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Chapter Text

The stairs were long but they did not lead directly to the house. After the long staircase followed an even longer elevator and after that an in comparison hilarious small hallway. And at its end was a dark brown wooden door.

Bruce opened it by just turning the knob. No weird combo of face identication, some foreign languade sentences for a password and an ass-long numeral code the Batman had to type into the elevator for it to move upwards.

Behind the door Jason found a study. And not an ordinary one at that, but one that looked like the kind he reads about in his books: a big wooden mahagony table, a massive chair behind it, beige damask pattern. Behind the desk, the wall was filled to the ceiling with cases full of books.

In the center of the room were two sofas, dark burgundy leather and a small table between them, made from the same wood as Bruces desk. On the other side of the room Jason saw a big fireplace. He heard the wood cracking as the flames were burning it away.

Right next to the fireplace the walls were decorated with pictures, like the ones you‘d only find in museums. There were two windows, on the right side of the table, overseeing a big upkept garden. Jason knew that they‘d driven quiet a while, but somehow he‘d still expected to be able to see Gotham.

Jason had never been outside of Gotham before. He was born and raised beneath the dark shadows and looming skyscrapers. He heard the city whisper it‘s secrets among the city‘s towering structures all his life. The smell of urban grit and smog perpuated his nose since forever.

Here, with the windows tilted, it smelled nothing like that. Jason did not know if the fragrance that tickled his nose was the grass or the flowers outside or something different. But it smelled clean, like when mom had enough spare change to wash their clothes with laundry detergent at the laundromat.

„Do you rather want a tour through the manor or do you want to rest in your room for a while?“ Bruce Wayne asked.

Jason took a deep breath. That had been a shock and Jason certainly had needed quite a time to cope with that enough to follow the man upstairs. He had no outburst or something equally embarassing like that, but he had gaped like a fish on dry land at Batman.

At Bruce fucking Wayne, who wanted him to life at his manor.

Jason wasn‘t really sure if the time it took for him to move his limbs and follow the man upstairs was even enough to really cope with what happened in the past days or if his outburst would happen once he was on his own. Which he really now wanted to be.

„Can I go …“ Jason stopped short, he was really super nervous and his hands shoke. He grabbed the handles of his backpack harder, not looking over his shoulder to Bruce Wayne carrying all the other stuff that they got for him, in the same laundry basked Alfred had used to carry his clothes down to the cave before.

„Whatever you want, Jason,“ the Batman said.

„Room, please,“ Jason cringed. He felt so awkward and out of place in the midst of all these books and pictures, the heavy furniture and the little trinkets here and there. Each and every was probably worth more than anything Jason carried with him.

He threw a glanze to the grandfather clock right to his side. It was dark brown wood with a golden clock face and pendulum and it was taller than him. Jason just wanted to hide from this stuff, even if the soft glow of the vintage lamps created a warm light that would be just perfect to curl up on the armchair, with a book and a blanket.

But that would never happen. Jason knew that he would never willingly step foot inside this home study again, least of all to curl up here and read.

Or was this the only entrance from the manor to the cave? Then he probably would come in here again to go downstairs. He needed to, if he‘d be Robin.

Jason gulped, while following the Batman through the door of the study. Not the one they just came from but another that lead to long hallways with more pictures on the walls and vases and trinkets on ornate side tables and drawers.

Jason wondered if they were grand pieces handed down from generations or if Wayne was a strange rich guy who loved buying in overpriced thrift stores to decorate his big-ass house like it belonged to the last century.

„This is the family wing,“ Bruce Wayne said, after they walked through half a dozen hallways and almost equally as much staircases. He had read the first couple of Harry Potter books back when mom still took him to the library and it reminded him a lot of how he imagined Hogwarts to look like.

He had never come around to read much of the later ones that came out in the last years. They had always been rented out when he went looking for them in the library and he had barely seen a bit here and there of the movies, when they were broadcasted on cable and whoever he lived with zapped through the channels. Maybe he could find them on one of the steaming apps Batman had told him about.

He allowed himself a gaze to the side, at the Bat, who shifted all the stuff, including the Ipad and the workbooks, to one hand to open a door with his free one. He stepped in and put everything down on a dresser right next to the door.

„Dicks Room is right across the door and mine is at the end of the hallway,“ Bruce Wayne explained. Jason just nodded, while taking in the big bedroom with a mix of awe and skepticism.

The furniture was all dark wood. Across from the dresser, right between the wall and a big window overlooking the grounds of Wayne Manor, stood a queen bed with dark blue linen and a folded maroon colored blanket at the foot.

The rug on the floor and the curtains were also dark blue but the light from the lamps at the ceiling and on the side table of the bed bathed the room in a warm glow.

The room was so big, that there was a second window and below it stood a large dark wooden desk with a matching chair. On the other side, was a built-in wardrobe and some almost empty shelves.

For some spare bedroom in the family wing it looked super clean, no dust or anything on any surface and the pillows on the bed looked like they were fluffed up just minutes ago. Why would they give a room like that to some random street trash Batman picked up yesterday night?

„Through the door is the en-suite,“ Bruce Wayne explained, while he pointed at a door next to the big wardrobe. Jason wondered if it was empty too or if there was still stuff from whoever used this room before him.

Did Batman have a habit of picking up strays? Was there a whole bunch of trash kids that knew his secret?

Why would he do that?

„I‘ll leave you for a bit. You can find me in my study, if you need anything. Do you remember the way?“

Jason shrugged his shoulders.
„Sure,“ he mumbled, not at all certain that he really would find his way. But it didn‘t matter. He wouldn‘t run around the hallways. No one could accuse him of sniffling around or worse, of trying to ransack this place.

„Great. I will come and get you for afternoon tea later today.“
„Okay,“ Jason nodded and stared at the closed door, after the man left.

He should run.

Jasons gaze wandered from the door to the stuff Wayne left for him on the dresser. He could take some of the clothes and the big parka, they would keep him warm and he would have stuff to change into or to wear on top of each other on really cold nights.

Jason could grab the Ipad. Of course there was no way to charge it, being some homeless street trash, but it would certainly sell good.

Maybe on his way down he could snatch another trinket or two. Or he could check if there was a kitchen somewhere, grab a few silver spoons and whatever food they had around to get by for a few days.

Jason sunk to the floor, backpack on his lap and his back against the footend of the bed. It felt sturdy. He pushed his head back against it, staring at the ceiling.

He wouldn‘t do it.

Too big was the fear that Batman would find him again. A first time offender, young and desperate as him, was one thing. But trying to steal from the Batman twice - Jason didn‘t have a dead-wish.

He wouldn‘t kill you, his inner voice told him. Maybe he wouldn‘t even hurt him. And that was all the more reason not to steal from Bruce fucking Wayne. Who was Batman.

How did he land here? Freaking shit-show. But also kinda awesome. Jason was just some random street rat. For him to land up in Wayne Manor was a freaking one in a million chance. To be offered Robin was even more … just unbelievable.

Below that mask, Robin had a normal life. He went to college. College, that was the ultimate goal. Nobody Jason really knew had ever finished college. Jason would do anything for this chance. Anything!

Chapter Text

Jasons eyes landed on the workbooks on top of all the clothes Batman carried upstairs for him. He should start working on them. He never had new ones like this.

It would be really cool to be the first one working in them. All the others that Jason had found in the past few months had always been dumped in the school trashcan, were full of scribbles, red marks and notes. It was still fun to do the exercises and to have something to concentrate on.

Jason stood, leaving his backpack against the bedframe, and went over to the laundry basket. He grabbed both workbooks and looked around were to sit. The desk would probably be the best idea but he almost felt overwhelmed to really sit down there as if he was doing real homework for real school.

Breathing a few deep breaths, he sat down on the chair. His fingers were trembling just slightly - not because he was scared or exited. He was okay. He could deal with it. He could deal with anything.

But maybe it was all a lot and his body was doing stupid things.

Jason pushed his hand into a fist and then opened it again, carefully turning the front page of the workbook. It was math. Jason had always been good enough at school, even if math wasn‘t as much fun as english. But what they did in the first grades was easy enough. The book Agent A got for him was from fifth to seventh grade. Jason had only attended the first few weeks of sixth grade. Still the first exercised should be easy. It should be stuff he already knew.

