Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was still wearing his haori.

He was glad it was still somewhat intact. Jiji had given it to him, after all.

But he still felt cold.

The memory of tacky warmth on his face stuck to him, reminding him of the blush that had been painted on his cheeks. Most of it was probably blood now. The powder that had transformed him not but a few hours before had likely been replaced by dirt and sweat. Now, it would be ruined even more by the murky depths he was surrounded by. The obi tied around his weight was still fastened in place, but a stray length trailed away from, like a streak of scarlet blood in the water.

The water was dirty, dirtier than he had ever seen in his life. It suited him. This filth suited his afterlife.

It was no less than what he deserved, after failing Rengoku-san, and now Tengen-san. He has failed his teachers. He has failed his master, too, by being a stain on his master’s reputation.

What a stain. What a waste.

Hinatsuru-san, Makio-san, and Suma-san were still out there. They were still in danger.

Nezuko was still out there.

Tanjiro. Inosuke. Last he’d seen them, they’d been blasted off the roof.

And Zenitsu had left them alone, in a situation where the removal of one more slayer on their side could be a crucial tipping point leading to their deaths.

I’m so sorry. I should have been faster. Fast enough to save you.

—

Zenitsu had died, and he had woken up in water.

He broke the surface. A gasp of air ripped through his lungs, breath bringing both blessed relief and agonizing pain as the air pushed mercilessly against the water already inside his lungs, pushing it harshly through the walls of his veins, in vain efforts to bring blessed oxygen back into his body.

He was dead but now he was alive. He did not know how. His mind did not know how to process this impossibility and so his body took over as it always did.

When the weakness of his mind and heart paralysed him, the instincts that lay dormant within him awoke and took the reins.

“-ey, kid. It’s going to be alright. Shh, it’s going to be alright.”

Zenitsu’s ears twitched at the noise, his head tilting towards it. He could not understand what the voice was saying, but he could hear that it was kind. Angry and gruff like a brother he once knew, but seeded with a gentleness the likes of which the one he had called brother never had, at least not towards Zenitsu.

Water weighed his kimono down, letting it drag to the top of his toes. It was drenched, and it was dirty, Zenitsu noted vaguely, looking at what little he could see of the muddy yellow illuminated by the moonlight.

Water dripped down onto the ground, pitter pattering onto the flat metal below him, tinkling music flowing with every splatter. A symphony of steel and ice pooling beneath his feet.

Zenitsu shuddered. It was so cold.

The sound of a footstep moved closer towards him. Zenitsu took a step back.

The source of the sound stopped abruptly in its tracks. “Easy there. Easy,” it said.

Hm. The voice wasn’t angry, Zenitsu realized. It was worried, as if trying to calm a terrified animal.

It spoke low and soothing, doing its best to talk it away from the edge.

Who was it, then? Who was at the edge?

Zenitsu took another step back and met air.

Ah, it was him.

Zenitsu had woken up in water and now he woke up in air.

If this was his second life, his second chance then it was terribly short. He had wasted it.

What a waste. He was a waste.

A strong arm wrapped itself around him. He felt himself jerk in panic, muscle memory activating to throw off the unknown assailant. The arm tightened against him and it was only the scent of terror and worry and care—so much care, a note that sounded just like Tanjiro, Tanjiro are you here, too? Where are you? Tanjiro, watch ou—and Zenitsu was stopped in his descent, caught midair.

The voice was speaking again, more to itself this time, its notes warbling with trembling fear. “You’re alright. I’ve got you. You’re alright, kid.” The voice sobbed. It made it sound painfully young. “You’re alright,” it repeated, as if trying to comfort itself as much as it was trying to comfort whomever it was directed to.

Zenitsu’s heart ached. Was he responsible for this individual’s distress? This person—this child—had caught him from his second death and now had to deal with his unresponsive body. But Zenitsu was of no use to this person.

Zenitsu no longer wanted to fight, to move. He no longer wanted to live. After all, he could not hear his friends anymore.

Not the sounds of their breaths, the notes of their voices. Not the songs of their heartbeats.

Only the silence of the lack of their presence and all that entailed.

Zenitsu only wanted to let go and let the river carry him into the silence where his fallen friends lay.

“-uesting back-up. I got a non responsive John Doe. He’s just a kid. H-he tried to jump. I caught him, but- but we’re slipping, B, I don’t know how much longer I can hol-“

Zenitsu was inconveniencing this person. They were too heavy, hanging from wherever they were. Zenitsu had to let go or he would drag this kind person down with him. Just like he had with Tanjiro.

Zenitsu pulled himself away with a strength he knew couldn’t afford to lose. He broke free from the sole arm holding him up and fell limp, the last of strength quickly leaving him, the bone-deep exhaustion rushing into his muscles and vessels, the weight of it all pulling him down down down.

He fell into the blessed blackness before he reached the ground.

—

“Robin, report.”

Batman shifted the figure in his arms. The figure, a boy, was dressed in a kimono that covered most of his body, coupled with a partially untied obi, drowning him in fabric. If it weren’t for the soaked kimono weighing him down, the boy would have been light. Much too light, as he would have flown away were Bruce not holding him in place.

The boy’s pulse was present but weak. Breaths regular but crackly. Skin freezing, but beneath the surface lay a terrible heat that worried Bruce even more.

Robin landed softly beside him. “I was heading towards the docks for a routine check. I spotted him on one of the rooftops. The yellow was hard to miss. I don’t know how he got up there, those rooftops get slippery with the rain.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Jason asked, his face drawn, aging it beyond his youth. His eyes were slightly reddened. Bruce grew concerned as well.

It must not have been easy seeing what Jason had tonight with this boy he had saved, and what memories it might have brought up.

Bruce adjusted his hold on the boy in his arms to free a hand and pull the boy beside him into a hug. “You caught him just in time, Robin. You did good.”

Jason grabbed onto Bruce and hugged him back tightly. “But I couldn’t hold on to him. You’re the one who had to catch him in the end,” he said, voice muffled against the kevlar.

“Without you, I would have been too late,” Bruce said. He patted Jason on the back. “Prepare the Batmobile.”

Jason looked up, the remnants of tears on his cheeks but his eyes clearer and more alert. “Are we taking him to the doc?”

Bruce only nodded, taking care to keep his steps steady and not wake the boy passed out in his arms.

Jason did not skip a beat and shot past him.

Bruce understood his urgency. Given the boy’s foreign appearance, it could be that Jason had stumbled upon a trafficking victim. The kimono and rouge on the boy's cheeks painted an even more disquieting picture, with implications Bruce disliked to consider. It was bad enough Jason had grown up in Crime Alley and been exposed to hardships no child should have to face. As much as Bruce would have wanted to shield Jason away from such matters, there was little left he could hide from the boy when he had grown up in worse conditions than Bruce could comprehend.

