me kick you out. Yes, Jason,” Bruce added with the faintest of smiles, “even if you cry and scream and break things—including Dick’s arm—I will not kick you out.”

Harry spun around in shock to find Jason, red-faced, cross his arms stubbornly over his chest.

A dented metal water bottle sat on the seat beside him. Dick withdrew his hand, a purple bruise already forming on his forearm. He looked both sheepish and petulant.

Harry’s eyes couldn’t go any wider.

Jason flushed darker and looked away. “Nobody touches my brother without his permission,” he grumbled.

“I just wanted to hug him! Bruce hugged him!” Dick exclaimed.

“And Harry would have fought Bruce off with teeth and fingernails if he didn’t want him to,” Jason retorted. “No matter how upset he was,” he added, seeing Dick open his mouth again. “Besides, he’s mad at you right now.”

Dick pouted and withdrew back into the front seat, grumbling.

Bruce shook his head slightly, the faintest of smiles lifting his cheeks.

Harry stared in awe. Jason had talked back, Dick was being rude, and Harry—Harry had screamed at them both! And Bruce wasn’t mad! He was…happy? Amused? Probably amused. But he wasn’t mad!

“Let me say it again,” Bruce said, his voice quiet, firm, but still gentle. “I want you, Harry. You and Jason. I never would have brought you home with me if I didn’t.”

“What about Dick?” Jason demanded. “You shipping him off to college or something and replacing him with us?”

Dick inhaled sharply.

“No. I—” Bruce exhaled forcefully. “I’m encouraging Dick to go to college because—his… education and happiness are…important to me.” Bruce’s face did something funny, then he gave another forceful sigh. “Dick. Please turn around when I say this. Otherwise you’ll never believe it.”

Dick made a disbelieving noise and turned around in his seat again, raising a pointed eyebrow (and his cell phone.) “So I have video proof,” he explained, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Bruce sighed, then met Dick’s eyes, breathed out again, then spoke. “I…would like you to go to college because…I regret dropping out myself. I…would like you to have the opportunities I never did. I…” Bruce drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I want you to be better than me, chum. I never wanted this life—the vigilante life—for you long-term. But…” Bruce seemed to steel himself, then he exhaled again. “Ultimately, it…should be—should be your choice,” he bit out, like the words were hard to say. But his face was sincere. “And. I. Never should have. Assumed. Or tried. To force what I wanted. Onto you.”

Dick gaped.

“I also.” Bruce paused, looked at Jason and Harry, then back at Dick. “I also. Want to be better. Than what Jason and Harry left behind. So I. Will try. To listen better and…keep my temper. I…do not want to be the reason Harry or Jason…or. You, Dick. Feel unwelcome. With me.”

Jason gaped. Harry stared.

Dick continued to gape and stare.

Then Bruce twitched, discomfited by the attention.

Dick suddenly laughed. He cut the recording on his phone, then cackled, “I’m sending this straight to Alfred! No take-backs!”

Bruce visibly winced, then sighed. “I deserve that,” he said quietly.

Harry gave a tiny giggle, then caught himself and clapped his hands over his mouth.

Bruce almost smiled. “If I let Dick laugh at me, I’m hardly going to be upset with you doing the same, lad.”

Harry managed a tiny smile back.

“And me?” Jason challenged.

“You can laugh at me, too, Jaylad. I—” Bruce glanced at Dick, still cackling quietly as he typed out his message to Alfred. Then he softened. “I’m sure I’ll mess up plenty more times in the future, but I’ll. Always try to do better the next time. You three can keep me honest,” he added with a soft smile at Dick and Jason before it finally landed on Harry. “You said it best, Harry, lad. I promised when I took you in that I wouldn’t hurt you. And feelings count.”

Harry’s eyes widened, his cheeks reddening behind his hands as Bruce repeated back the words Harry had sent with Alfred three weeks ago.

Dick grinned. “And don’t you forget it!”

Jason snorted, finally relaxing.

Bruce then stood up, and they all heard his knees crack. Dick burst into laughter again, and even Harry and Jason snickered a little.

Bruce winced.

“You gonna make it up to the waterfall, old man?” Dick teased.

“I’ll be fine,” Bruce retorted, his eye twitching. “Though at this point it will be dinnertime by the time we get there.”

Harry blinked. “We’re still going?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Of course. As Jason said, we’re already more than halfway there.”

Bruce stretched out his back and knees, then gently buckled Harry back in and closed the door before going back around the car and taking his place in the driver’s seat. “Seatbelts, everyone. And Dick, please drop the stuffed animal thing.”

Dick cringed. “Sorry, hawklet,” he murmured.

“’S okay,” Harry mumbled. Jason handed him back the stuffed wolf, which had fallen to the floor. The engine started again, purring and rumbling beneath them. The tires crunched on the gravel, and a moment later they were on their way once more.

“Are you sure, hawklet? You don’t have to be okay with it,” Dick said after a moment.

Harry curled in on himself. Didn’t he? Wasn’t he just supposed to say “I forgive you” or “it’s okay” and move on? (Even if it still hurt? Even if it kept hurting?)

“Harry? It’s okay to be mad, you know,” Dick continued.

It was…okay to be mad? Being mad made big men scary, so they’d get what they wanted. But Harry? Being mad never got him anything but hurt or laughed at. Being mad never made anything stop hurting. So what good was being mad?

“I pushed you and ignored you when you wanted me to stop, so you have a right to still be mad at me,” Dick added gently.

Harry curled in tighter, hugging his wolf plushie while his mind spun so fast it made him dizzy.

“Harry? You can yell at me if—”

“Just shut up, Dickface,” Jason said fiercely. “If he wanted ta say somethin’, he woulda said it already. So leave him alone, or—” he glanced quickly at Bruce, then lowered his voice to a hissing whisper. “Or I’ll break your arm for real next time.”

Dick scoffed. “Like you could.”

“I’ve broken arms and stabbed people before,” Jason retorted, still in a harsh whisper.

“Yeah? Well, I—”

“Boys,” Bruce said, firm but exasperated.

Harry flinched, bracing himself. This time, surely—

Dick winced. “Sorry, Bruce. And sorry, Jay. I’ll shut up now.”

“You’d better,” Jason muttered.

Dick opened his mouth, glanced sideways, then shut it again and turned around.

“Thank you. Though it looks like we’re going to have to properly sit down and discuss some ground rules one day soon.” Bruce glanced over his shoulder, a faint smile lifting his cheeks. “We’re all adjusting to a new family dynamic, it seems.”

Harry’s eyes widened. Family…?