Motivated Jason looked around for a pen, realising remorsefully that he had none. Crap. He should have thought about it. Jason groaned in annoyance. He was pretty sure that Agent A would have gotten him a pen on top of all that stuff he bought.

If he‘d asked nicely.

Jason knew how to do that. Be polite and stuff. His parents had been poor and there were sure enough times when dad was to angry to be polite and mom too drugged to care, but when Jason had been really little they had taught him to say please and thank you and they always told him to be nice to his elders. They would have wanted him to be extra polite to someone like Agent A.

And there were probably tons of pens around the manor already. They didn‘t even have to buy a new one. They could just grab a random one that nobody used anymore.
Maybe one they would have trown out sooner or later and Jason could keep it.

He had found a pen sometimes in the trash cans around school but often they did not function for long. There was a reason someone threw them away. Almost nobody at Jasons school had the money to trash good stuff.

Jason sighed and closed the workbook again. He really wanted to do the exercises but it was not worth it to search out Bruce Wayne for a pen. But he‘d said to come find him in his study if he needed something before afternoon tea. Wayne probably has tons of pens in that study. Jason thought he had even seen some in an ornate cup holder on the big mahagony desk.

Jason slid off his chair, grabbed his backpack from the floor and headed for the door. He opened it a crack and peeked out. No one was there. That was good!

Jason slipped out into the hallway, his bag shouldered. He wouldn‘t leave it behind. Jason didn‘t plan to leave but he was not taking the risk to be without his stuff if he needed to run away as fast a possible.

Jason found the way to the study by trying to remeber the paintings and vases he has walked by. He had almost taken a wrong turn twice but after just a couple of minutes he stood in front of the wooden door to Bruce Waynes home study.

Jason raised his hand uncertainly to knock on the door. Should he really do it? He could just go back. He didn't really need a pen. He could carry on reading. Peter Pan was a really great book and he was excited to see how the story of Peter, Wendy and Tinkerbell continued.

He took a step back. He really should go back. Batman had also taken the iPad to the room Jason was allowed to stay in. He could watch a few more videos on YouTube. Interrupting Bruce Wayne's work for a stupid pen was one of the dumbest ideas Jason had ever had. Right after the idea of stealing Batman's tires or going back to the group home as a snitch.

“Master Jason, may I help you?”
Jason flinched, startled. Of course he recognized Agent As voice but he did not expect to stumble upon him right now. Shit, Jason thought, was he even allowed out of his room?

Urgently thinking back to what Bruce Wayne had told him when he brought him to the room upstairs. He had not said that Jason was not allowed out of the room but he’d said that he would get him for afternoon tea. Was Jason supposed to wait? No. No, Jason remembered that Wayne told him to find him in the study if he needed anything. He even asked if Jason still knew the way.

“I am allowed to be here,” Jason said, taking a step back. Agent A had been nothing but nice to him, but now they weren’t downstairs anymore but upstairs in the manor, where Agent A banned Wayne from his own kitchen. Up here, Agent A was the boss, that Jason understood already. Shit!

“I didn’t take anything! Honest! You can check my bag.” Jason shrugged his backpack from his shoulders and held it out for Agent A to look through. There was a foster family, early on, that insisted on checking his bag every morning before he left for school. They didn’t allow him to bring his fox and the picture of his parents, so he had to keep that hidden in his room.

Once they were missing a ten dollar bill and then they found it in his backpack and they had been so angry. It was the only time that they send him to school without lunch. They had been sorry when they found out that afternoon that it had been their daughter who put the money in his bag. They gave him a big dessert that evening, but when their daughter was crying that it was unfair that he got one and she didn’t, she got her very own bowl. Two days later Jason had to leave.

“Master Jason, lad. I do not intend to inspect your belongings.” Jason nodded, relieved, not because he needed to hide something but because it was damn embarassing to stood by while an adult was going through his things to check if he stole something.

“Can I go back to the room?” Jason asked, hesistance in his voice. He wouldn’t ask for a pen now. It had been a dumb idea to leave the room and he just wanted to go back there and hide.
“Sure, you may. But if I may be so bold to assume, Masker Jason, what did you want from Master Bruce?”

“It’s … “ Jason stuttered, looking up at Agent As face for the first time since coming upstairs from the cave. He was not the Agent anymore, Wayne had called him Alfred. He was still dressed in his black suit, but he didn’t wear the domino mask anymore. His eyes were kind and blue and the skin around them was wrinkled.

“I was just looking for a pen … I mean … not looking myself, but I wanted to ask Mr. Wayne. I’m sorry. I know it’s stupid,” Jason babbled unintelligently.
“Well, if it’s just this,” Alfred said, buttoning up two of his suit buttons to grab a pen from his inside pocket. He held out his hand to Jason.
“If you want to retreat back to your room, you may, but should you decide to help me prepare the scones for todays afternoon tea, please follow me to the kitchen.”

Jason quickly took the pen from Alfreds outstreched hand, not wanting to make the older man wait, while pondering what to do.
He really wanted to go back to his room, hide there and maybe try out the first exersizes in the workbook. It had been quite a while since he had been able to do some. But if Alfred wanted his help, he should help. Alfred was the one who fed him and also the one to buy all this stuff for him, clothes and books. Even if it was most probably Waynes money Jason should definitly do a task if Alfred asked him to.

You need to be on your best behavior, Jason told himself quietly. Only then this whole gig had any chance to last.

So Jason quickly nodded and followed him to the kitchen downstairs. The room was spacious with large windows overlooking another part of the gigantic green grounds the manor was located on. With gleaming granite countertops, high-end stainless steel appliances, and rich mahogany cabinetry the kitchen was probably the most expensive thing Jason had seen in his whole life.

Alfred opened the double doored fridge to retrieve a steel bowl filled with dough that he set on the kitchen isle in the middle of the room.

“Please take a seat,” Alfred told him, motioning to the wooden bar stools around the kitchen isle. “Can I entertain you to a glass of juice?”
“Uh … sure?” Jason said, not sure why they would again give him stuff. He hadn’t done a thing to earn it yet.

“Let me see, I do have apple juice from the farmers market or I can press a few oranges and make a fresh can of juice for us to share.”
Jason waited for Alfred to make a decision but when the old man raised an eyebrow at him and the fridge beeped for the first time Jason understood that he was waiting too. For Jason to decide. But how should he? Apple Juice was way less work for the old man but he said they could share the orange juice so maybe it was Alfred who wanted some.

When the fridge beeped a second time, Jason rushed out: “Orange Juice, please. But I can do it.”
“Great choice!” Alfred said and retrieved a bag of oranges from the fridge. Jason was relieved. He’d made the right call.

“May I explain to you how the fruit press works, Master Jason?”
“You don’t need to call me that,” Jason mumbled.
“Nonsense. You are a young master in my care, just as Master Bruce and Master Dick have been.”
“Is this like … a british thing?”
“Well, it sure is a common in britain to call the boys in my care master,” Alfred answered, depositing the oranges next to the stainless steel fruit press on the counter top.

Jason had never used a fruit press before. He had expected it to be an electric thing, like an electric cattle or a coffee maker, but there was no cable connecting the thing to the socket.
“Is it running on battery?” Jason asked, voice timid.

“No, lad. It’s a manual operated fruit press. You see, it functions perfectly since decades. One has yet to show me an electric juicer of the same quality,” Alfred explained, while cutting the orange in halfs and then putting one of the halves in the round opening of the juice press. He had made sure that Jason could see everything from his spot next to the man. It was super interesting to see Alfred move the long handle and to see orange juice flow from the spout into a glass carafe.

“Cool,” Jason mumbled. He had never seen how juice was made. True, it was super clear that it somehow worked like this and the big factories probably did it compleatly different but it was neat to see it.
“Would you be so kind to fill the carafe with juice?”
“Sure,” Jason said, grabbing the remaining half of the first orange and copying what Alfred had done. The handle was not super hard to operate but he needed to use a bit of force, especially since he was shorter than Alfred.