Despite that all, Jason grew up to be a strong boy. A kind boy. Bruce couldn’t be prouder, looking fondly at the picture Jason made while tucking a soft blue blanket around the boy in the backseat.

Hopefully Leslie would be able to treat the boy well enough that he wouldn’t need an actual hospital. Bruce had a feeling the boy wouldn’t appreciate the added unfamiliarity and clinical sterility of the hospital.

It was a cold rainy night, after all.

—

It was worse than Bruce thought.

The boy's legs were a mess. Almost every bone was broken. Several more were broken or in various stages of healing throughout his body. Not to mention the muscle tearing, and the slashes on his skin, both deep and superficial, both scarred and still oozing.

How could the boy have been standing on that rooftop as Jason had said? How could he have even managed to climb up there?

This level of brutality and abuse painted so starkly on the body of a boy so young… Bruce could not even bear thinking about it. If it were Dick or Jason on that table, at that age–

“Bruce, he’s waking up–,” Leslie called out.

But it was too late. The boy had already pinned Bruce to the ground.

Bruce had barely even blinked, but the boy had transported himself from his bed to Bruce who had been standing across the room. It almost looked like teleportation, but as Bruce played back the scene in his mind, he realized that the boy had just been fast. Extremely fast, faster than even the likes of the League.

Was this boy a member of the League of Assassins? Or was he part of something new, something worse than the League?

However, speed was all there was to it. Aside from the force of the velocity, the boy’s actual grip on Bruce’s neck was weak. Based on the callouses he could feel from the fingers pressing against his skin, the boy must be used to holding a weapon and not to hand-to-hand combat.

Bruce could easily throw him off, but did not want to resort to force. The boy could not afford any more broken bones.

Beneath the surface of the boy’s skin, Bruce imagined the misaligned bones grinding against each other. Bruce’s jaw clenched. He had to act quickly, or the boy’s injuries will worsen.

“Calm down,” Bruce said, the unfamiliar language spilling awkwardly from his lips. Nevertheless, it reaped the desired effect. He didn’t know if his hunch was right regarding the boy’s origins, not without asking him further. But at least it was able to generate a response. The boy had sat up in shock, stricken at hearing the first familiar thing in what must have been a long time.

“You’re safe here.” Bruce promised.

The boy must have been convinced as tears spilled over his cheeks. His newfound awareness did not last long as he swayed where he sat. Bruce lunged forward to catch him before he could fall to the floor.

Unlike what Bruce assumed, the boy was still conscious. He was muttering something. Bruce could barely make it out but as he strained his ears, he could hear the boy apologizing. Bruce had guessed right on the language, but some words were unfamiliar, they sounded older than what he was used to. And what little Bruce could understand– Bruce’s heart sank. He was telling Bruce to–

“Sorry. I’m so sorry. Please kill me. Kill me. Sorry. Sorry. Let me die. I need to go to my– My friends. My friends, I’m sorry–”

—

The boy remained silent and motionless through every treatment the doc gave him. Even when Dr. Thompkins was breaking the boy’s bones again to set them properly, he hadn’t even flinched. Maybe Dr. Thompkins’ painkillers were just that good. Jason didn’t want to think about what it could mean if it were otherwise.

Seeing the lie in bed made Jason realize how tiny he was. Dr. Thompkins wasn’t sure how old the kid was but she reckoned he couldn’t be older than 15–about Jason’s age.

He couldn’t believe it. The boy was just that small.

When B had been carrying him earlier that evening, he had dwarfed him, making the boy look exceedingly small and fragile, like a stiff breeze could blow him over. And blow him over, it did. He had nearly fallen from that roof, and Jason wasn’t able to fully stop him.

Looking at the boy now, tucked beneath the same blue blanket B kept stashed in the Batmobile, Jason felt the urge to protect him.

He had seen the state of his dress, the ribbons on his hair, the cheap make-up still streaked on his skin. Jason knew how depraved some sickos in Gotham could be, lurking in dark corners, waiting to pounce on the vulnerable. His fists clenched over his lap.

This boy had been hurt—bad. Whoever hurt him was going to pay. No one… no one deserved to be hurt like this. And certainly not one who looked as weak and defenseless as this boy. To Jason, he wasn’t just a boy. He represented all the other defenseless people in the abandoned condoned places throughout this city–those he had had no power to save before.

Well, Jason had power now, and he had B on his side. If Jason couldn’t save this boy, then B surely could. Just like how he helped Jason.

The boy’s hands twitched.

Jason snapped to attention. A call for Dr. Thompkins was at the tip of his tongue. But something stayed his hand. Maybe it was the boy starting to tremble as he grew closer to consciousness. Maybe it was how tears rapidly gathered in his eyes as his pupils started darting around the room. Maybe it was how fear seemed to permeate every cell of the boy’s body that made Jason do what he did.

Jason reached out to hold the boy’s hand.

The boy stiffened and trained his eyes towards Jason. But the boy did not shake Jason off. Jason took that as permission to squeeze the hand gently.

“You’re safe, now,” Jason said firmly, pouring everything in him to convince the boy.

Jason couldn’t know for sure if the boy had understood him, but some of the tension bled out from his shoulders and his breaths slowly evened out. Jason took that as a small win.

A loud gurgle sounded in the room. It had come from the boy’s stomach. The boy’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Jason had to stop himself from chuckling. At least hunger was a universal language.

“Would you like a sandwich?,” Jason offered.

The boy tipped his head in confusion. B had mentioned that the boy probably wouldn’t be able to understand English. Jason figured he should just show him, instead.

“Wait here,” Jason said, and he rushed to Dr. Thompkins fridge where she sometimes kept pre-made sandwiches. Jason hoped there were some now. There always were, but it never hurt to hope.

Jason saw that there were indeed a few sandwiches, conveniently wrapped in tissue. He quickly nabbed one. Dr. Thompkins would understand.

He rushed back to the boy’s bedside. “Sandwich,” Jason said while pointing at the pastry. He unwrapped it partially and acted out chomping at it, to show that it was food to be eaten. Finally, Jason handed it over to the boy and placed it over his bandage covered hand.

Seeing the bandages, Jason wanted to slap himself in the head for forgetting. The boy would definitely not be able to hold the sandwich with his injuries. But before he could apologize and offer to bring out something to drink instead, or maybe even help the boy eat, the boy took the sandwich from Jason’s hands with ease, as if it didn’t hurt to move the bones that had so many cracks on it from the x-rays Dr. Thompkins had taken it earlier.

Jason was struck dumb at the display. The boy was unwrapping the tissue with amazing dexterity. His pain tolerance was almost unreal. Jason’s insides felt like led dropping to a pit in his stomach. Before he could spiral any further while thinking of the implications, a halved sandwich was thrust into his field of vision.