Harry was reeling. He felt dizzy and confused, a little scared, but also somehow warm and safe? He just didn’t know what to feel. Everything he thought he knew had just been turned upside-down and sideways. His head hurt. Was this supposed to be normal? But other than how the Dursleys had treated Harry, they’d been normal. Hadn’t they? And Harry was the exception because he didn’t belong. He was the Freak, so of course the normal rules didn’t apply to him. He’d always known that. He’d been sad, sure, but he’d never been mad. Well, maybe for a minute or two here and there, but he’d learned very quickly that complaining about things never helped anything. So he just didn’t bother.

But now? Harry didn’t know what was expected. He didn’t know what the rules were. He didn’t know what the punishments would be. So how was Harry supposed to know what was allowed?

“Little hawk? Whatcha thinkin’ so hard about?” Jason asked softly.

Harry shrugged and shook his head. “I—I just don’t understand,” he stressed quietly. “I—” He glanced at Dick and Bruce, then switched to signing. ‘We both messed up bad, but Bruce is still taking us hiking? And he didn’t even yell!’

Jason pursed his lips. “Yeah, it’s weirding me out, too,” he confessed in an undertone. “But I ain’t gonna think too hard about it. I’m…cautiously optimistic.”

Harry bit his lip, then looked down at his wolf plushie. “Do—” He paused, then switched to signs again. ‘Do you think…we’re in the clear? That—that we’ll get to stay?’

Jason glanced at Dick and Bruce, who were now chatting pleasantly, if a bit stiffly, about the weather and the hike. (It had just started raining, a light mist.) “I hope so, little hawk.” Jason said softly. “I really, really hope so.”

Harry bit his lip again and nodded. “Me, too.”

***

The rest of the drive and the start of the hike went smoothly, if one didn’t count the wind and the cold rain that made Harry actually glad for his extra layers, and Dick’s comment about how heavy Harry’s backpack was when he helped unload it. (Despite his tentative hope, Harry hadn’t quite managed to bring himself to leave his extra stuff in the car. Jason did help him divide it between their packs so it was more manageable, though.)

Harry grew tentatively excited as they drew near enough to the waterfall that he could hear it rushing. Harry had never seen a waterfall before! Unless you counted rain runoff from the gutters, of course, that had gotten Harry inadvertently soaked more than once during his time on the streets. He had never realized it would be so loud!

“It’s just around this next bend!” Dick called, leading the way as he had the whole trip. Jason and Harry were in the middle, with Bruce bringing up the rear.

“It had better be,” Jason muttered. “I hate being cold and wet.”

“But it’s a waterfall, Jay!” Harry insisted.

“And I’m sure it’s pretty and everything, but when we moved into a manor house, I thought my days of being cold and wet outside were over,” Jason grumbled.

“At least we’ve got a heated car to go back to this time,” Harry offered. “And…and then the manor, too. And I bet Alfred will have hot chocolate, and it—it’ll be so nice to curl up under a fuzzy blanket in soft, warm clothes and…maybe we can even watch a movie?”

“That’s a great idea, hawklet!” Dick exclaimed, suddenly appearing beside them. Harry and Jason both jumped, and Jason slipped on the wet ground. Dick caught him by the elbow and righted him, cringing. “Sorry, little wing,” he murmured.

Jason quickly pulled his arm free, grumbling, but his cheeks turned pink.

“Anyway. Family movie night!” Dick called, loud enough for Bruce to hear.

Bruce joined them and offered Dick a rare smile. “That’s a great idea, chum. I’ll let Alfred know when we get to the falls.”

“Then come on. The sooner we get there, the sooner I can be dry and warm again,” Jason grumbled, grabbing Harry’s hand and taking the lead.

Dick laughed and followed, with Bruce just behind him. They rounded the bend, passed some trees, and then—

Harry gasped. The waterfall was so loud, roaring over the rocky cliff and plunging into what looked like a deep pool. Thick white mist rose from the base where the waterfall splashed into the pool. Harry was pretty sure it had stopped raining, but he could feel mist on his face, too!

“This is so cool!” Harry exclaimed.

“Want to take some pictures?” Dick offered.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Can I?”

“Sure you can.” Dick ruffled Harry’s hair, then passed over his phone. “Just hit this button here after framing the shot.”

Harry reverently took Dick’s smartphone and held it up. He tried to frame the waterfall so it was front and center and perfectly straight, then he carefully tapped the button at the bottom of the screen. There was a strange clicking sound, and then the picture appeared in the bottom corner of the screen. It looked really cool!

Harry took a few more pictures from different angles, imagining what Tim would do and how Tim would set up the shots. He tried to remember what Tim had said about framing and angles and focus and stuff, but it was a lot.

Once Harry had taken a bunch of pictures of the waterfall itself, he tentatively turned the camera on Jason. “Can I take your picture, Jay?”

Jason blinked, then shrugged. “Sure, I guess.” He set his backpack down, then moved to a spot with a better view of the waterfall. He did a few boring poses, but after Harry laughed when Jason made a face and mimed shivering, Jason amped it up and did a bunch of ridiculous poses, making Harry laugh each time.

Then he dragged Dick into the frame, too. “Your turn, Dickface,” Jason said with a smirk. Then Jason tried to leave, but Dick threw an arm around his shoulders and dragged him into his side, ruffling his hair with one hand.

“Nope! You’re not getting away that easily!”

“Hey! Get off, Dickhead!” Jason protested, trying to throw Dick off.

Harry giggled and took a bunch of pictures.

Then Jason realized the camera was still trained on them both and turned red. “Quit that!”

“Hmm…nope,” Harry chirped. “You’re funny.”

“I’ll show you funny!” Jason threatened, except with Dick still holding him hostage, it wasn’t much of a threat.

“Bruce! Take the camera from Harry and take some pictures of all of us!” Dick called.

Bruce rose from where he’d sat down. “Is that okay, Harry? Do you want to be in the pictures?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Um.”

Bruce smiled encouragingly. “There’s no right or wrong answer. You can say no, and that’ll be the end of it.”

Harry hesitated. He wanted to, he really did, but…was he allowed? Did Dick even want pictures of Harry on his phone? (Did Harry want Dick to have his picture on his phone?)

“Please, hawklet? You’re super photogenic and Jason might actually smile if you’re here, too!”

“I will not, just to spite you,” Jason retorted.

Harry bit his lip, then—ever so hesitantly—he asked Bruce, “C-can you print the pictures later?”

“Sure we can.”

Harry bit his lip again. He really, really wanted a picture of him and Jason. He didn’t have like any, mostly because Jason didn’t like being in pictures.

“C-can I have a picture of me and Dick and Jason? And then just me and Jason?”