Jason continued to cut the oranges in half, careful to not make a mess on the cutting board, and to press the juice out of them until the carafe was almost filled. He didn’t want to fill it to the brim, scared that it would spill and Alfred would be angry with him.

So Jason turned around, observing how Alfred put a tray into the ofen.
“I’m done,” Jason told him, as soon as the oven door was closed.
“Wonderful. Let me retrieve two glasses for us and then we can sit down until the scones are baked. Please be a good lad and bring the juice, will you?”

Jason grabbed the carafe, glad that Alfred motioned to where he needed to put it down on the counter again. Alfred filled both glasses, but before Jason sat down again, he asked: “Should I put the oranges back into the fridge?”

“I almost forgot, yes indeed, please do, lad.”
“Okay,” Jason mumbled, maybe to reassure himself, but he could do it. Just grab the oranges and put them back. Alfred asked him to, so it was fine to touch the fridge. He wouldn’t even grab anything, not while Alfred was in the same room. But maybe he could check, just quickly, if there was something he could grab and hide for later. It would be nice to have something, should they decide not to feed him anymore.

Would Alfred have noticed if he grabbed an orange? It was a huge bag of them and he had used more than half a dozen to make one carafe of juice, he would surely not see one missing. Should Jason risk it?
No, he thought, opening the fridge.
“There is a drawer at the bottom. This is where we store our produce. Please be so kind to deposit the oranges there, Master Jason.”

Jason quickly did what Alfred told him, while gasping at the huge amount of food. There was so much, that he couldn’t even think about what he could take, before he had to close the door to not seem suspicious. He walked back to the counter and sat down on the one of the tall chair, that Alfred had put his glass in front of.
“The juice is quite nice, the right amount of sweetness, I’d say. Usually I refrain from buying fruit not in season, but sometimes I like to indulge.”
“It’s yummi,” Jason mumbled, because not saying anything was super impolite and the juice tasted really good. Jason was thankful that Alfred let him have stuff as nice as that.

“I’m glad you like it, lad. Fruit is healthy and good for you,” Alfred explained. “I go to the farmers market in Bristol twice a week to buy produce, meat and fish. Shall there be a fruit you like especially, let me know and I retrieve it for you.”
“My mom sometimes bought some bananas,” Jason told him. They were always super ripe and on discount but Jason liked them. They were sweet and filling.
“I shall bring you back a couple of bananas then.”

“You don’t need too,” Jason mumbled, not wanting to be a bother. They had so many food in the fridge. Alfred didn’t need to buy something especially for him. Jason follows the trail of condensation on his glass. What if it made Wayne angry?

“If you are in favor of them, I very much like too, Master Jason,” Alfred told him, while standing to retrieve the baking tray from the oven. Jason stretched to catch a glimpse of the pastry. It was goldbrown and looked super crispy. If it tasted as good it smelled and looked, this might be the best thing Jason had ever eaten.

“You made scones,” Bruce voice boomed from the hallway entrance to the kitchen.
“This house is bigger than the Royal Albert Hall but still the smell of my scones finds it’s way through the hallways to your office, Master Bruce.”

Wayne grinned and sat down next to Jason.
“You need to try them warm, Jason. Fresh out of the oven they are the best!”
“Warm indeed, but at least let them cool down enough to not coagulate the clotted cream,” Alfred scolded while walking over to the stove to put an old looking ceramic tea kettle on the flame, before walking up to the fridge.

“They are best with melting peanut butter either way,” Wayne faux wispered to Jason.
Was it supposed to be funny or why did he do that? Should Jason laugh?
“For the love of god, please refrain from corrupting the young lad,” Alfred admonished before adressing Jason again: “Only heathens like Master Bruce and Master Dick deface proper scones with culinaric experiments like this.”

“Our creations were great and you know it,” Bruce mused. “What do you want to spread on yours, Jason?”
Jason flinched. He had no idea what to say. Wayne seemed to want him to be creative and just randomly choose something. Was it to spite Alfred? But why should he do it?

Sure, both had a few conversations down in the cave that Jason had not been privy of and at first Jason had thought, Alfred was not at all happy about Batman picking up strays, but he had been nothing but kind to him. Jason didn’t want to annoy him with stupid stuff like what to put on scones. Alfred clearly valued old proper british etiquette.

Jason knew he was just a stupid street-rat that Batman took pity on and Alfred must thought he was a dumb fuck-up but there was no need to irritate him knowingly. But at the same time Jason was super afraid of Waynes reaction if Jason just remained mute to his question. Adults never liked if kids ignored them. Jason had been slapped more than once to learn the lesson of answering questions his caretakers asked him.

“I don’t know,” Jason admitted. “I … uhm … never had scones before.”
“They are basically like every other bread,” Bruce explained and while he continued telling what Dick and he had all tried out on them, Jason heard Alfred mutter under his breath: “Oh heavens, give me strengh.”
Jason felt super bad for him. Alfred was so kind to him, he gave him a book and a pen and he wanted to buy him bananas, just because Jason liked them.

“I wanna try them Alfreds way.” Sometimes Jason was brave and dumb, like when he tried to steal Batmans tires (and almost succeded). Usually he regretted being brave pretty soon. But when Alfred shoot him an apreasing smile and Wayne didn’t slap him so hard he fell from his chair, Jason thought, maybe he wouldn’t need to regret his bold answer this time.

Alfred brought over a small white procellan bowl with something in it that looked a bit like whipped cream, only thicker. Jason wondered if it would taste like whipped cream too, or maybe more like butter? But whatever it was, it would probably be fine. Jason didn‘t really care what spread to put on his scone, as long as Alfred and Wayne continued feeding him.

After Alfred halved the cooled scones, filled about half of them with clotted cream and arranged them on an etagere, he rummaged in the pantry cupboards and brought peanut butter, various types of jam and what looked like semi-liquid chocolate in a jar to the kitchen island.
„You surely can have them the traditional way, lad, but if you want to try some bolder combinations, I won‘t hold it against you,“ Alfred told him with a wink.

„Okay, cool.“ Jason nodded and sat, while Alfred plated shining short knifes, small gold rimmed porcelan plates and filled the matching cups with steaming tea. Jason would have liked to help him, show himself useful and not sit by like he was the master of the house, but he was not sure how to offer and not bold enough to help without asking first.

Maybe he‘d offer to do the dishes later on, after Wayne left the kitchen again. Talking to Alfred was a bit easier if Wayne was not there. Jason still believed that Alfred was in charge of the kitchen, and maybe upstairs in general, but Wayne was a big man and Jason relied on him, if he wanted to have a roof over his head. If he wanted to have a chance at school.

Wayne took one scone of the tray, halved it himself and loaded it with peanut butter, while Alfred first gave Jason one of the traditional ones from the etagere he‘d prepared, before adding one to his own plate.

When they finished the tea and scones, Bruce asked Jason if he was up for a tour of the house or if he wanted to go back to his room. Jason was aware that he was asked to do the tour the second time today, so maybe it was important for Wayne, that Jason knew the floorplan of the manor. It surely wouldn‘t hurt to find out where he was allowed to go and where not, so Jason shrugged his shoulders.
„We can do the tour,“ he mumbled.

„Are you finished with your food, Master Jason or would you like another scone before I leave you to explore the manor?“
Jason had had two scones, one with clotted cream and another one with peanut butter. Both had been good, but maybe one with jam on top of the clotted cream would have been even more awesome. But Jason was full and he wouldn‘t have dared to open one of Alfreds prepared scones to add a spoon of marmelade either way, even if they told him he could try some bolder combinations.

„I‘m good,“ Jason said. „Thanks for the food and uhm … the juice and the pen.“
„Of course, lad. Shall you need anything else, please do not hesistate to ask, Master Jason.“

Chapter Text

Jason shouldered his backpack once again and followed Wayne out of the kitchen into the grand hallway. Just opposite was an opened double winged door, leading into a large room. In the center if the room stood a long dark wooden table, surrounded by a dozen chairs. Heavy wooden shelves with glass doors stood to the right and left of the walls. Jason saw the fine porcelain and the silverware, neatly arranged and polished.