Jason blinked, almost cross-eyed with surprise. He looked up at the boy. The boy had ripped the sandwich in half and seemed to be offering the other half to him. Jason could do nothing else but to take it. In his confusion, Jason made no moves to eat it. But it seemed that that was what the boy wanted Jason to do as he pushed the sandwich closer to his mouth. Jason took a bite and chomped down slowly. Seeing Jason eat as well, the boy smiled and bit down on the sandwich, too.

Warmth bloomed in Jason’s chest, with an emotion he couldn’t name. He had just met this boy, this boy that was abused and broken and probably half-starved, but he had given Jason half of his first meal in who knew how long.

Jason had just met this boy, but he thinks he would die for him.

Jason has decided. He will do his best to help this boy. It was the least he could do, with the resources he has now.

He owed it to the boy he used to be–to save others just like he had been saved.

—

“Will we have to bring him to the commissioner?” Jason asked, eyes still trained on the boy lying in bed, now sleeping fitfully after the short period of awakening. Jason was still brushing blonde strands away from a sweaty forehead. Even if the boy had fallen back to sleep, Jason was still trying to comfort him, just in case it would make the boy feel even a little bit better than he was now.

Bruce knew that the boy would be better off with professional help, that Gordon was a good man and would make sure the boy would be looked after. But he also knew that the police department was still imperfect, and social services can only do so much. And this boy was hurt–terribly.

Bruce remembered the half-fevered mutterings of the boy as Bruce had caught him. Bruce was just grateful Jason couldn’t understand what the boy had been saying then.

Despite his injuries, however, the way the boy handled himself when defending against Bruce, the almost supernatural speed, his unbelievable pain tolerance while Leslie was resetting his bones, it belied the boy’s exposure to some level of training, some of which surpassed even Bruce’s, showing that this was no ordinary child, and ordinary institutions may not be able to help him the way he needs to be helped.

And with the way his second son was looking at the boy so protectively, as if he had already taken him as his own, Bruce already knew what his answer was going to be.

“How would you like it if we gave him one of the rooms in the east wing?” Bruce said, joining Jason in his perch at the boy’s bedside.

Jason’s head shot up. “What?” Jason whispered, dumbfounded.

“The manor is quite big. Alfred would love it if someone were to use another one of the empty rooms. He’s been wanting to dust those rooms for a while now–”

Bruce’s breath gets knocked out of him slightly as a small form tackled into his side. Jason was hugging him tightly again.

“Thank you, Bruce. Thank you.”

Bruce smiled, and hugged his son back. “It’s no problem at all, Jaylad.”

Chapter Text

It took three days for the fever to break.

The first day, Jason did not leave the boy’s bedside.

He had begged Bruce to let him skip school. Bruce let him. Jason might as well take a day to rest since they’d spent the whole night in Leslie’s clinic. On the condition that he went to school the day after. And that he took a nap in the meantime, since Jason hadn’t slept at all the previous night.

Jason grumpily agreed, but went to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Bruce chuckled as he ruffled his son’s hair poking out from under the sheets where he laid down on one of Leslie’s spare beds.

Once he woke up, Jason immediately jumped into action, asking Dr. Thompkins how he could be of assistance.

He mostly helped change the sheets and replace cold towels. He also tried to help the boy eat like he had that first night but as the fever worsened, the boy could barely stay awake, and he threw up almost everything they put in him. Leslie had to put in an IV.

By the end of the day, Jason was exhausted, and when Bruce arrived at the clinic after work, he found Jason taking a much-needed nap in the cot beside the boy.

“He’s a hard worker, that boy,” Leslie said fondly. Bruce smiled.

His smile faded when his gaze landed on the other boy who still lay unconscious. Dark lashes lay against sallow cheeks, a sickly tint still on his skin. An oxygen mask was strapped onto his face.

“How is he?” Bruce asked.

“I’ve been pumping him with broad-spectrums. You never know with what’s in that nasty water and with all his open wounds. He’s not as bad as he could be but he could be better,” Leslie said.

“Where’d you find this kid, Bruce?” the doctor asked, turning steely eyes towards the tall man who sat hunched in her tiny clinic chairs. “The wounds I found on him,” her eyes darkened. “They have no business existing in someone so young. Or in anyone at all, for that matter.” She ripped off her gloves and sat down at the chair across from Bruce.

Bruce shook his head. Leslie took it for what it was, that Bruce had no idea where this child came from, but that he wouldn't stop until he did.

She placed her elbows on her knees and rested her chin on her knuckles. Her eyes deepened in thought. “I checked for signs of assault.”

Bruce’s breath caught in his throat.

Leslie shook her head. Something in Bruce’s chest eased.

“Aside from the obvious ones, this child was at least spared that horror, as far as we know,” Leslie said. Bruce unclenched the fists he had not noticed had curled up against his slacks.

“That’s,” Bruce started. “That’s good. Thank you for everything, Leslie.”

“Anytime, Bruce,” Leslie said. “But not all the time, if you know what I mean,” she ran her hand through her hair. “I’m exhausted. You owe me big time.”

“How about a trip to the Bahamas?”

“Don’t joke,” Leslie scoffed.

“I’m serious,” Bruce grinned.

“Get me vacation days, and then we’ll talk.”

“But you set your own vacation days.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Leslie rolled her eyes.

“You do great work, Leslie. The whole neighborhood appreciates you,” Bruce said earnestly. “My father would probably have wanted me to be a doctor, too, you know?”

“I don’t like seeing you hurt, Bruce, but you do good work, too.” She met his gaze and gave a small smile of her own. “You saved this child’s life.”

Bruce could only nod, his cheeks warm. It was rare that he received praise for what he set out to do. He didn’t seek consolation, but it felt good once in a while.

Bruce bid Leslie goodbye and carried Jason to the car. He didn’t even stir. He was that tired.

Bruce planned to talk to him about overworking again. And debrief him about this incident. Bruce knew of Jason’s past taking care of his own mother. He better check up on him and see if he’s doing alright in handling this case.

The next day, without fail, Jason asked to return to Leslie’s clinic to see how the boy was doing. Bruce put his foot down and told him that the boy was stable for now and that there was nothing more they could do but wait for him to wake up. Jason protested, as expected, but Bruce told him that to help others, he must first help himself, and that he would be no use to anyone if he got sick, too.

“Leslie will let us know when he wakes up. I’ll make sure to bring you there then,” Bruce promised.

“You better,” Jason huffed, then ran off to prepare his school things. Despite recent events, he actually really loved going to school. Maybe he could even think of book titles he could share with the boy. He’ll have to see if there are any Japanese translations available.

On the evening of that second day, the boy gained some lucidity, but his fever still burned hot, Leslie reported. Bruce took this opportunity to talk to the boy.

“Do you know where you are?,” Bruce asked. Jason hovered anxiously to the side.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” the boy muttered breathlessly, shaking his head in scared confusion.

Bruce smoothed blonde strands back, skin still worryingly dry and hot to touch.