Bruce smiled gently. “Of course you can.”

Harry bit his lip, then nodded and carefully passed over the phone.

“Yay!” Dick cheered.

Harry tried to smile, but tucked himself into Jason’s side.

Immediately Jason put his arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulled him in close.

“Everyone ready?” Bruce asked.

“Ah! Hold on!” Dick exclaimed. He righted his coat and hat, then grabbed Jason in another side hug.

Jason grimaced. “I’m allowing this for Harry’s sake,” he bit out through gritted teeth.

Dick laughed. “That’s good enough for me!”

“Ready? One, two, and three!”

Harry smiled shyly at the camera, his hand grasping Dick’s coat sleeve behind Jason’s back. Dick cheerfully said “cheese!” while Jason gave a strained smile.

“One more. Dick, let Jason go.”

Dick pouted but obliged. Then he moved to stand behind both of them. He lifted his hands, then paused. Grimaced. Then asked, “Is it okay if I put my hands on your shoulders?”

Harry hesitated, but nodded. Jason huffed. “Fine. Just for the picture.”

Dick grinned and, ever so lightly, rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder, and his other on Jason’s.

Something warm uncurled in Harry’s chest.

Oh. Maybe he had been mad at Dick, still. But now he wasn’t. Dick hadn’t meant any harm. He was just…a little too much, sometimes. And he was listening now, and respecting their space.

Harry leaned a little into Dick’s touch and said softly, “I forgive you.”

Dick gasped, then moved to hug him before stopping. “Aw, hawklet! Can I hug you?”

Harry nodded, his smile growing.

“Jay? Can I hug you both from behind? For the picture?”

“Ugh. Fine.”

Dick cheered softly and grabbed them both in a hug, squishing them together and against his chest. “Smile, little birds!”

Harry gasped, a big smile spreading across his face.

“That’s my nickname,” Jason grumbled, but Harry heard a smile in his voice, too.

“One, two, three!”

There was a flash, and Harry was left blinking in surprise.

“Oh. Whoops.” Bruce fiddled with the phone for a moment. “One more?” he asked sheepishly.

“Oh my god. You’re so incompetent,” Dick complained, but Harry could hear him smiling, too.

Jason snickered.

“Three!”

***

Three brothers, bundled up against the cold, all of them grinning with pink cheeks and damp bangs. A rare ray of sunlight cut through the clouds at just the right moment to sparkle off the water droplets on the waterfall in the background, at just the right angle to create a soft, glittering rainbow.

Four copies of the photo were printed and framed. Copies ended up on desks or nightstands within a week. A miniature copy also found its way into Brucie’s wallet—the first of many.

Chapter Text

October: A Family for Sure (Part 1)

Halloween crept up on Harry like a stalker in the night, disrupting his rest and making him extra-jumpy. Dick worried Harry had gotten sick at the waterfall, and started treating him like he was fragile. Like he was a helpless little kid! Then Jason caught on and kept trying to smother Harry, more anxious and protective than ever. It was very, very frustrating! Never mind that Harry was anxious and a little skittish thanks to his dumb nightmares. Bruce was actually concerned at the way Harry kept flinching away from him, more frequently than he had in months, and kept trying to give him so much space and it was exhausting. And then Alfred worried because some mornings after a nightmare, Harry felt sick to his stomach and couldn’t eat with nearly as much enthusiasm or excitement as usual.

Harry tried, he really tried, to act like he was fine. That nothing was wrong. Because he’d already caused so much trouble at the waterfall. Sure, it had turned out fine then, but how did Harry know it would last? Dick and Bruce were still fighting, though not quite as badly as before—or at least, not in their hearing.

And Jason had suddenly turned openly defiant! He challenged Bruce on everything, and he kept picking fights with Dick! Harry was terrified Jason was going to get kicked out! And then where would that leave Harry?

So. Harry did his best to be really, really good, and not cause any trouble or any more worry than he had already. Because maybe, maybe, if he was good, and didn’t ask for anything, he could build up enough good will to convince them to let Jason stay when he inevitably pushed too far.

So Harry hid the dark circles under his eyes by wearing his glasses, and told everyone he wore them because he thought it was funny when they fogged up whenever he came in from outside or drank a hot drink. He swallowed his screams after the nightmares and buried his tears in his stuffed wolf because he didn’t want Jason to worry any more than he already did. And Harry distracted himself from his fears and worries with projects. (Tim would be so proud.)

Harry’s current project was his Halloween costume. Gotham Academy Elementary encouraged them to dress up for their class party on the day of, and Harry insisted on making his own costume rather than buy a shiny, fancy one online like Bruce had suggested. As a secret inside joke with Jason and Tim, Harry was going to be a wizard! Specifically, he was dressing as Merlin from the animated King Arthur movie!

Harry had started collecting things a week ago when the school sent home the notice, and now he just had to put it all together and add the finishing touches!

Tim had helped him find the perfect navy blue robe online, then Harry took it upon himself to decorate it with painted stars from a sponge stamp and gold embroidery trim, that he did all by himself! (With advice from Alfred, but Alfred had been impressed by how well Harry knew his way around a needle and thread and determined Harry was good enough that he didn’t need help!) The sewing took all day Sunday after the hike, but it was so worth it! And to distract Dick from all his worrying, Harry begged him to take him back to the thrift store to look for boots or a hat (or both). Dick eagerly complied, and Harry found the perfect matching wizard’s hat and the perfect black buckled boots! They were a little too big, but that didn’t bother Harry; he was used to shoes that didn’t quite fit. He could just wear extra socks and stuff the toes with paper or something.

And! And Dick suggested that Harry use a real stick as a toy wand. So Harry explored the grounds and the outskirts of the woods for the perfect stick (bundled up against the cold and wet so tightly and in so many layers he felt like a penguin, and with Jason following him everywhere to make sure he didn’t fall and scrape his knee or something). Then, with a little help from Dick, Harry removed the bark from the stick, sanded it down, and even stained it a darker color with some wood stain Alfred had stored away. It was perfect!

Harry was so excited about his costume and his class party that he forgot all about why he’d been dreading Halloween!

Then, the night before the class party, Harry had a nightmare. He couldn’t remember the details when he woke up, but it left him shaken and a little bit nauseous. His head hurt, and high, echoing laughter rattled around in his brain.

Harry tried to take a deep breath and looked at his alarm clock, because it was still dark outside. The numbers were all fuzzy, so Harry rubbed his eyes and—

Oh. His cheeks were wet. Harry sniffed, his eyes feeling hot and his stomach unsettled. But Harry was not going to cry! He had an awesome costume and he was going to see Tim and Steph and they were going to have so much fun at their class party! So Harry pushed it out of his mind. He grabbed his glasses and put them on, only to see it was just three minutes before his alarm was set to go off.