„This is were we take our meals,“ Wayne explained. „Dinner is always between six and seven, but someone will get you, either me or Alfred. You won‘t miss it, but now you know where to go, when we call you for meals.“

Jason wondered why they just ate in the kitchen then but it had been fine. The kitchen counter was nice. Jason could always eat there. He wondered if having a meal in this room, surrounded by overpriced knick-knacks and ornate vases and paintings would feel awkward. Jason knew he was street trash and Wayne just was the exact opposite but Wayne was also Batman and Batman knew Gothams alleys. If he thought taking trash home with him was a good idea, Jason would not defer him. He just hoped Wayne wouldn‘t throw him out as fast as he picked him up.

Wayne led him through the hallway and pointed to a few rooms. Most of the doors stood open and all rooms looked pristine and kept in well order - be it the utility room or one of the half dozen sitting rooms. Why someone had so many rooms just to sit in them and decorate them with expensive things was something Jason would never understand.

The next room they actually went in was the family living room, as Wayne called it. A big ass TV was mounted on one wall. In front of it and to the sides left and right stood large darkish grey modern couches. The whole feeling of the room was different. There were no tasteful old pictures on the walls but a few frames holding pictures of Wayne and a kid and sometimes Alfred or some other people that Jason didn‘t know.
On the shelves stood no finely patterned vases or ornate sculpures but some books and video games and memorabilia that looked more like it came from some touristic souvenir shop than as if it belonged into a museum. Jason thought he spottet the Eiffel Tower and was that opera house in Sydney?

„We have some gaming systems down here and probably all the streaming apps there are. Dick is a big movie fan,“ Wayne said, waving his hand to the big TV and then over to some cabinets on the wall across. „We also have games and puzzles.“
Dick was super lucky, Jason guessed. Back at home he never had any video games and if the TV was working they ever only had cable.

„You have all the streaming apps on your tablet too, so if you rather watch in your room, you could do that.“
„So you mean I am allowed to be in here?“ Jason asked, too flabbergasted to shut his mouth. „To watch movies and play video games?“

„Sure you are.“ Wayne shrugged his shoulders.
„And the movies … um are they like youtube or do I gotta pay for them?“
„On Disney and Netflix everything is free. On prime, if you want to watch something specific, it may cost a few dollars. But don‘t worry, it has my credit card details.“

Was Wayne fucking kidding him?

„You want me to buy movies with your credit card?“
„Well, if it‘s something you want to watch, I don‘t care. Dick buy movies all the time here.“
Wow! Dick was super majorly spoiled if he could just buy whatever stupid movie he wanted to watch, while so many were free on another streaming app.

„Can I ask you something?“
„Sure, lad.“
„What about books?“ Jason was twisting his hands nervously. Maybe there was an app to read books for free. „Are there some books I can read on the tablet? Without, you know, paying for them.“

Wayne looked like he was thinking hard, before he said: „I think there should be the kindle app still on your tablet. We have the unlimited version, so there should be some free books to choose from. But you can buy books there too, to read them online. It‘s connected to my Amazon, so it has my credit card details, too.“

„Cool,“ Jason said. He would definitly look for that kindle app and see what books he could read for free. That was awesome!

„Do you like reading?“ Wayne asked him. Jason knew he should lie. Telling Wayne that he liked books was the surest way for him to take the books away when Jason was bad. But he had been kinda obvious with asking for workbooks and instantly reading the book that Alfred got him. Asking to read books instead of watching movies.

Jason was so so dumb!

So he shrugged his shoulders. No point in lying. So what if Wayne took the books away. It wasn‘t as if Jason had the possibility to read much while living on the street. He didn‘t care if he didn‘t got any books living here. As long as they fed him and sent him to school. Wayne promised school!

„Let me show you the library, then,“ Wayne said. Of course they had a library! What the fuck!

Jason followed Wayne out of the family room, down the hallway and through double winged doors into the most beautiful room Jason had ever seen in his entire life!

The room featured high, coffered ceilings adorned with intricate woodwork. Tall, arched windows let in streams of natural light, illuminating the space and offering picturesque views of the surrounding gardens. Luxurious, heavy velvet curtains in deep burgundy could be drawn to create a cozy atmosphere.

The walls were lined with custom-built, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves made of rich dark oak, showcasing an extensive collection of leather-bound volumes, first editions, and rare manuscripts. A rolling ladder on brass rails provided access to the highest shelves, way above even Waynes broad shoulders.

At the center of the room sat a large, ornate wooden table, perfect for spreading out books and papers for study. Surrounding this were several plush armchairs and a chaise lounge, upholstered in sumptuous fabrics. Jason would love to sit there and immerse himself in a book. It wouldn‘t even matter which one. He would be fine with any, with whichever one Wayne would let him touch.

But why would he? If Jason owned a collection like this, he would certanly not let a dumb street rat like him touch even one of those beautiful books. They had to be handled with care and while Jason knew that he would never do anything to destroy them, Wayne didn‘t knew that. He had no reason at all to trust Jason to handle them with the care they deserved.

„Wow!“ Jason said, because it was true and Wayne already knew how much he liked books. „This is awesome, Mr. Wayne.“
„I‘m glad you like it. Alfred always says this room is not cherished enough, so feel free to use it.“
„Use it?“ Jason gaped at Wayne. „You mean I can read in here?“

„That‘s what this rooms for, isn‘t it?“ Wayne said with a stupid half grin.
„Which books can I touch?“ Maybe there was a shelf or two that held books not super expensive or special. That would still be awesome!

„There is probably a lot of boring old books but feel free to look around. They are sorted by genre and then by author but if you want to look for a specific one you can ask Alfred or me. We have a registry. Or you could just buy whatever you want to read on amazon, then you do not need to go to the library and look for them if you don‘t want too.“

Was Wayne kidding him? Being allowed in here was the best ever!
„Can I look around? Now, I mean? Or …“ Jason stopped himself. They were in the middle of a tour, so Jason got to know where he was allowed to go and which rooms he should stay the fuck away from. Of course he couldn‘t just skip that and browse the library. How fucking dumb was he to ask like that? Way to show himself as the ungrateful little shit everyone expected him to be.

„Sure, Jason.“ Wayne smiled again. „I will be in my study. Please come to me if you need anything. I will get you for dinner later tonight. Can you let me know if you will be somewhere else then your room or the library?“
„Um … yeah … sure. Thank you, Mr. Wayne.“
„You are welcome, Jason. And please, call me Bruce, if you like.“

Jason stared flabbergasted after Wayne. Bruce. He told him to call him Bruce. Jason couldn‘t believe he was on first name base with Batman. Batman who was fucking Bruce Wayne. And Jason was supposed to live with him. Batman would train him to be Robin. Bruce Wayne would send him to school. Jason knew he couldn‘t fuck up this chance.

But he was also allowed to browse this enormous library full of beautiful books. That was another chance he would not pass on.

Tentatively, he stepped further inside, his footsteps barely audible on the thick carpet. He looked around, taking in the sight of the ornate woodwork, the intricate carvings on the shelves, and the soft glow of the reading lamps casting a warm, inviting light. The scent of old books and polished wood filled the air, a comforting aroma that reminded him of a world far removed from the streets he’d grown up in.

Jason wandered along the shelves, his fingers lightly brushing the spines of the books. He marveled at the range of subjects—history, science, literature, philosophy, and so much more. Each title was a promise of adventure, knowledge, and escape. He paused at a section dedicated to classic literature, his eyes catching on the name "Charles Dickens." He pulled out "Oliver Twist" and smiled faintly at the familiar story of an orphaned boy navigating a harsh world, feeling a kinship with the character. He‘d read it in the public library a couple years ago, when mom was still alive.

As Jason continued to browse, another book caught his eye. It was a thick volume with a dark cover titled "The Count of Monte Cristo" by Alexandre Dumas. He pulled the book from the shelf, its weight solid and reassuring in his hands.
Jason moved to a large, comfortable armchair near the fireplace. It was not fired up, but Jason bet it would make the room even more cosy. Maybe one of these days he got lucky and could sit down with a book while the fire crackled next to him.

Jason settled into the chair, tucking his legs underneath him and opening the book. The words on the page quickly drew him in, the story unfolding with a vivid intensity that made him forget his surroundings. Hours passed unnoticed as he lost himself in the narrative.