“You’re in Gotham, in Dr. Thompkin’s clinic. A doctor is treating your wounds,” Bruce said.

“I don’t know, I don’t know what that is! I’m not telling you anything!,” the boy cried out, distress mounting, and tears gathered and spilled over.

The boy flinched from each question as if they were blows, as if he were under threat of torture. Or discovery.

“B, stop asking him so many questions,” Jason demanded.

Bruce softened his voice at once. “That’s alright, child. It’s alright. You don’t have to think too hard. Just know that you’re safe. You’re safe.”

The boy still did not stop crying, stuck in the throes of a waking nightmare. He started bucking up against the bed, almost enough to dislodge the IV line.

“Leslie,” Bruce called out, his voice cutting through the boy’s cries.

The doctor approached, syringe in hand. “Ahead of you, Bruce.”

Sedative administered, the boy calmed down, but his sleep remained agitated, his eyes flitting around beneath their lids, tears still streaming down.

“I’ll have to push in another round of fever reducers. Another dose of antibiotics are due, too,” Leslie said.

“How long will he stay like this?” Bruce asked, unable to hide the strain in his voice.

Seeing children ill had always been a particular kind of pain of his, one Bruce had found difficult to handle, and always always left him feeling helpless. Dick used to be inconsolable. Jason, in contrast, would turn worryingly quiet, as if afraid to impose. This boy was both and neither, shaped by circumstances Bruce could scarcely imagine. Knowledge is quite a worlds away from experience, and Bruce found himself frustrated by his own inadequacy.

“One more day of this and I'm sorry Bruce but I’ll have to send him to the hospital,” Leslie said.

Bruce nodded mutely and stood up. “Come, Robin.” They still had patrol. Jason reluctantly followed, not without one last worried glance at the boy, who was still sleeping, unaware of the world and the people waiting for him to wake.

—

Jason didn’t know Bruce could speak Japanese. But he wasn’t surprised. The guy knew everything.

Jason envied him for it. He wished he could talk to the boy, too, and know what he was saying.

As it was, all he could do was wait and watch as Bruce asked the boy if he would be fine taking refuge at their headquarters while recuperating. Dr. Thompkins may have beds in her clinic but Jason bet a cushy bed in the Wayne manor would feel a lot better to sleep in.

Jason didn’t want to impose on the boy, but he hoped he agreed. It had been three days since he first found him on that roof, three days of Jason waiting anxiously for him to wake, waiting to see if he would wake.

He feared that if he let this boy go down official channels as is standard for suspected victims like him, he might slip through the cracks and not be able to get the help he needed. Bruce has done his best to help with welfare centers throughout the city but Jason knew those weren’t perfect. Addressing Gotham’s problems was a herculean task and Bruce was just one man. Other people, people like Jason, still needed to take action.

Bruce finished saying his piece and waited patiently at the boy’s bedside for his reply.

The boy was silent for a long time.

Jason waited with baited breath.

The boy nodded.

Relief and joy flooded Jason’s senses and he exhaled a triumphant laugh. The boy turned to look at Jason, mouth parted slightly in shock. Jason clamped his own mouth shut, embarrassed at being caught in his celebration. But the boy only followed with a tiny smile.

Jason couldn’t help but stare dumbly back. His gaze stuck on those eyes, colored like honey, like a bridge between brown and gold. Those eyes had been shut for the last few days, with Jason having no way of knowing if he would wake again. He was glad the boy was awake, and still able to muster a smile.

“He’s agreed to stay with us for a while. Leslie, is he good to go?” Bruce asked the doctor monitoring the boy’s vitals on the bedside monitor.

“As bad as his injuries looked when you first arrived, I was able to set them properly, and they are stable now. He’ll still need to use a wheelchair for a month and a half. We’ll see about the possibility of using crutches after then. He’ll also need to undergo physical therapy, so you’ll have to bring him back here for check-ups,” Dr. Thompkins replied.

Bruce relayed what Dr. Thompkins said to the boy. The boy’s eyes widened with each sentence. It all culminated in him taking a deep bow while still in bed. The movement was so unexpected and sudden that alarms started blaring as the boy dislodged the monitors.

This elicited a sharp cry from the boy. Dr. Thompkins and Bruce jumped into action, with Dr. Thompkins rushing to turn off the alarms and Bruce grabbing the boy’s arms to keep him in place and prevent him from falling off the bed.

In all the chaos, Jason couldn’t pinpoint at first what the problem was. It wasn’t until the monitors were shut off that he saw the boy clamping his ears tight, whining softly to himself as if he was in pain. What kind of pain was this, when not even the movement of broken bones had woken him up a few days ago?

Hands pressed against his ears—was it the alarms?

Bruce must have guessed the same as he used the bulk of his body to muffle the boy’s hearing, pressing his head against his chest.

Jason rushed to the boy’s bedside and laid a hand against the boy’s own, hoping it could help. At the contact, the boy’s eyes shot open, having scrunched them close at the initial attack on his hearing. Alarm spilled over those eyes as they darted around helplessly at the people currently crowding him.

“It’s alright. You’re safe,” Jason couldn't help but say. Jason counted it as another victory when the boy loosened his death grip on his ears, still not putting them down, but no longer clinging hard enough to draw blood.

“Looks like his hearing is extremely sensitive,” Dr. Thompkins began, a little ruffled from the sudden turn of events but quickly regaining her bearings. “I’ll see if I have a spare earmuff somewhere here. The drive through the city might be unpleasant for him. I’m sure it will be noisier in the morning than it was last night when you found him.”

“Thank you, Leslie,” Bruce said. He looked down at the boy and asked something in his language. The boy nodded, and Bruce let him go, laying him back down on the pillows gently. Jason reluctantly let go, too, and retreated to Bruce’s side.

The boy murmured something again, which caused Bruce to shake his head and murmur something back. The boy didn’t look convinced but he settled easier against the bedding.

Bruce turned back to Dr. Thompkins. “He wanted to thank you for helping him. He said he was also sorry for ruining your equipment, but don’t worry,” Bruce held a hand at Dr. Thompkins’ protests. “I reassured him it was fine and that you didn’t mind.”

Dr. Thompkins only shook her head, exasperated. She looked down sternly at the boy. “It is no problem at all, child. And no need to go bowing to me either. You’re much too injured for that. Just focus on getting better, that’s all the payment I need.” Then she looked up to Bruce, an eyebrow raised, “since your guardian is paying for all of it anyway.”

Bruce translated, but knowing him, he probably neglected to mention the last part. The boy’s cheeks reddened as he nodded. He got embarrassed easily. Jason found it endearing.

His new brother sure was shy.

—

The boy knew nothing of Gotham. He didn’t recognize anything of this continent either, or even Japan’s cities, when Bruce showed him pictures of them.