Harry sniffed again, then squared his shoulders and slid out of bed. He turned off the alarm, then followed the cool blue nightlight Dick had given him that was shaped like a moon (to match the glow-in-the-dark stars on Harry’s ceiling, Dick had said with a wide smile) to the bathroom.

Harry washed his face in the blue light, brushed his teeth, and then went to his closet.

Seeing his costume on the hanger waiting for him made Harry smile widely. Eagerly, heput onblack joggers and a black long-sleeved shirt, then—oh so carefully—Harry pulled on the wizard’s robe, hat, and boots.He felt a little giddy as he pulled his arms through the extra-wide sleeves, and he couldn’t help swishing his wand a little as if casting a spell just to feel the robe swirl around him.

Giggling to himself, Harry tucked the stick-turned-wand behind his ear, then put his sneakers and gym clothes in his backpack for gym class, because it was Tuesday. Then he then hurried downstairs to help Alfred set out breakfast.

Alfred gave Harry a fondly exasperated look, but Harry just grinned brightly as he took the plate of pancakes (shaped like jack-o-lanterns!) out to the table.

As he set the plate down, Dick stumbled in. He blinked blearily at Harry, then tilted his head in confusion.

“Merlin?” he mumbled.

“That’s right!” Harry chimed. He whipped the wand out and waved it dramatically. “Abra Kadabra!”

Dick gasped dramatically, then lurched backward and tumbled to the floor with an exaggerated cry of dismay. “Ah! He got me! The wizard has slain me!”

Harry, on the other hand, went completely still. His ears rang, green flickered at the corner of his eye, and something felt wrong about those words, about seeing Dick fall to the floor like that. Harry’s breath caught, his heart raced, and he saw red hair, not black, splayed across the floor.

Then Dick peeked up with one eye. “Harry?”

Harry couldn’t respond.

Dick leveraged himself to his elbows. “Harry? Hawklet?”

Harry’s breath caught and he snapped back to attention. “I—”

“You didn’t hurt me, you know. I was just playing,” Dick said gently, sitting up and reaching one hand toward Harry.

Harry blinked twice, then made himself grin. “I know,” he said cheekily. “I got you,” he teased, but he took Dick’s offered hand anyway.

Dick pulled him in and flicked the brim of his wizard’s hat. “Yep. You got me.” Dick got to his feet, then—still holding Harry’s hand—headed for the table.

Alfred brought out the last of the dishes just as they sat down. He raised a brow at Dick. “Master Dick. It’s highly unusual to see you awake at this hour.”

Dick winced. “I, ah…didn’t exactly sleep,” he admitted. “I just smelled pancakes. But I promise I’ll take a nap later!” he added quickly.

Alfred frowned. “See that you do. Just because you do not attend school does not mean you should be staying awake all hours of the night.”

Dick smiled sheepishly, then began serving himself a heaping pile of pancakes. Harry followed suit, hoping no one noticed that he only took one instead of his usual two or three, and he only put a little syrup on it. His stomach churned uncomfortably still, and his head hurt a little more than it had before.

A few minutes later, Jason joined them, wearing a sweater vest and slacks instead of his usual uniform.

Harry tilted his head curiously. “Do you have a presentation today?”

Jason snorted and shook his head. “Nah. Middle school’s dressing up, too. They just gave us rules, else I’d be dressed as Aragorn. Theme was to dress up like what you want to be when you grow up.”

“A librarian?” Dick guessed, smirking.

Jason elbowed him roughly as he passed to take his seat beside Harry. “An English professor,” he admitted to Harry, though Dick could certainly still hear.

Harry leaned into Jason’s side. “You’re already a great teacher,” he said softly. “You’d definitely be the best professor ever. I might even go to college if you’re teaching,” he teased lightly.

Jason grabbed Harry in a playful headlock. “You’re goin’ to college anyway, little hawk, if I hafta drag you kickin’ and screamin’. I ain’t lettin’ ya turn down an opportunity like that.”

“Hey! Lemme go!” Harry protested half-heartedly.

Jason just laughed and held on a little longer before ruffling his hair and letting go.

Dick made a face. “Why would anyone want more school?” he grumbled.

Jason glared at him. “Let’s swap, then. You try living on the streets where you can’t go to school, and I’ll take the big circus family and travel the world.”

Dick winced. “Okay, okay. I get it; don’t abuse my privilege.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Jason said sharply. He stabbed his pancake for emphasis, then ate the whole thing in one bite.

(Harry giggled.)

“Master Jason, do watch your manners,” Alfred corrected him sternly.

Jason chewed and swallowed, then smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Alfie.”

“Quite all right. Master Harry, have you finished already?”

Harry looked up, startled out of picking at his soggy pancake. “Um…yes?”

Alfred pursed his lips, then visibly decided not to say something. “Then you may assist me with the clean-up. And then Master Dick may drive you to school, as I have other business to attend to this morning.”

Harry lit up. “Dick’s gonna drive us?”

“Hey, I didn’t agree to that!” Dick protested.

“What, like you’re gonna say no?” Jason challenged.

“No, but I’d rather volunteer than be assigned!” Dick whined.

“You…don’t wanna take us?” Harry let his lower lip quiver a little. (Jason coughed to hide his snort.)

“I—of course I want to take you to school, hawklet!”

“Just me? What about Jay?”

Jason coughed again, earning an amused look from Alfred.

“I wanna take both of you! Of course I do! I’ll even pick you up, and we can go get ice cream and then I’ll take you trick-or-treating!” Dick declared.

Jason choked this time. “Wait, seriously?”

“Seriously! I’m not too old yet, and what could be better than taking my baby brothers around in fun costumes to get free candy?” Dick insisted.

“Do you have a costume?” Harry asked, tilting his head. “Because you can’t be Robin—”

Dick sputtered. “Of course not!”

“—because Tim’s gonna be Robin, and we have to take him, too! So we can’t have two Robins in the group!” Harry finished.

Dick opened his mouth, closed it, then laughed helplessly. “Of course. That’s a very valid reason. And of course Tim can come, as long as his parents say it’s okay. Uh, but yeah. I’ll definitely need a costume.”

“Jay can be King Arthur!” Harry chimed.

“Already said I’d be Aragorn,” Jason corrected with a grin. “Dick can be Boromir.”

Dick blanched. “Didn’t he betray the others and die?”

Jason grinned. “Yep.” He pushed away from the table and picked up his plate. “Better think fast, Dickhead, or you’ll have to dress up as your name.”