Chapter Text

The sound of the grandfather clock chiming in the distance brought him back to the present. Jason blinked, realizing how much time had passed. Just as he was contemplating putting the book down, he heard Bruce Wayne's voice.

"Dinner time, Jason," Bruce said gently from the doorway, still startling Jason despite his unharmful presense in the archway.
Still Jason nodded, carefully placing a bookmark between the pages before closing the book. He stood up, clutching "The Count of Monte Cristo" as if it were a lifeline.

Bruce smiled slightly, noting the title. "Good choice. It's one of my favorites too."

Jason felt a warmth in Bruce’s approval, a sense of belonging that he hadn't expected. Jason felt like an intruder in this enormos manor, but Bruce Waye saying things like that made him feel kind of welcome.

Together, they walked towards the dining room, the library’s comforting silence giving way to the clatter of cutlery. Jason saw how Alfred put down the last few dishes, fine china as well as a glass bottle of water. He felt bad instantly. He should have helped and not wasted away the afternoon in the library.

Alfreds keen eyes immediately noticed the book Jason was holding. With a slight, approving nod, he commented, "Ah, 'The Count of Monte Cristo.' A timeless classic, Master Jason. I trust you’re finding it quite engaging?"
Jason nodded, his fingers still clutching the book tightly. "Yeah, it's... really good," he replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of shyness and excitement, still feeling a feeling a bit self-conscious under Alfred's kind gaze. He should have left the book in the library. Why didn‘t Bruce reprimand him?

"Indeed," Alfred said with a warm smile. "A tale of great resilience and ingenuity."
Jason felt a bit more at ease with Alfred’s kind words. As they took their seats, he carefully placed the book on the side table, not wanting to part with it completely but supper worried to get food on it.

The dinner began with a delicate soup, followed by a roast with an array of vegetables. Alfred served each course with practiced precision, his movements smooth and graceful. Jason, on the other hand, felt a knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach. The polished manners and refined atmosphere were worlds apart from what he was used to. He glanced at Bruce and Alfred, trying to mimic their etiquette but feeling clumsy in comparison.

He hesitated, unsure of which fork to use for the salad course. Noticing Jason's hesitation, Bruce gave a subtle nod, picking up the correct fork himself. Jason followed suit, grateful for the unspoken guidance.

Alfred, ever perceptive, subtly adjusted the pace of the meal to make Jason feel more at ease. He engaged Bruce in light conversation, giving Jason the chance to observe and learn without feeling the pressure of being in the spotlight.

As they moved on to the main course of roast beef and vegetables, Alfred steered the conversation gently towards the library. "I noticed you spent some time in the library this afternoon, Master Jason. Did you find it to your liking?"
Jason hesitated, feeling the weight of their attention. "Yeah," he said softly, looking down at his plate. "It's... it's pretty amazing. I've never seen so many books in one place."

Bruce smiled encouragingly. "The library has been a part of Wayne Manor for generations. Over the time we build quite a collection. Is there any particular genre or author you like?"
Jason shrugged, feeling a bit more comfortable but still shy. While he had used every opportunity he had to grab a book, he seldom had the opportunity to choose. Beggars can‘t be choosers, so he often read any dirty or broken paperback he found in the trash, even before he lived on the streets. But whenever he took the chance to visit the library he knew which stories to look for.
„I guess I like stories with action and adventure,“ Jason finally answered.

"That's a good start," Bruce replied. "There are plenty of books like that in the library. 'The Count of Monte Cristo' is a classic for a reason. It's full of twists and turns."
Alfred nodded. "And if you ever need recommendations, I would be more than happy to assist. There are many treasures within those shelves waiting to be discovered."

Jason glanced up, feeling a flicker of warmth from their genuine interest. "Thanks," he said, his voice gaining a bit of strength. "I... I liked the part where Dantès starts to realize who betrayed him. It feels like everything starts to come together for him."

Bruce leaned forward slightly, clearly pleased. "That’s a pivotal moment. It shows how knowledge and patience can be powerful tools. Have you thought about what kind of stories you'd like to explore next?"
Jason thought for a moment, feeling a growing sense of curiosity. "Maybe more stories like this one. Ones where the hero has to figure things out and fight against the odds."

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. "That sounds like a good plan. There are many such stories. We can find something that fits your interests perfectly."
Pleased to be allowed to choose another book to read, Jason relaxed slightly, sharing a few more thoughts on the book after Alfred inquiries.

As the main course dishes were cleared away, Alfred brought out dessert—a rich chocolate mousse, elegantly presented in delicate crystal bowls. The decadent aroma filled the room, and Jason's eyes widened slightly at the sight.

Bruce noticed Jason's reaction and smiled. "Alfred's chocolate mousse is a favorite around here. I think you'll like it."
Jason picked up his spoon, feeling a bit more comfortable but still cautious. He dipped the spoon into the mousse and took a tentative bite. The smooth, rich chocolate melted in his mouth, and he couldn't help but smile.

"This is really good," Jason said quietly, almost to himself, but loud enough for Bruce and Alfred to hear.
"I'm glad you like it, Master Jason," Alfred replied with a warm smile. "It's an old family recipe."

Jason took another bite, savoring the dessert. He glanced up, catching Bruce's encouraging nod. Despite his initial shyness, he felt a small spark of confidence growing.
As they continued eating, Alfred and Bruce resumed their light conversation, occasionally drawing Jason in with gentle questions. Jason answered shyly, still unsure of his place but feeling more accepted with each passing moment.

"Do you have a favorite dessert, Jason?" Bruce asked, genuinely curious.
Jason thought for a moment, his spoon pausing in the mousse. "I haven't had many desserts like this before," he admitted. "We didn’t really had sweets much when my parents were around. And after... well, on the street, it was mostly just what I could find."

Bruce nodded, his expression understanding. "That makes sense. It’s tough to think about favorites when you’re just trying to get by."

Jason felt a twinge of shame, glancing down at his plate. „This dessert is nice, though. I like it."
Alfred, who had been quietly observing, chimed in. "I’m glad to hear that, Master Jason. If you’re ever interested in trying new things, I’d be more than happy to help introduce you to some delightful options."
Jason managed a small smile and a shy nod, feeling the warmth of Alfred’s kindness.

After dessert, Alfred began clearing the plates with his usual efficiency. He gave Jason an approving nod. "You did quite well, Master Jason. Your table manners are commendable."
Jason blushed slightly, but felt a surge of pride. "Thanks, Alfred," he said quietly.

Bruce stood up, signaling the end of the meal. "Why don't you take your book back to the library and continue reading? I'll join you in a bit."
Jason nodded, grateful for the suggestion since he was eager to go back and continue the book but also wary of what Bruce might want from him in the libary. Surely he wouldn‘t just come to show Jason some books. He must have better things to do, so if he planned to be in the library with Jason, it must be something important. Maybe it was related to the stuff about the foster care system or it had something to do with training to become Robin.

Jason carefully picked up "The Count of Monte Cristo" and headed back to the library. Settling back into the armchair, he opened the book once more, the words on the page drawing him into a world where he felt strangely at home, trying not to think about what Bruce might want once he joined him.

More than an hour went by until Bruce entered the library, quietly closing the door behind him. He moved with the ease of someone familiar with the space, his presence both calming and commanding. Jason looked up, a mix of anticipation and uncertainty brewing in his chest.

"Hey," Bruce said, settling into the armchair across from Jason. "How's the book so far?"
Jason shifted slightly, a small smile appearing. "It's really good. Dantès has just started plotting his revenge."
Bruce nodded, intrigued. "That part is a turning point in the story. Revenge can be a powerful theme."

Jason glanced down at the book, feeling a flicker of connection to Dantès' struggles. "Yeah, it feels… relatable in a way."
Bruce studied him for a moment, the light in the room casting a soft glow on his face. "I wanted to talk to you about something important. Not just about the book."
Jason's heart raced. "Is it about... the training?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Bruce leaned forward, his demeanor serious yet gentle. "Not directly. I wanted to discuss your future and the options available to you.“

Jason's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" He felt a rush of anxiety; had Bruce changed his mind about him staying here? The dinner had gone surprisingly well—Alfred even praised his table manners. Why would Bruce reconsider?