Despite Bruce attempts at communicating and their earlier successes at it, the more they conversed, the more they realized that the boy had some trouble understanding some of the terms Bruce said, as if he were used to a slightly different version of them, or was simply not taught. Perhaps a rural dialect from the hinterlands, Bruce surmised.

They did get one thing from the boy. His name was Zenitsu.

Beyond that, he could not answer, only shrinking further into his blanket with each question.

Bruce eased up on his interrogation, and Jason was glad for it. The boy, Zenitsu, wasn’t some criminal on trial. He was just a kid.

Still, Jason was grateful Bruce let him up to the manor. Zenitsu was practically a stranger, and even Jason had to admit that he could be a security breach. But he didn’t even recognize Batman, let alone Bruce Wayne. And none of them in the manor were defenseless.

If Zenitsu were to have bad intentions, which Jason still highly doubted, they would not be unprepared.

But Jason didn’t believe Zenitsu meant any harm.

As Zenitsu was still stuck in a wheelchair and covered in bandages and both his legs being in casts, it would be them causing him more harm if they even pushed his wheelchair wrongly.

They loaded Zenitsu into the back of the Batmobile and Jason scrambled in after him, helping secure him with a seatbelt. Zenitsu’s eyes were wide again, staring at the seatbelt as if he’s never seen it before. He was looking all around the car, too, actually. The same way–as if it was the first time he’s ever been on one, or even seen one.

“Ah, B, before we leave,” Jason said, pulling out the earmuffs. “Let me put these on Zenitsu first.”

Bruce explained it to Zenitsu, who nodded, staring at the earmuffs in wonder. Jason placed them gently over his ears.

Zenitsu exhaled a soft breath, closing his eyes in obvious relief. The look unsettled Jason—to imagine how life must have been hard without something as simple as this. Don’t worry, Zenitsu. You’ve got us now.

This boy hadn’t come from an easy life. Jason knew what that felt like.

He also knew that being taken out of that situation wasn't the end. There was still more left to be done. And Jason had resolved within himself to help this boy get started on his road to recovery. He won’t be alone. Jason will make sure of it.

—

When morning came, however, Zenitsu was gone.

His bed was empty, sheets unmade. His wheelchair was still beside the bed, untouched.

Wherever Zenitsu was, he wasn’t moving on his own.

Jason’s heart pounded as he ran in the hallways. He had to find Bruce. He had to tell him that Zenitsu was missing. That he could be in danger–

There. A flash of yellow in one of the windows overlooking the gardens.

He pushed the window open and cleared the bushes in one leap, landing on the ground in a seamless roll. “Zenitsu!” he yelled. “Zen–”

Jason stopped in his tracks as he took in the scene. Zenitsu wasn’t crawling on his knees running away from an assailant, or tied up in a kidnapping as Jason had feared. He had been taken, but not by anyone with ill intent. It was Bruce.

Bruce was kneeling on the ground, carrying Zenitsu with one arm as the boy reached down to scoop up a bird with a broken wing.

Having the injured animal secured in cupped hands, Zenitsu leaned back against Bruce and rested his hands on his lap. Bruce took this as a sign that Zenitsu was finished with his task and got his feet up from under him.

Bruce turned to Jason, hearing his approach. “Ah, sorry, chum.” An apologetic look was on his face, as it roved over the signs of stress on Jason’s face. “You must have looked everywhere for him.”

Bruce walked to where Jason stood, Zenitsu in his arms looking quite content to simply coo at the bird. It was a sparrow.

“I found him crawling outside his room. He seemed very insistent on going somewhere but couldn’t manage to use the wheelchair, so I offered to carry him instead,” Bruce said, amused, but Jason could detect the concern underlying his words.

“Is he alright?” Jason asked, now only just slightly breathless, his heartbeat slowed down significantly at seeing the object of his search unharmed.

“A little banged up from what I suspect to be a tumble from the bed, but so far, he doesn’t seem to be in pain.”

That was no complete reassurance, since Jason had seen firsthand how mostly unphased the boy was towards pain.

Jason walked in step beside Bruce and the side where Zenitsu’s legs dangled from, aiming to keep himself at Zenitsu’s field of vision.

Jason noted the bat-patterned yellow pajamas Zenitsu was wearing. Those were his old pajamas he had outgrown last year but they were loose enough on Zenitsu to accommodate his casts. He was glad they got some use again. They used to be his favorite pair.

He peered over and met Zenitsu’s eyes, which were wide with curiosity. In his cupped hands was the bird, still a baby chick, yawning and snuggling into the boy’s thumb.

Jason aimed for a comforting smile, and gave Zenitsu a little wave. Zenitsu flushed and ducked down, avoiding Jason’s gaze. Jason laughed.

“Did he want to go out for the bird, B?”

“Looks like it.”

“But how did he even know where it was?”

Bruce hummed. “Not quite sure, chum. Could be some kind of sensing ability.” An analytical glint came to his eyes.

“So he’s a meta? It would explain his sensitive hearing.” Jason said

Bruce was pensive. He only nodded to Jason’s musings, not yet voicing his own conclusions.

This irked Jason, familiar with this age-old dance of Bruce keeping secrets, but he set it aside.

“Let’s get some breakfast first.” Bruce headed towards the dining hall.

Jason trailed after him, temper dying down as he watched with quiet amusement Zenitsu’s head bobbing while he looked around the manor. He decided not to tease—no point in embarrassing the kid by pointing it out.

Instead, he took this chance to observe the boy, preoccupied as he was with the new sights the manor held for him.

Zenitsu was a mystery, like a creature straight out of a myth. His golden hair was a yellow brighter than any he had seen before, with orange coloring the ends like the edge of a flame. His patterned yellow robes reflected the same vibrancy, giving him an air that felt a little out of step with the world around him. His honey-colored eyes held a vividness that lingered in Jason’s mind, the same as when he first saw them. Under the sunlight, they were much flashier, like liquid pools of browns, yellows, and oranges–a kaleidoscope of fire. Strangely enough, the image of lightning came to Jason’s mind.

His otherworldly appearance indicating otherworldly origins could explain Zenitsu’s confusion with the modern world, and why his grasp of even Japanese seemed incomplete. As if he were adrift not just in place, but in time itself.

Jason welcomed the whimsical oddness of it, rather than wonder at the reality. There was enough realness in the world for anyone to forget about.

Regardless of where the boy came from, Jason felt in his heart that he meant no harm.

Why would the boy go out of his way to go to the gardens tending to the broken wing of an injured sparrow, with such care? The tending of the innocent was nothing to be discounted, and told of a gentle heart.

The scent of steamed fish pulled him from his thoughts. They’d reached the dining room, where Alfred was serving them a menu quite different from the norm–some rice, something that looked like soup, the steamed fish he’d noted, a side of blanched spinach, and egg?