Harry snorted, but tried to hide it behind a cough.

Dick gaped. “That’s so inapp—I—how can you suggest that in front of a child?!”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Harry’s seen and heard way worse than that.”

“And I’m not that little,” Harry added firmly. “I’ve grown a whole inch since August!”

Dick snorted, coughed, then tried to smile. “That sure is a lot,” he said seriously.

Harry scowled. “Don’t patronize me,” he snapped. Then he took Jason’s plate and hurried to the kitchen to help Alfred with dishes.

Jason’s laughter at Dick’s shocked expression followed him.

A few moments passed in silence, while Harry vigorously scrubbed dishes wearing a fierce scowl.

Then Alfred gently pulled the plate Harry was forcefully scrubbing right out of his hands. Harry blinked, then looked up.

Alfred set the plate down and removed one of his rubber gloves before setting one hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Are you all right, my boy?”

Harry blinked, then blinked again, rapidly, as his eyes suddenly began to sting. (But he would not cry! It was going to be a fun day! Dick was just being dumb!)

Harry nodded firmly. (He was fine! Everything was fine! Never mind that his stomach hurt and his head still hurt and he hated being treated like a baby!)

Alfred gave him a long look, then nodded. “Very well. If something is bothering you, or if you are feeling unwell, please feel free to talk to me. I’m here for you, my boy.”

Harry scowled to make the tears go away. “Thank you,” he finally managed. He dried his hands, then slipped out of the kitchen, past Dick and Jason who were bickering again, and grabbed his backpack from the hall before heading to the entry to wait.

A few minutes later, Dick and Jason joined him, Dick now properly dressed rather than wearing the ratty sweatpants and faded t-shirt from before. Dick took a deep breath, then knelt down to Harry’s level.

Harry blinked in surprise.

“I’m sorry, hawklet. I didn’t mean to belittle you.”

Harry looked away. “’s fine,” he murmured. He wasn’t mad, exactly. Just…on edge. Things that usually wouldn’t bother him were hitting a little differently today. (Harry was very firmly ignoring why that might be.)

“If you’re sure.” Dick paused, then lifted his arms. “Can I hug you?”

Harry shrugged. “Don’t wrinkle the robe,” he mumbled as he leaned in.

Dick chuckled a little. “I won’t. You worked hard on that; I’ll make sure to keep it nice.”

And he did. Dick’s hug was much gentler than usual, ending with a soft kiss on the temple that almost brought tears to Harry’s eyes again.

Jason nudged Harry’s shoulder. “Chin up, little hawk,” he said. “You’re about to get tons of free candy and a thousand compliments on your awesome costume. Today’s gonna be great, right?”

Harry took a deep breath, then nodded firmly. “Yeah. It’s gonna be the best day ever,” he declared.

Jason lifted Harry’s hat just to ruffle his hair. “That’s the spirit.”

“Hey! Jay, gimme back my hat!” Harry jumped for it.

Jason easily gave it back, grinning. “There’s my little hawk.”

Harry flushed and ducked his head. Jason tossed a casual arm around his shoulders and led him into the garage.

“So? What car ya stealin’, Dickie?”

Dick snorted and followed. “How much do you want to stand out?”

“Not at all. But I wanna go fast,” Jason said with a gleam in his eye.

Dick smirked back. “Fast it is.” Dick took a set of keys off the hooks just inside the garage door, then ushered them toward a silver car that looked expensive, but not too flashy.

“Can I skip the booster seat today? Please?”

Dick winced. “Wish you could, hawklet, but Bruce outfitted every single car with a booster seat after Leslie’s lecture, just in case. So, unfortunately, no.”

Harry pouted. “But the buckles will wrinkle my robe.”

Dick hesitated.

Jason rolled his eyes, then stepped in front of Harry and put both hands on his shoulders. “Harry. Little hawk. I love you. But as your big brother, I’ve gotta do what’s best for you, even if you don’t like it. Okay? I’ll strap you in so the robe doesn’t wrinkled, promise. But you gotta ride in the booster seat ‘til Doc Leslie says otherwise, got it?”

Harry’s pout deepened. “You’re no fun,” he muttered. But he allowed Jason to help strap him in, and he didn’t try to get out. He saw Dick give Jason a look, but Harry couldn’t decipher it. So he ignored it and watched the rainy morning out the window as Dick drove carefully off the manor grounds.

(As soon as they hit the main roads, he floored the accelerator. Jason whooped, and Harry couldn’t help but smile.)

When they got to Gotham Academy, Dick let Jason out first—but not before taking a picture of him outside the school.

“Hey!” Jason protested, his cheeks going pink.

Dick just grinned. “My little wing’s a professor today! Gotta preserve the moment!”

“Dick!”

Dick grinned, then ducked back into the car to avoid Jason’s angry swipe. “See ya at four, little wing!”

Jason went bright red, scowling furiously. Harry rolled down the window and waved. “Bye, Jay!” Then he signed, ‘I love you!’

Jason, his face still red, hastily signed it back before glaring at Dick again. Then Dick pulled away and Jason stalked up to the front doors.

A few moments later, it was Harry’s turn. Dick took his picture, too, ignoring Harry’s half-hearted protests. Then he gave Harry another gentle hug. “I’ll be back at three-thirty, hawklet. Save me some candy, yeah?”

Harry shook his head, smirking. “Nope. Me and Tim and Steph are gonna eat it all.”

Dick clapped a hand to his chest. “Betrayed by my baby brother! Whatever shall I do?”

Harry aimed a playful kick at the back of Dick’s knee. Dick stumbled, then looked up in shock.

Harry grinned cheekily, then darted away, waving. “See you later, Dick!” he called as loud as he could.

Teachers and parents alike all looked scandalized. Dick gaped, then laughed heartily as he waved back, then got back in the car to drive away.

To be continued.

Chapter Text

October: A Family for Sure (Part 2)

Inside the doors, Harry took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. It was going to be a good day. He’d make sure of it!

Harry made his way to his classroom, smiling and nodding at the few compliments he got from other kids he passed in the hallway.

Harry made it to class with about ten minutes to spare, but he lingered by the cubbies because Steph was coming back today! Her suspension was over just in time for Halloween, and Harry couldn’t wait to see her again and show off his costume!

But of course it was never going to be that easy. Because as Harry dallied in front of his cubby, unnecessarily checking his folders and books, he heard a nasally voice behind him.

“Well. If it isn’t Wayne’s charity case.”