„I‘m talking about school. There are a few possibilities, I’d like to offer you.“
Jason listened attentivly, while Bruce explained: „We can consider Gotham Academy, public school, or even homeschooling if you prefer."
Jason’s excitement was palpable, but he hesitated. "Gotham Academy? That's the really fancy one, right?“

Bruce smiled reassuringly. "Gotham Academy does have a strong reputation, I have attented myself, as have both my parents and my fathers parents. It offers excellent academic programs and extracurricular activities. It might be challenging at first, but I think you could thrive there."

Jason thought for a moment, the allure of Gotham Academy tempting him. "It sounds amazing, but I sure won’t fit in.“
"That’s a normal concern. Dick was worrying about that too at first," Bruce said. "The transition might be tough at first, but you’re resilient and clever.“

Jason nodded slowly, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. "What about public school?"
"Public schools offer a broader social experience and diverse environments," Bruce explained. "Gotham public school has certainly it‘s problems but if you‘d rather go there I wouldn‘t begrudge you the decision. Have you been attending the public school near the east end river?"

Jason nodded.
“You can attend there again, if you are fond of your former teachers and peers. Or you can attend the public school in Bristol. Alfred will gladly drive you to whichever school you choose to attend.”

"And homeschooling?" Jason asked, baffled that Alfred would drive him to school. But maybe that was normal for kids living with rich people? Before Jason had either lived within walking distance to school or there was a school bus he could take. He’d never been driven by car to school, neither by his parents (they never even owned a car) nor by any foster parent he has been staying with.

"Homeschooling provides flexibility," Bruce said. "You can learn at your own pace and follow a customized curriculum. Alfred and I would help with your education, and you’d have more time for other activities or interests. But you will defintly lack social connections to your peers.“

Jason doesn‘t know what to answer. The possibility alone to go to school almost overwhelmed him, deciding which kind of school he‘d like to attend was frankly impossible without thinking it through.

„You do not need to make the decision today. We can visit the Academy together, and you can see how it feels. We can also schedule a visit at the public school of your choice and I can provide you all the information I have on different home schooling programs.“
Jason felt a wave of gratitude. "Thanks, Bruce. This really means a lot."
Bruce leaned back, his expression proud.
“We’ll take it one step at a time. Right now, let's focus on your book. What do you think Dantès should do next?"

Jason, feeling a bit more relaxed, turned his attention back to "The Count of Monte Cristo." He thought for a moment before responding and when he did his words felt inadequate at best. "Well, Dantès has all this anger and hurt, you know. It makes sense he wants revenge, but maybe it won’t really make him feel better in the end."

Bruce nodded, considering Jason’s words. "Revenge can be a powerful motivator, but it can also consume you. It's important to think about what comes after."
Jason looked thoughtful, relating Dantès’ journey to his own struggles. "I guess finding a way to move on is important too."

"Exactly," Bruce said, a depth in his voice that Jason couldn’t understand yet. "Channeling that energy into something positive can make a huge difference. It’s about finding balance."

As they continued discussing the book, Jason felt a sense of connection with Bruce. The conversation flowed easily, blending literary analysis with deeper, more personal reflections. Bruce’s insights helped Jason see the story in a new light, and he found himself opening up more than he expected.

After a while, Bruce glanced at the clock. "It's getting late. How about we continue this tomorrow?"
Jason nodded, feeling content but also awed that Bruce had spent that long with him while he certainly had better and more important things to do.
“Yeah, I’d like that,” Jason said.

Bruce stood up and placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder. "Come on, I'll walk you to your room."

They made their way through the dimly lit hallways of Wayne Manor, the soft glow of wall sconces casting long shadows. Jason felt a mix of comfort and awe at his surroundings. He couldn’t believe that this was his home now.

Reaching Jason's room, Bruce paused at the doorway. "I'm proud of you, Jason. I know it’s a lot, but you’re doing great."
Jason looked up, a genuine smile on his face. It had been forever since any adult complemented him. And today both Alfred and Bruce had done so.

"Thanks, Bruce."
"Goodnight, Jason," Bruce replied. "Sleep well."
“Goodnight.”

As Jason stepped into his room and closed the door behind him, he took a moment to survey the space. It was far more luxurious than anywhere he had ever stayed before, with its large bed, elegant furniture, and soft lighting. Yet, instead of feeling comforted, he felt a wave of uncertainty wash over him.
The opulence of Wayne Manor was still so foreign to him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn't quite belong.

Jason placed "The Count of Monte Cristo" on the nightstand and changed into the pajamas Alfred had brought for him. He couldn't help but marvel at the softness of the fabric, but it only served to remind him of the rough conditions he had endured on the streets. The contrast was jarring, and it made him feel like an imposter in this new world.

After getting ready for bed, Jason crawled under the covers, feeling the soft, warm embrace of the luxurious bedding. He picked up the book again, wanting to read a little more before trying to sleep. The words on the pages were a welcome distraction from his swirling thoughts, drawing him back into the world of Edmond Dantès and his quest for justice.

But no matter how hard he tried to focus, his mind kept drifting back to the conversation with Bruce. The idea of going to Gotham Academy excited him, but it also filled him with dread. What if he didn’t fit in with the other kids? What if he couldn’t keep up with the academic demands? The thought of being surrounded by privileged students who had never faced the struggles he had was intimidating.

Then there was the option of public school.
If Jason went back to his old school there might of course be some teachers that hdn’t hated him. Some had even seen potential in him and not all his peers had been awful, but he would be the outstander there too, once people found out he was living with a rich dude like Wayne.

Homeschooling, on the other hand, seemed isolating, and he wasn't sure he wanted to miss out on the social aspects of school, even if they scared him. Jason loved school, he loved learning and he kind of wanted to try if he would be enough for Gotham Academy. He wanted to see if there was any chance at doing okay there if he only worked hard enough. And he would work hard. He would study like crazy and do all his homework, even if he’s miss out on sleep, since there was also training to be Robin and later on patrol.

Jason sighed, placing the book back on the nightstand and turning off the lamp. The room plunged into darkness, but his mind remained a whirl of thoughts and worries. He nestled deeper into the bed, but instead of feeling comforted, he felt a tight knot of anxiety in his chest.

For the first time in a long while, Jason felt hopeful about the future, but that hope was tempered by fear and uncertainty. He knew there would be challenges ahead, and the thought of facing them was daunting. As he closed his eyes and tried to let sleep take over, Jason couldn’t help but wonder if he was truly ready for this new chapter in his life.

Minutes turned into what felt like hours as Jason's mind raced, the worries of the past few months mingling with the uncertainties of the future. Eventually, exhaustion overtook him, and he drifted into a restless sleep, his dreams filled with images of school hallways and unfamiliar faces, the comfort and safety of his new home feeling just out of reach.

Chapter Text

Jason Todd woke up in a room that felt too big, too luxurious. The bed beneath him was softer than anything he’d ever slept on, and the room around him was filled with heavy oak furniture and rich, dark mahagony paneling. He rubbed his eyes and took a moment to remember where he was. Wayne Manor. He was in Wayne Manor.

Jason sat up, the soft sheets falling away. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was early and he hadn’t slept much that night, but he was used to waking up at odd hours. Life on the streets didn’t exactly come with a set schedule.

He slipped out of bed, his bare feet touching the cold, polished floor. He found his way to the bathroom, where everything was spotless and the towels were fluffy and warm, thanks to the heated rack.
After a quick shower, he dressed in the clothes Alfred had brought him - a simple but well-fitted shirt and jeans. He felt strange wearing something so clean and new. He looked at himself in the mirror, trying to see if he looked different, trying to see if he looked like someone who belonged in a place like this. He felt like in imposter.

It was not cold in the manor but Jason still grabbed the thick socks that Alfred had brought him and the hoodie, that was almost as soft as the one he had been allowed to borrow from Robins old stuff.

The smell of breakfast drew Jason out of his thoughts. He followed it down the long hallways, through a house that seemed more like a museum than a home. Every room was filled with art and history, and Jason couldn’t help but feel like an intruder.