“I’d taken the liberty to try something new for the sake of our guest, Master Jason. I hope it’s to your liking,” Alfred said somewhere to his right where he was setting down plates and utensils, along with what looked to be like chopsticks.

“Smells delicious as always, Alfred.” Jason grinned. Alfred’s cooking was the absolute best.

Alfred's eyes crinkled. “Thank you, Master Jason.”

Jason pulled out a chair beside his own where Bruce placed Zenitsu, who now looked like a deer in headlights, staring wide-eyed at the food before him. Zenitsu, timid at first, leaned forward when the dishes were laid out. He exclaimed at the sight of a pair of chopsticks, fingers fumbling with them before managing to lift a piece of fish.

Jason felt more and more relieved with every bite Zenitsu took. He remembered not a few days ago when the boy couldn’t keep anything down. Now, he was scarfing down food like there was no tomorrow.

Zenitsu’s appetite and delight drew smiles around the table.

Watching him, Jason felt a tug in his chest. Zenitsu was going to fit in just fine.

And yet, the thought carried an edge. Jason remembered too well how it hadn’t been like that for him—how unwelcome he’d felt at first, especially under Dick’s cutting words, and Bruce’s careful distance. He remembered what it was like to sit at this very table and feel like an intruder, like he didn’t belong. He wouldn’t let Zenitsu go through that.

Jason made himself a silent promise then. He’d make sure Zenitsu felt right at home.

Chapter Text

Zenitsu was confused a lot these days.

When he'd first arrived, he could distinctly remember it had been too cold.

Now, it was warm. It would be too warm, if he didn't decide that he liked how the fire warmed his toes.

There was softness, too.

The bed was soft, with pillows that felt like he could sink right through. The food gave way with every bite, that he could bite his own tongue if he weren’t careful. Even the floors were soft, with wood springy beneath the wheels of the chair his saviors had placed him in.

And his captors—saviors?—they were the softest of all.

Just now, the wheels of his chair accidentally ran over a small bump. The disturbance it caused was barely anything but the tall man just apologized and asked him if he was alright.

These people were strange. Zenitsu did not know what to expect around them, nor what they expected from him.

Back then– he didn’t like to think about back then. But. Sometimes he had to, if he were to make sense of where he was now. He needed to have a reference of before. In the- the.. before. People just weren’t nice to Zenitsu. He was too ugly. Too useless. Too disappointing.

There were exceptions, but they were so few Zenitsu could scarcely believe they were ever real, and even then, he remembered that they expected something from Zenitsu in return.

Gramps, who’d swooped in out of nowhere to save him from those rabid debt collectors, had placed a sword in his hand and told him to be a student to carry on his teachings, which was the least he could do to repay all Gramps had done. Tan– tanji— the boy with the checkered haori, with his mysterious box, who’d shared with him everything he had on hand and more, had asked him to protect his sister. Lord Ubayashiki, with his all too knowing eyes, had ordered him to fight against his enemies who weren’t just the enemies of Lord Ubayashiki but were the enemies of all humanity. Who was Zenitsu to refuse?

But time and time again, in this new world he’d found himself in, he made a fool of in front of these people. Too dumb in the face of the tall man’s questions. Too clueless in the face of the boy’s friendliness.

He tried hard to form the words but his mind was slow, the questions laced with confusion and pain hand in hand. The words he knew were the answers, large and clumsy in his throat, as if his body didn’t want to let them go, didn’t want to let anyone else know the reality that he was in now. That he was alone now. That his friends—

A fog descended once more in his mind. It was familiar in how it always came out to protect him. It felt like something that usually happened during a dream but now it occurred even his waking moments. All he could do was smile when these people smiled, freeze when they frowned, or stare at the bird cooing at the nest of blankets perched at the window of his room.

These people, the tall man and the boy, the boy with the dark hair and bright smile, had saved Zenitsu from making a mess—or becoming a mess—on the ground. They fed him, clothed him, fixed his injuries with their strange miraculous contraptions, without asking anything in return.

All they seemed to ask of him were those questions. They struggled to translate, in their insistence to offer Zenitsu with what familiarity they could muster. And Zenitsu could not even return the favor by putting in the extra effort to push past the fog, and concentrate, and give an answer that meant something, anything, at all.

All he did these days was eat, three meals a day, and these people were insistent in making sure he met that number. They took him out to spend time under the sun, like a wilting plant that needed sustenance. There, they showed him all sorts of displays in what looked to be a garden, where the boy pointed to each and every one of them, saying out loud with each one what Zenitsu could guess were names. He’d plucked a yellow flower and placed it gently on Zenitsu’s lap, to add to a collection of other niceties that were previously already gathered there. It would make a beautiful addition to the sparrow’s nest.

His saviors were too soft, too nice to Zenitsu.

The tall man, clad in black, when Zenitsu had first seen him, had had horns on his helm and a long cape that made him melt into the shadows that—if Zenitsu hadn’t heard his heartbeat as proof—would make him think that he was looking at nothing. Even his heartbeat was strange, muffled and almost like a different pattern, with an echo distorting the regular beat of a human’s heart, but Zenitsu could still hear the true beat beneath, along with the man’s breathing and the rush of his blood beneath active muscles, so close was Zenitsu to the man’s chest while he being carried in the tall man's arms.

The man looked as terrifying as a demon, but his voice was gentle. Zenitsu’s eyes told him to be scared but his ears told him to trust.

The boy, who'd introduced himself as Jason, sounded bright and springy, with footsteps that ran light enough to sound like a bird about to take flight. He blinded Zenitsu with his wide smiles, and Zenitsu found that he could do nothing else but return them. He was made dumb every time the boy showered him with what he could only conclude was… affection. He didn’t know what he did, but he’d done something, apparently, to win this boy’s desire to stick close to Zenitsu, like a bee buzzing around a flower. Dandelion, was the name of the flower Jason had given him.

He had a few friends here and there growing up. But before meeting Tanj- someone in the before, none of those friends ever decided to stick around. Oh, Zenitsu tried very hard, put his best foot forward, to please those who decided to pay him attention, but in the end, they always left.

This salmon, Zenitsu chewed in his mouth, was just too good, the best thing he’s ever eaten.

Was this heaven?

But what kind of heaven was this?

It had Zenitsu in it.

—

He had been carried in a strange carriage, all black and sharp edges, on the night he was found. While he was no stranger to the new-age modes of transportation, of metal contraptions called cars that moved on their own and with no horses in sight, the carriage of his saviors was something altogether, with cushioned seats and glass windows that were darker outside than they were inside. It ran fast, faster than anything he’s ridden before.

Zenitsu was curious about what powered this speed, grasping at the few things he could stomach to think about and remember from… before. But he didn’t want to ask.

He didn’t want to test fate. He was afraid, so afraid of angering his saviors.

This world felt too real, with the roaring of rain hitting stone, teeth-gnashing sound of metal sliding against metal, and the accumulated breathing, talking, living mass of thousands of people, more people than he has ever been around his entire life. It was more than any town he has been to.