Harry turned slowly to find Alexander aka Pompous Buttface sneering at him. Or at least, trying to. He stuck out his bottom lip too much, and if he lifted his nose any higher he’d drown in the rain outside. He was dressed in a child-sized three-piece suit, but it didn’t fit quite right. On a closer examination, Harry saw that the suit jacket was buttoned incorrectly, and the tie was crooked.

(He tried not to laugh.)

“I see you can’t even afford a proper costume,” Alexander continued. “Where’d you find that, in the dumpster?”

Harry bit back a sharp, biting remark about privilege and what dumpster-diving really meant. Instead, he took a deep breath and lifted his chin, imitating Aunt Petunia’s you’re-dirt-under-my-shoe look down his nose. (Harry, unfortunately, still remembered it all too well, given how often he’d been on the receiving end of it.)

“Better a charity case than a nepo baby,” Harry retorted primly, repeating one of Steph’s favorite insults. “What are you supposed to be? It looks like you just raided daddy’s closet.”

Alexander turned bright red and lunged forward, hands reaching up to shove Harry.

Harry quickly stepped backward, out of reach, then stepped back again as Alexander overbalanced and fell flat on his face.

Catching Mr. Aldmin watching, Harry immediately dropped into a crouch. “Ohmygod! Are you okay? You tripped! Let me help!” He extended a hand out.

Alexander turned red and slapped Harry’s hand away. “I don’t need help from a dumb freak like you!”

Harry froze. Alexander pushed past him and stomped away to his seat, just as Steph walked in.

She blinked, glancing between them. “Uh, what’d I miss?”

Harry shot to his feet. “Steph!” He grabbed her in a tight hug, then immediately pulled away, embarrassed at his own boldness.

Steph just laughed and threw a peace sign. “I lived, witch! Or should I say, wizard?” She corrected with a playful smile. She glanced over Harry’s costume, then grinned. “Dayum, Harrikins! Hands-down best homemade wizard costume ever!”

Harry flushed and smiled. “Thanks. Your costume is pretty good, too.” She had cobbled together a pretty good homemade Batgirl costume out of a purple sweatshirt and leggings, a wide yellow belt, and a pair of scuffed-up black snow boots Harry had seen Steph wear once or twice before. The yellow bat across the front of the sweatshirt even looked like Steph had cut it out and sewn it on herself!

Steph flushed and waved her hand dismissively. “Flatterer. It’s a mess.”

Harry bumped her shoulder as they headed for their desks. “I don’t think so,” he said firmly. “But even if it is, it’s your mess. So you should be proud of it!”

Steph laughed and threw a mock salute. “Wise words, sir knight. I shall consider them most seriously.”

Harry snickered at Steph’s affected accent. “You better,” he teased back.

Steph laughed.

Harry bit his lip, then pulled her into another quick hug. “I’m really glad you’re back. And, um. Thank you.”

Steph turned pink as she hugged him back. Then she threw another salute. “Merely defending my knight, sir Harrikins.”

Harry’s cheeks pinked, too. “That’s my job, though.”

“Nope. This lady appreciates her knight, but she is independent!”

“I know. But still. Thanks,” Harry said again, more quietly this time. A little worm of guilt still sat a little heavy in his chest.

Steph bumped into Harry’s shoulder lightly. “No thanks necessary. We’re friends, right?”

Harry felt warm down to his toes. “Right.”

Steph grinned, then they parted for their respective assigned seats.

Shortly after, Mr. Aldmin called the class to order, then outlined the day’s schedule. Normal classes would continue until two-thirty, then they’d do a little trick-or-treating in the fifth and sixth grade hallways to the teachers’ doors before gathering in the cafeteria at three o’clock for the class party!

Harry was so excited he could barely concentrate all day! Math and history especially were hard for him, because they were both so boring! Even learning about the origin of Halloween (it was once a pagan holiday called Samhain! Which sounded really cool!) couldn’t hold his attention for long, because Mr. Sullivan hated him.

Science was really fun, though! At least at first. They got to play with different ways to make colored fire by burning sticks soaked in different chemicals! Saltwater made fire turn green! Then they did a little scavenger hunt in the classroom by the light of Mrs. Caldwell’s strobe light and fog machine! The strobe light made a creepy red light slowly fade in and out, which lit up the fog and made things look really cool, but then one of the other kids messed it up so it flashed really fast, and changed the light color to green and—

Harry wasn’t sure how it happened. One second he was in the middle of the classroom, then he was huddled in a corner, half-buried beneath Tim’s backpack with Tim’s homemade Robin cape pulled tight around his shoulders and over his head. His head hurt and his ears rang and his stomach churned and he couldn’t stop shivering.

Then Steph was there, crouching in front of him and lifting a corner of the cape to see him.

“Harrikins? You good?”

Harry opened his mouth, but for a second he couldn’t talk. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to take a deep breath.

“Do—don’t like. Green light,” he barely whispered, his voice hoarse and now his eyes were burning and—

“Gotcha. I’ll take care of it.” And then Steph got up and started to walk away.

“No!” Harry grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down. “Do—don’t go,” he half-sobbed.

Steph blinked twice, then plopped down beside him and tugged the brim of Harry’s wizard hat down over his eyes.

“There ya go,” she said brightly.

Harry clung to Steph’s arm and the edge of Tim’s cape and tried really hard not to cry.

A couple of minutes later, the normal lights came back on and Mrs. Caldwell told everyone to collect their things. Steph helped Harry to his feet, and he couldn’t bring himself to let go of her hand. Green still swirled in his vision, and the wisps of fog still hanging around the classroom made Harry’s stomach turn. There was still a faint ringing in his ears, and he kept his hat pulled low over his eyes to hide the way they kept blurring with tears.

He wanted Jason. Or Tim. He might even accept Dick. But Steph was all he had. So he clung to her, desperately hoping she didn’t shove him away or make fun of him for acting all clingy and pathetic.

Steph’s hand tightened around Harry’s, right as a familiar and unwelcome voice mocked them from behind.

“What’s wrong, Wayne? Scared of a little light?”

“Hey!” Steph snapped. “Leave him alone!”

“Ooh, does Wayne have a girlfriend?”

“You—!”

Harry tugged Steph’s hand. “Just ignore him,” he whispered.

“But he—!”

Harry bit his lip and shook his head.

Steph huffed in annoyance but didn’t engage.

Harry almost relaxed.

Then he was shoulder-checked roughly into the metal doorframe. The resulting clang made Harry’s head ache and his ears ring. Alexander’s mocking laughter carried past them into the cafeteria.

“Oy! You stupid butthead! What’d he do to you, you as-astrid?!” Steph snarled after him.

Harry did his best not to whimper at the new ache in his arm, shoulder, and cheek. He tugged Steph’s arm back and shook his head again.