He found the kitchen by following the smell of bacon and eggs. Alfred was there, moving with practiced efficiency. When the butler saw Jason, he gave him a warm smile.

“Good morning, Master Jason. I trust you slept well?”

Jason nodded, unsure of what to say. “Yeah, thanks. The bed’s… real nice.”
“Indeed. Please, have a seat. Breakfast will be ready shortly.”

Jason slid onto one of the stools at the kitchen island, wondering why they once again choosed to eat here instead of the fancy dining room that Bruce said they used to have their meals. Jason felt like he should assist Alfred but he didn’t know how to ask, so for now he settled to watch as Alfred worked. It was strange to be served like this. Back on the streets, breakfast was usually whatever he could scrounge up.

Bruce walked in a few moments later, already dressed in a sharp suit, looking every bit the billionaire playboy. He gave Jason a nod and a smile. “Good morning, Jason. How are you feeling?”

“Good, I guess,” Jason replied, trying to sound casual. “Just… getting used to everything.”
Bruce sat down across from him. “I understand. Take your time. This is your home now, and we want you to feel comfortable.”

Jason nodded, but the words felt too big, too much to believe. Home. Could this place really be his home?

Alfred set a plate of food in front of Jason, and it smelled so good it made his stomach growl. He dug in, trying to remember his manners but also too hungry to care too much. He wondered how he could still be hungry after all the food he had had the last couple of days since meeting Bruce. But even if Jason wouldn’t be hungry, he would never ever pass up the opportunity to eat a meal like that. To familiar was the feeling of not knowing when the next meal would be offered.

As he ate, Bruce talked about what the day would hold. They would continue their tour of the manor, so that Jason became familiar with the place and some first training if Jason was up for it. School would come soon, but they had some time to get him settled first.

“Training?” Jason asked, looking up from his plate.
Bruce nodded. “If you’re interested, we can start today. It won’t be easy, but I think you have what it takes.”

The excitement bubbled up inside Jason again, mixed with that same feeling of not quite believing this was real and the fear of not being good enough. But still, becoming Robin was why Jason was even allowed to be here.

“Yeah, I want to. I really want to,” Jason said, putting as much enthusiasm into his voice as possible. Trying to leave out all the fear and trepitation.
Bruce smiled. “Good. Then we’ll start after breakfast.”

After breakfast, Jason followed Bruce through the sprawling halls of Wayne Manor, trying to absorb everything at once. The house seemed to stretch on forever, each room more impressive than the last. Jason realised that he’d only seen a small part of it yesterday and that he’d probably need ages until he knew where every room was.

There were paintings and sculptures, artifacts from around the world, and an endless array of books and curiosities in every room and every hallway. Bruce pointed out some of the highlights, sharing stories about the history of the manor and the Wayne family. Jason listened, fascinated and a little overwhelmed. It was hard to believe he was part of this now, that might have a place here, if he only worked hard enough.

"Let's get you changed into something more suitable for training," Bruce said, leading Jason to a room down the hall. It was on the same floor as the study, so they must be right above the cave. Inside the room was a closet filled with various athletic wear, in all forms and sizes.

Jason picked out a pair of black athletic shorts and a gray T-shirt, feeling the quality of the fabric between his fingers. He changed quickly, while Bruce left the room to give him privacy, slipping into the clothes that fit him perfectly, a stark contrast to the hand-me-downs he was used to. He tied on a pair of new sneakers, feeling strange but grateful.

Bruce, now dressed in workout gear, met him outside the room. "Ready?"
"Yeah," Jason replied, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling inside him.

They made their way to a room, right across the hall, that looked like a mix between a gym and a dojo. Training equipment lined the walls, and the floor was covered in thick mats. The air smelled faintly of leather and sweat, a testament to the hours of hard work that had been put in here.

"This is where we’ll be doing most of your training," Bruce said, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "It's important to build your strength, speed, and agility if you want to keep up out there."

Jason nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. He’d always been scrappy, good at getting out of tight spots, but this was different. This was real training, with a purpose. And he had to be good, had to keep up with whatever expectations Wayne had. Otherwise the whole deal was blown. Jason wasn’t sure if Bruce would really send him right back out on the streets or if he’d tried to find another solution for him. But honesty, Jason didn’t want to find out.

Staying here, with the prospect of school in front of him, was the best he could imagine. Batman surely wouldn’t try and hurt him the way his last foster parents had tried to hurt him. Getting slapped around a bit during training was more than worth it.

"Let's start with some basics," Bruce said, moving to the center of the room. He motioned for Jason to join him. "Show me what you’ve got."

Bruce began with a series of warm-up exercises, stretching and light cardio to get the blood flowing. Jason followed along, mimicking Bruce’s movements. It felt strange, kind of like what they did to warm up during gym at school, but Waynes movements where so much more than whatever Jasons gym teachers had always demonstrated. Every single movement of Bruce Wayne had purpose.

They transitioned into more intense drills: push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks, and burpees. Bruce counted out the reps, his voice steady and encouraging.
Jason was panting hard and he couldn’t keep up with the pace and the amount of repitions Bruce set.

It wasn’t as if he had no bodily exersize on the streets, far from it. He had to run quiet often and he pushed himself up on more than one fire escape, but Jason was 80 pounds soaking wet and his body was not yet used to fueling up regularly after only a few days with Bruce and Alfred. Still, Jason tried to mimic Bruce as good as he could, not stopping, powering through.

When Bruce was finished, he gave Jason a few minutes to breath and wip the sweat from his brow. Jasons legs already hurt but he tried to not let it show. Batman couldn’t use a weakling that was beat before the actual training begann.

So Jason kept his mouth shut, when after the warm-up, Bruce set up a series of cones for agility drills. Jason weaved in and out, focusing on his footwork and speed. Bruce watched him closely, occasionally giving pointers or demonstrating the proper technique. Jason pushed himself hard, sweat dripping from his brow, but he didn’t mind. He wanted this. He wanted to prove himself.

Next came strength training. Bruce had Jason work with resistance bands and free weights, guiding him through various exercises to build muscle. Jason’s arms and legs burned with effort, but he kept going, driven by a determination he hadn’t felt in a long time. Every muscle hurt and he was still panting hard, but he also felt a rush of adrenaline running through his vains.

By the time they finished, Jason was exhausted but exhilarated. Bruce handed him a towel and a bottle of water.
“Good work, Jason. You’ve got potential.”
“Thanks,” Jason said, almost inaudible by how hard he was trying to catch his breath. “I’ll keep working at it. I’ll promise to get better.”
Jason tried to open the bottle of water but he couldn’t grasp the cap with his sweat clad trembling hands. Every muscle was exhausted. Jason had never felt like this before.

“I know you will. There’s more to being Robin than just physical training, though. We’ll need to work on your detective skills, too. But for now, let’s take a break. Alfred should have lunch ready soon,” Bruce said, while opening his own untouched bottle of water and offering it to Jason, cap open and ready to drink.

“Thank you,” Jason mumbled, ashamed to not even manage a simple task like that after training with Batman.

“Don’t worry. It’s quiet normal for your body to react like this. You will likely have a serious case of muscle aches tonight, but I’ll let Alfred know to give you a salve and some magnesium to sooth them.”

Jason just nodded and gulped down water like a man dying of thirst in the desert. The bottle was almost empty when Jason finally stopped. It took some effort to shut the cap with his shaking fingers but Jason slowly regained his breath and after a few minutes of sitting on the floor, just breathing and recuperating as best as he could, he got up again, legs aching, and followed Wayne back to the main part of the house, passing through the grand hallways and opulent rooms.

In the kitchen, Alfred greeted them with a knowing smile. “I trust the training session was productive?”
“Very,” Bruce said. “Jason’s a quick learner.”

Jason felt a surge of pride at Bruce’s words, even if he felt inadequate still. He had barely been able to keep up with Bruce exercizes, often falling short of what Bruce expected or demonstrated but maybe Wayne still saw how much he tried and how willing he was to work to get better.

Jason sat down at the kitchen island, glad to rest his aching body, and Alfred set a plate of sandwiches and fresh fruit and a glass filled with magnesium dissolved water in front of him. The meal was simple but delicious and even the water tasked like orange and Jason dug in, savoring every bite. He was unbelievable hungry, as if it wasn’t just a few hours since breakfast but days without food.