This place was a living breathing place on its own, and felt very very real. And his saviors were soft and nice and he didn’t– he didn’t know what to do if it turned out they weren’t.

—

There was an old man that greeted them at their destination. Zenitsu has never seen a house this big, surrounded by grass and trees that stretched almost as far as he could see. He felt that a small village could fit within its bounds.

The old man had brought him strange clothing, a pair of pants and a long sleeved top, both adorned with a strange pattern. Zenitsu has never seen these creatures. They were dark furry animals with sharp ears, almost similar to the horns of the warrior’s helm, but when put together with comically large eyes and the small fuzzy body, the effect was… much cuter? He rubbed the cloth between his fingertips. They were thin yet still brought him warmth.

This old man also helped change Zenitsu’s bandages, and smiled at him with kind eyes.

Zenitsu didn’t like being around the old man.

The sight of him made his heart hurt.

His- his loyalty couldn’t be so easily bought, no matter how soft the garments nor how delicious and warm the food. He burrowed deeper in his blankets, and sipped a little bit of his soup. It settled comfortably in his stomach.

The old man, the one they called Alfred, laid another quilt on his shoulders. His eyes crinkled in a grandfatherly smile. Zenitsu looked away.

Zenitsu worked hard to clear his head of thoughts of another old man, this one much tinier and a head of hair much whiter, with a coarse moustache of gray whiskers that twitched angrily when he scolded Zenitsu, and a small calloused hand that patted his head when he had done a good job at one thing or another.

—

Zenitsu didn’t know how he had come to this world.

But every moment, thoughts of the world he left behind lingered at the edges of his thoughts. They hung at a precipice. If he let himself fall into the depth of his feelings, to realize the sheer extent of what he has lost, he didn’t think he would be able to resurface.

And so, for the moment, he let things pass him by. He let himself float in this soft world.

Maybe that is why he got caught off guard.

As the sun set, he felt his body grow more and more tense. It was out of his control, so used was he to the practice among those trained to fight demons, or among the common folk who lived where demons frequently tread. His muscles coiled tight at the ready for the night and the demons it was sure to bring.

But the people here were at ease. There was no urgency to take refuge in their homes. Zenitsu could not scent any wisteria nearby. Did these people somehow have protection that Zenitsu was not aware of, did they simply not know they needed to have protection. Zenitsu doubted the latter. He had felt the effortless strength in those arms when he had fallen. The tall man was not one to be caught unawares.

Perhaps there was an alternative explanation Zenitsu was not realizing, a potential truth that Zenitsu did not want to acknowledge.

Zenitsu should have dared to acknowledge it, so that he wouldn’t have been so unprepared.

The tall man was no longer clad in armor, but in simple garments that revealed the man he was underneath. Bruce. The name rolled unfamiliarly in Zenitsu’s tongue.

That was another strange thing.

The people spoke in another language. They spoke his language, too, Bruce and the old man, but Zenitsu sometimes could not understand what they meant. Like when Bruce said that Jason had gone on to school, and that he had a lot of tests to catch up on. Zenitsu wasn't familiar with all the terms, and he hadn’t gone to school that long himself before he had been kicked out, but he could recognize the way Jason’s face had soured and his nose had scrunched up at the thought of school, and realized that some things were always true, that the sky was dark on rainy days or that of kids not wanting to go to school.

Bruce had shown Zenitsu around what he had called the manor, pushing Zenitsu’s chair to the different rooms inside, or carrying him to the outdoor grounds when something caught Zenitsu’s notice. It was so bizarre to receive that much attention. Zenitsu did not know what to think of it. He patted the downy feathers of the sparrow still sleeping in his lap. Its wing wasn’t quite fully healed yet. Zenitsu lent the bird his lap while it slept so that it could regain its strength. He let it have some sunshine, too.

Anxiety buzzed in his mind as he tried to make sense of his current circumstances.

His newfound refuge was filled with a variety of comforts. The house was vast, with long halls, solid wood doors, transparent glass windows, and expansive gardens that held so much life that sang sweetly into Zenitsu’s ears. His belly was full and his injuries were wrapped with great care. His hair shone brightly like spun gold and his cheeks were red from a warm bath that had left him feeling the cleanest he’s ever been.

It was inevitable that Zenitsu succumbed to the illusion of safety.

There was a reason he was trampled and beat down so many times in the past. That he had let Gramps take him away so easily. That he had chosen to follow Ta– the boy with those hanafuda earrings that day instead of going off on his own.

He was a weak fool like that, and all he had wanted was to be loved.

He should have already known by now that nothing came for free.

“There are no prying ears here." The man began. "I’ve sent Jason off to his room to study for his exams. Alfred is still in the kitchen cleaning up. This area’s been swept for bugs, and a disruptor field blocks any transmissions. Now, please, tell me.” The man-no, he sounded like a warrior again, the lines of his figure poised at the ready, as if to mirror Zenitsu’s own posture for the night.

The warrior’s tone made Zenitsu’s stomach twist. It sounded calm, almost too calm. Like a door closing behind him, the lock falling into place, replacing all the warm fuzzy comforts with the familiar dreadful cold of an unknown future, of hidden expectations lying in wait.

Here it was.

The man seemed larger than ever, casting a long shadow on Zenitsu against the backdrop of the falling sun.

Here was the price for this world, the price for what he’d left behind.

When the warrior lowered himself to one knee, their eyes meeting, Zenitsu felt his throat close up. His all-encompassing stare left Zenitsu nowhere to hide.

The silence stretched, pressing heavier with every heartbeat, until Bruce finally spoke. His voice was quiet, a tone Zenitsu could almost fool himself into thinking was kind. But it was unyielding, impossible to turn aside, and threatened unspeakable things were Zenitsu not to cooperate.

“Is there someone after you, Zenitsu?” Bruce asked.

Zenitsu opened his eyes. He hadn't noticed closing them.

The man–for he was a man again–his voice was unbearably gentle, the bulk of his body poised in attack, but not against Zenitsu, he had come to realize. It looked like he had formed himself a wall around Zenitsu, as if to protect him from the world.

Zenitsu wasn’t used to being looked at as if he were some fragile thing.

—

The boy’s eyes flickered around, as if to check if there were people around to hear.

So Bruce was right. Whatever Zenitsu had to say, he didn’t want others to hear.

Bruce’s guard rose at the attempts at deception, as was his habit. But he did his best not to let it show.

He always put up a softer front when dealing with children. But there were times when he couldn’t stop the darker parts of himself from showing, the hurt eight year old boy that didn’t want to lose anyone else.

Jason was all too happy to take the boy in. He wouldn’t have appreciated hearing Bruce’s suspicions.