“Leave it. ’S not worth it,” Harry mumbled.

Steph muttered angrily under her breath, but stayed beside Harry as they found their regular seats.

Harry put his lunchbox on the table and unzipped it, but even though Alfred’s lunch looked delicious as usual, Harry’s stomach still churned unpleasantly. Blinking hard, Harry found the bag of plain chips, opened it, and pulled one out. Then he took a deep breath and started nibbling on one corner. (Because he’d promised Jason he’d never purposely skip a meal again.)

“Harry?” Steph asked softly.

Harry shook his head, very slowly making his way through a single potato chip.

A few minutes later, Tim joined them, carrying a tray full of some kind of unidentifiable black mush.

Steph fake-gagged at seeing it. “What is that? You’re not honestly going to eat that, are you?”

“Um…haggis, maybe?” Tim shrugged as he sat down.

Harry shuddered. “Eew. Don’t eat that.” He paused, grabbed two of his strawberries and the chip bag, then passed his lunchbox to Tim. “Here. You can have my lunch.”

“What? But this is yours—?”

Harry shrugged. “’M not hungry.”

Tim gaped at him. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” Harry retorted sharply.

Tim flinched back at his tone.

Harry instantly felt guilty. He threw his arms around Tim and hugged him tight. “’M sorry. Didn’t mean ta snap,” he mumbled.

Tim hugged him back. “It’s okay.”

Harry shivered, tears pushing back up his throat and behind his eyes. He buried his face in Tim’s neck. Tim hesitated, then his arms tightened around Harry’s shoulders, and it felt so safe and soft and warm. Harry’s breath hitched and he held on tighter, fingers tangling in the back of Tim’s shirt—no. In his cape.

Something stirred in Harry’s chest, something like a memory, but it flitted away almost as soon as it came. But it left a distinct feeling of safe and care behind.

Tim shifted a little, looking over Harry’s shoulder at Steph for explanation.

Steph muttered something rude, then spoke up a little clearer. “Pompous Butthead has been rude all morning, and the strobe light in Mrs. Caldwell’s class freaked him out a bit,” she reported quietly.

Harry kicked her shin with his heel. “Stop selling my secrets,” he whined.

Steph poked him in the back. “He’s your twin, Harrikins. If anyone deserves to know, it’s him. I’ll tell Jason, too, if you don’t,” she threatened lightly.

Tim giggled a little. “That’s playing dirty.”

“So? Besides, if I were sellin’, I’d be getting’ something in return.”

“I’ll give you Harry’s brownie,” Tim said with a smirk.

Harry gasped and pulled away. “Not my brownie! Anything but that!”

Tim grinned and poked Harry in the ribs. “Stop moping and I’ll save it for you. Besides, you need to eat.”

Harry pouted, but he sat up and dutifully took the sandwich half Tim offered him. Studiously ignoring the nausea in his stomach, Harry took little bites and chewed slowly. But Tim smiled at him, clearly relieved, so Harry ate the whole thing, even though it sat like lead in his stomach.

As a reward, Tim did in fact reserve the brownies for Harry. But Tim and Steph were still right beside him, even though he’d been teary and clingy and Steph was being teased because she stood by him. They’d both cheered him on as he ate and lightly poked fun, and Harry was almost smiling by the end. So Harry split the second brownie in half for them.

“Thanks for being my friends,” he said softly as he passed each of them half.

Steph took her half, then pretended to swoon. “Oh, the flattery! However shall I recover?!”

Harry couldn’t help a little giggle at Steph’s dramatics.

Then she and Tim high-fived behind his back, and Harry pouted.

Tim laughed while Steph poked his cheeks. “Nu-uh. None of that.” She picked up Harry’s brownie and stuffed it into his mouth.

Choking and laughing, Harry managed to chew and swallow, then he tried to glare at Steph. But the effect was ruined because his lips kept twitching up.

(It wasn’t until he got back to his classroom that he realized his stomach didn’t hurt anymore.)

The afternoon went better. Alexander glared at Harry anytime they crossed paths, but Harry was very good at ignoring dirty looks. They played dodgeball in gym class, and Alexander tried to target Harry.

It was really too bad that Steph and Harry simply had better aim. With two balls thrown at full force at the same time, Alexander was hit and out in the very next round.

He spent the rest of class pouting and glaring. Harry and Steph spent the rest of class pretending they weren’t laughing at him.

By the end of gym class, though, the back of Harry’s neck was prickling in a way he’d long come to recognize meant danger was coming. So while Harry didn’t react to Alexander’s dirty looks, he kept one eye open for his retaliation.

After gym, they all returned to their classrooms to get ready for trick-or-treating down the halls. Harry let himself get caught up in the excitement of adjusting costumes, chattering about plans, and tidying up the classroom. He even managed to (mostly) forget all the reasons he’d been upset. He couldn’t wait!

Soon enough, Mr. Aldmin lined them up and went over the rules. They would pick a buddy or two within their own class and stay with them at all times. They’d trick-or-treat in an orderly fashion down the fifth and sixth grade hallways, then make their way to the cafeteria, where the PTA was setting up decorations, food, and treats. Teachers’ eyes would be on them at all times, so they were to be on their best behavior and something about privilege and a bunch of other stuff, but Harry was too excited to listen properly.

Finally, Mr. Aldmin released them. Harry grabbed Steph’s hand and eagerly pulled her into the hallway. They went around to the fifth grade teachers first, grinning and chiming “trick or treat!” at every door. The doors were all decorated, and Mrs. Caldwell had her fog machine going again! (With the normal, slow, red blinks again, thank goodness!) Each teacher then dumped a handful of candy into their candy bag (Harry used his hat).

Even though it was at school and it was light out, it was the best fun Harry had ever had! He had never been allowed trick-or-treating at the Dursleys, and on the streets approaching strangers for handouts was a great way to get drugged, kidnapped, or even killed! But this was fun! (Harry couldn’t wait to do it for real that night with Dick and Jason and Tim!)

It was a little chaotic, with the entire fifth grade roaming the hallways, but the teachers kept things (mostly) under control.

Once they got to the sixth grade hallway, though, things got a little rougher. The teachers weren’t strangers, thanks to cafeteria and pick-up duty, but it felt strange to be in a part of the school that wasn’t theirs. Plus, since they were also supervising their own classes, the teachers weren’t watching the hallways the whole time.

But the sixth grade teachers were nice. They had lots of fun decorations on their doors and in their classrooms, where the sixth graders were having their party, and they gave out good candy!