But Jason hadn’t been in the room to see, too busy picking out supplies as Leslie instructed. The boy had attacked with extraordinary speed. Painless its effect may have been on Bruce, it had been enough to knock him down, the sheer control of the movement exceedingly precise—and Bruce feared, dangerous.

The boy was not receptive to questions. Bruce was uneasy with the lack of clarity, but he could see in the boy’s eyes how much he battled against unseen monsters to muster the will to even look Bruce in the eye, let alone think beyond that to even bother with parsing through the jumbled mess of Bruce’s attempts to communicate with the child.

Bruce’s reactions must have been more transparent than he intended. The boy was curling into himself, bandaged fingers gripping the cloth of his pajamas. Bruce itched to smooth them down. Leslie would kill him when she sees the state that he’d allowed the boy to be in.

Bruce didn’t mean to let his frustration show, but he was unpracticed in matters this delicate. There was no opponent to fight, not yet. Which was why Bruce had to ask. But he had to ask properly. Gentle, Alfred always said.

The boy’s breath hitched, but his fingers remained crushing the fabric, his gaze fixed to the ground. Bruce held back a sigh. He made to stand. Perhaps another time. There was no need to rush the child.

“I’m not sure,” the boy said.

Bruce paused in his kneeling position on the ground. The boy seemed like he wanted to say more.

“I’m not sure if they exist here.”

“Who are they?”

“They’re called demons.”

The world seemed to darken at the word despite it being in the middle of twilight, when the sky was awash with a sea of fire as the sun raged its final fight against the night before it succumbed to the reign of the moon.

“But I don’t think you have demons in this world,” the boy continued.

“What makes you say that?”

“The fact that someone as esteemed and battle-ready as you is unaware means they don’t.” Zenitsu raised his eyes and met Bruce’s gaze. “You would not have missed them.”

—

Monsters with superhuman strength that came out during the night to prey on human flesh, Zenitsu had explained to Bruce. And that he was a slayer trained in killing these demons.

Something dark unfurled in Bruce's chest. Those x-rays came to mind again. That a boy as young as his son was trained so brutally for a threat so dangerous

A creak disrupted his thoughts. It was the boy crouching in his seat, shielding his head as if expecting to be hit. Bruce stiffened and examined his surroundings to check for the potential of a threat that could have alarmed the boy. It took him a few seconds, just enough for the roaring beat of his heart to calm, to hear a train of stuttered apologies and muffled sobs. It was the boy, and he looked terrified of Bruce, almost hyperventilating with the fear.

Bruce immediately reined in his panic, his anger, his fear. Dick was right. He was no good at this.

Bruce made himself small. He crouched slightly lower than before. But he hovered uncertainly. He pulled on the training he put himself through when he tried to help Jason with his panic attacks, when Dick woke up from nightmares and still came to him for comfort.

“I don’t think there are demons here.” Zenitsu babbled, hands fisting in his hair.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed. I’m sorry Zenitsu.” Bruce said soothingly, hands encircling fists, firm but still careful, gentle, to stop the boy from ripping his hair out.

“No, you don’t understand.” Tears ran down honey-colored eyes. Golden hair swished as a head shook vigorously from left to right, as if ridding the mind of memories they didn’t want to confront. Bruce’s heart broke. He should have kept his mouth shut. “I’d be able to tell if there were demons here! I can hear the difference!”

“Your hearing, is that one of your powers?” Bruce scrambled to distract the boy. The situation was escalating. The boy shouldn't be agitated. His body couldn't handle it.

“Powers? What–what do you mean by that?”

“Abilities beyond that of a normal human's limits. Those who have them are called metahumans.”

It seemed to work. The boy was still again, if not for the slight trembling in his arms. Bruce was an idiot. He wished Alfred was here in his stead.

“I guess so. I don’t know what you mean by me– meta, but I have the best hearing in my squad.”

”You have a squad?” Bruce asked.

A flash of green and gray and pink in Zenitsu’s memory threatened to summon the fog again and he wanted nothing else but to sink in it. Zenitsu pushed on, as if he heard nothing. Metahumans. This was the clarity Zenitsu was looking for. The path forward was now clear.

“You’re a warrior, yes?” Zenitsu asked instead, but he didn’t wait to hear an answer. If he waited now, he might lose steam and give up like the coward he was. “See, I’m a… I’m a swordsman. I can serve you as a fighter. And- and like you said, I have powers.”

“You don’t have to do that." Bruce insisted. "You are a guest in our home.”

Zenitsu wouldn’t be fooled. Everyone wanted something. He wasn’t always smart enough to figure out what that something was but he could sense something familiar in his savior’s eyes, kindred spirits that were fighting, too, in a war of their own. Zenitsu could be useful.

Zenitsu shook his head. “I want to.”

“Children should not fight the battles of grown men.” Bruce knew how hypocritical that sounded as it left his lips. He did not have a good track record when it came to keeping children away from the violence he has pledged his life to.

Zenitsu laughed, the first since he arrived. He surprised himself with the audacity. “How about your Robin? Is he not your soldier?”

The tall man looked offended, and that made Zenitsu want to curl in a ball again, but Zenitsu did not let that deter him. He hung on to lucidity because he had a goal with all of this.

“He is my son.”

“I can be his soldier then, if you can’t handle it in your conscience. I’ll fight his battles.” Zenitsu said.

One would think Bruce would be used to the phenomenon, after taking in two children that both took the mantle of Robin. What was it about him that caused these children to jump headfirst into danger? And what had he been thinking that he'd let them?

Zenitsu kneeled to the ground. Bruce raced to stop the boy, but Zenitsu was faster. The boy's legs crashed against the unforgiving ground with a loud thump. Leslie was going to kill Bruce for this.

“Robin saved my life. And you saved my life, too. I owe you both a debt.” Zenitsu said, breathlessly. “I may not be the strongest fighter, but I believe I can help with your cause, whatever it may be.”

“You’re so willing to give your loyalty just like that?” Bruce said, horrified. He had to say something to stop this. The boy blazed forward, as if driven by an invisible force, his words spilling over one after the other.

“The song yours and your Robin’s soul makes speaks of kindness, bravery, and sacrifice. Without you, I would be dead,” Zenitsu said. He finally met Bruce’s eyes. He needed to let this stupid man understand. Who was Bruce to refuse? “I would be honored to serve anyone with such a soul.”

There was conviction in those eyes. They were all Bruce could think of, other than the knee-jerk reaction to reject the praise.

He had sold his life away for his mission. He had even believed in it once. He had dragged down two innocent children with him. But futile as it seemed, it had been so long since Bruce had let himself think that he was doing any good. And just like every time a child had given him this same offer, knowing that he could not stop them no matter what he did…

“I cannot ask you of this, but if that is your wish, then I would be honored to receive the aid of a warrior such as yourself, Zenitsu.”

—

Zenitsu knew that there are rules of nature that should not be broken, especially not by him.

Everything had a price.