Then Alexander caught up to them and started tailing Harry and Steph very closely. He was so close he was practically stepping on Steph’s heels! Alexander’s buddy, a boy who Harry thought was named Roger (and who was dressed as Batman, with a plastic mask perched on top of his head), hung back a little.

And then Harry felt Alexander step on the back of his long wizard robe.

The sudden resistance made Harry stumble, and then there was a loud riiip!

Steph gasped.

Alexander laughed cruelly. “Hah! Now you look like the street rat you are! You and Brown belong together, really. They should kick you out, Wayne, and Brown shouldn’t have bothered coming back.”

Harry’s hands clenched into fists, but he tried to ignore Alexander’s words.

But he just kept going!

“She should be in a jail cell next to dear old daddy,” Alexander continued. “After all, now everyone knows that Browns are criminals. Just like all the Waynes are gutter trash!”

Steph turned red. “Why you—!”

Fuming, Harry pushed past Steph, swung back and—!

Crash. Alexander was on the ground, shocked into silence, his cheek turning red.

Harry stood over him, shaking with fury. “Don’t insult my friends, you miserable pissant,” he growled. Then he dropped to his knee and seized him by the collar of his dumb, ill-fitted suit. “And by the way?” he said lowly. “That was me being nice.”

Alexander whimpered.

Harry glared for a second longer, then he stood, grabbed Steph’s hand, and gently tugged her away. “Come on.”

Steph went, blinking in shock. Two steps later, though, she’d recovered enough to turn around and stick her tongue out at Alexander as they left.

A little ways further down, in an emptier part of the hallway, Steph finally recovered her voice.

“Holy shit, Harrikins!” she whisper-shouted. “That was awesome.”

Harry almost smiled, but then his gaze drifted down to the trailing end of his torn robe.

His hands shook.

Steph followed his gaze, and her eyes widened. “Harry, your costume…”

Harry straightened, his fingers curling into fists. “It’s fine. I can—I can fix it.”

“Harry?”

Harry sniffled, then cursed himself. He would not cry! He would not give stupid Alexander Buttface the satisfaction! He could fix his costume! Give him ten minutes and a sewing kit and it would be good as new!

All the Waynes are gutter trash!

I don’t need help from a dumb freak like you!

“Harry, I—”

“It’s fine!” Harry insisted. “It doesn’t matter!”

“Like hell it doesn’t matter!” Steph began, whisper-shouting again.

Then from a little ways down the hall, they heard big, dramatic cries.

“W-Wayne h-hit me!” Alexander wailed. “I did—I didn’t even do anything!”

“Bullshit!” Steph growled. She turned, already rolling up her sleeves. “I’m gonna—!”

Harry grabbed her arm. “Don’t! You just got back from being suspended! You’ll get in trouble again if you go after him!”

“But he—!”

“I know!” Harry burst out.

Steph startled backward.

Harry sniffed and took a deep breath. “I know. But if—if we make a big deal out of it, we’ll both be in even bigger trouble. And I—I can’t get in trouble.” His breath caught at the realization of what he’d done. “I can’t get in trouble. I can’t! I—I—!”

Steph grabbed his face. “So we don’t. No one saw or they’d be on you already. Let’s go. Pretend nothing happened, don’t confess to nothin’, and act like nothin’ happened! If they do say somethin’ and you can’t get out of it, make it his fault. He started it anyway.”

Harry sniffled twice, trying to even his breathing and make his hands stop shaking.

Steph grabbed both his hands. “It’s okay.”

Harry sniffled again and blinked hard to push back his tears. “O-okay.” He pulled away from Steph’s grasp and tried to smile.

Steph grinned back, then grabbed his hand and tugged him along to the cafeteria.

About half the fifth grade seemed to be there already, colorful costumes scattered across the tables lined with black and white and orange butcher paper, scattered with crayons and pumpkin-shaped confetti and word puzzles. A few parents from the PTA were setting up the food table.

Steph led Harry toward the back, then sat him down and pushed a handful of crayons and a word puzzle in front of him. “Let’s race. I bet I can finish this puzzle before you!”

Harry stiffened at the challenge. “No, you can’t. I’m better at English than you.”

“Well, I guess we’ll see, then, won’t we?” Steph grabbed an orange crayon, scrawled her name across the top of her puzzle, and with a glance, she filled in the first row on the crossword.

Harry scowled, picked up a purple crayon, and dove right in.

They were neck-in-neck, just filling in their very last row, when:

“Hi, guys!”

Harry jumped and fumbled his crayon. Steph cackled as she filled in the last box. “Hah! I win!”

“No, you didn’t!” Harry protested. “I was done, too! But Tim startled me!”

Tim, newly arrived, smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

He sat next to Harry so Harry was in between Tim and Steph—the way they always sat, Harry realized suddenly. Like they were guarding him, Or—or making sure he felt included.

Unexpected tears pricked Harry’s eyes as Alexander’s words came back to him.

…a freak like you!

All Waynes are gutter trash!

Then Harry remembered all the sneers he’d gotten on the streets, the dismissive glances and the glares from the Dursleys, Alexander ripping his costume out of spite, Dudley sabotaging every nice thing Harry got and then laughing at him for it, Dick treating him differently just because he cried, Alfred’s thinly veiled worry when Harry didn’t finish his breakfast again, Bruce walking on eggshells around him—

All Harry’s fears and worries and insecurities just bubbled up and came bursting out with a sudden, poorly stifled sob.

“Harry?” Tim asked, his brow furrowing.

Harry huddled in on himself, his shoulders shaking as he fought with all his might not to burst into tears right in the middle of the cafeteria.

“W-why are you friends with me? I’m just—I’m just a freak!” Harry burst out. His wizard costume suddenly felt like a spotlight, blaring at Harry and flashing freak! at everyone who looked. What was he thinking? His—his magic made him a freak, and Tim might not care but Steph didn’t know but now she had to know after he freaked out in science class and then didn’t eat and everything Alexander was saying had to be true because Harry was just a freak, a gutter rat and a brat and why would anyone want to associate with him? He just kept on causing trouble!

Tim gasped and grabbed Harry in a tight hug. “You’re not a freak! You’re the best friend I ever had! You’re my twin! Who said you were a freak? I’m gonna punch them! Like Robin!”

Steph cheered softly and squished Harry in a hug from the other side. “You tell ‘em, Timmy! Nobody messes with my white knight! I’ll get suspended a hundred times if it means punks like Pompous Buttface learn a lesson about messing with what’s mine!”

Harry gasped softly, then began to cry. He barely made a sound, but in an instant his two best friends were hugging him so tightly it wouldn’t have mattered if he had. And even though he couldn’t stop crying, Harry felt nothing but safe, wanted, and—dare he say it—loved.