As they ate, Bruce talked more about what being Robin would entail. It wasn’t just about fighting crime; it was about helping people, making a difference. Jason listened intently, absorbing every word. He would do anything to please Wayne, to be what he needed him to be. This was his once in a lifetime chance and Jason wouldn’t fuck it up.

Chapter Text

After lunch, Bruce suggested they take a break from training and academics. "Let's do something a bit more relaxing," he said, noticing Jason’s tired expression. "How about we explore the manor a bit more? There’s still plenty you haven’t seen."

Jason nodded eagerly, grateful for a chance to rest his aching muscles. He followed Bruce out of the kitchen and into a long hallway lined with portraits of Wayne ancestors.

"These are some of my ancestors," Bruce explained, gesturing to the paintings. "The Wayne family has a long history in Gotham."
They walked slowly, and Bruce shared stories about his family, adding personal anecdotes that made the portraits come to life. Jason found himself fascinated by the tales of the Waynes, feeling a deeper connection to the place. It wasn’t only a museum, this was Bruce Waynes childhood home.

They ended up in a large, airy conservatory filled with exotic plants and flowers. The room was warm and humid, the air fragrant with the scent of blooming orchids and jasmine.

"This is incredible," Jason said, marveling at the lush greenery.
"It's one of my favorite places in the manor," Bruce said. "It's peaceful here. A good place to think."

They spent some time in the conservatory, Bruce explaining the different plants and their origins. Jason listened, enjoying the quiet and the sense of calm that the room exuded, still feeling like he should be attentive. Maybe knowing about plants was also part of the knowledge Robin should have.

After a while though, they moved on to the music room. It was another impressive space, with a grand piano, several string instruments, and a collection of vinyl records.
"Do you play?" Bruce asked, motioning toward the piano.
Jason shook his head. "No. I’ve never even touched any instrument.” And Jason didn’t plan to. They looked super expensive and valuable.

Bruce noticed Jason's hesitation and nodded understandingly. "That's alright," he said gently. "Instruments can be intimidating if you've never tried them before. Maybe someday, if you feel like it, we can give it a go."

Jason nodded, feeling relieved. The idea of accidentally damaging something so valuable made him nervous.

They moved on, exploring more of the manor. Bruce showed Jason the art gallery next, filled with beautiful paintings and sculptures. Jason marveled at the pieces, each one telling a story of its own. Bruce explained the history behind some of the more notable works, his voice filled with passion and knowledge.

As they continued their tour, Bruce led Jason to a cozy room with plush chairs and a large screen on one wall. "This is the home theater," Bruce said. "A great place to unwind. Do you like movies?"

Jason just shrugged his shoulders. Sure he liked movies but he was tired and overwhelmed. The training and all these rooms in the manor were just to much.

Bruce noticed Jason’s fatigue and overwhelmed expression. He gave a reassuring smile. “I understand. It’s been a long day, and there’s a lot to take in. How about we pause the tour here? You can take some time to yourself, and we’ll continue tomorrow.”

Jason nodded, grateful for the understanding. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
Bruce led Jason back to his room. “If you need anything, just press the intercom button by the door. Alfred or I will be there in no time.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” Jason said, feeling tired but a bit more at ease at the prospect of being on his own for a bit and to maybe be able to lie down. His arms and legs were still aching and maybe he’d even try and take a nap, if he had enough time.

Bruce gave a nod and left Jason to his own devices. The room was spacious and comfortable, with a large window overlooking the garden. Jason took a deep breath, letting the quiet of the room settle around him. He walked over to the window and gazed outside, the sprawling grounds of Wayne Manor peaceful under the afternoon sun.

Feeling the need to rest, Jason lay down on the bed. The soft mattress was a welcome change from the hard surfaces he was used to. He let his mind wander, reflecting on the whirlwind of events that had brought him here. The training session with Bruce, the tour of the manor, the kind hospitality of Alfred—it was all so different from the life he had known. Jason couldn’t believe how much time Bruce Wayne had spent with him today. He couldn’t remember any adult ever giving him so much positive attention. Jason only hoped it would stay that way and that he’d manage to not fuck it up to badly.

Jason closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion of the day wash over him, for once not overthinking everything and before he knew it, he had drifted off into a deep sleep.

A gentle knock on the door woke Jason. He sat up, disoriented for a moment, until he remembered where he was. The door opened slightly, and Alfred’s familiar face appeared.

“Good evening, Master Jason. I trust you had a good rest?”
Jason rubbed his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I did. Thanks, Alfred.”
“Dinner will be ready shortly,” Alfred said. “Master Bruce and I would be delighted if you joined us.”

Jason smiled, appreciating the invitation and that once again, they were willing to fed him. He had yet to miss a meal here and Jason kinda started to get used to it. He was not super hungry but he could indeed eat.
“I’m coming,” Jason said and got up from the bed.

Alfred gave a small bow and closed the door quietly. Jason took a moment to freshen up, washing his face and changing into a clean set of clothes, before he made his way to the dining room.

When he entered the dining room, the table was set with a delicious spread of food. Bruce was already seated, and he looked up with a welcoming smile as Jason approached.

“Feeling better?” Bruce asked.
Jason nodded, feeling ashamed that he’d been such an open book to Wayne earlier instead of powering through the exhaustion.

The dinner was a warm and comforting, with Alfred serving a hearty stew, fresh bread, and a variety of side dishes. As they ate, Bruce kept the conversation light, talking about his own experiences growing up in Wayne Manor. Jason found himself relaxing, glad that none of the attention was on him.

After dinner, they moved to the living room, where Alfred had prepared a tray with hot cocoa and cookies. They sat by the fireplace, the room bathed in a warm glow.
Bruce picked up a chessboard from a nearby shelf. “Do you play?” he asked.

Jason shook his head, feeling a bit embarrassed. “No, I’ve never played before.”
Bruce's smile didn't waver. “No problem. It’s never too late to learn. Chess is a great game for strategy and critical thinking. It helps train your mind, which is just as important as training your body.”

Jason nodded, intrigued despite his initial hesitation. Bruce began by explaining the basics: the names of the pieces, how they moved, and their unique abilities. He placed each piece on the board, describing its role in the game.

“These are pawns,” Bruce said, pointing to the row of small pieces. “They move forward one square at a time, but they capture diagonally. They might seem insignificant, but don’t underestimate them.”
Jason listened intently, absorbing the information. Bruce continued, explaining the rooks, knights, bishops, queen, and finally the king. He emphasized the importance of protecting the king at all costs.

“Now, let’s play a simple game,” Bruce suggested. “I’ll guide you through it.”
They set up the pieces, and Bruce made the first move. He played slowly, explaining each decision and giving Jason time to think about his moves. At first, Jason struggled to remember how each piece moved, but Bruce was patient, offering gentle reminders and tips, instead of reprimanding him.

“Think ahead,” Bruce advised. “Always consider what your opponent might do next and plan your moves accordingly.”
As the game progressed, Jason started to get the hang of it. He made a few mistakes, but Bruce used them as teaching moments, showing him better strategies and moves. They talked through each turn, discussing the potential outcomes and the best courses of action. It felt like another kind of training, but it was still fun.

Despite his initial struggles, Jason found himself enjoying the game. It was challenging but also rewarding, especially when he managed to capture one of Bruce’s pieces.

They continued playing, with Bruce guiding Jason through the endgame. When Bruce finally declared checkmate, Jason felt a rush of accomplishment, even though he had lost.
“That was great,” Jason said, smiling faintly. “Thanks for teaching me.”

“You did really well,” Bruce replied, his tone filled with pride. “Chess is a lot like life. It’s about making the best decisions you can with the information you have and always thinking a few steps ahead. We’ll play more, and soon you’ll be a formidable opponent.”

Jason nodded, feeling more confident. They enjoyed their hot cocoa and cookies, chatting about the game and other topics. The warmth of the fire and the cozy atmosphere made Jason feel more at ease than he’d ever before. It was such a strange thing to get so much positive attention and he kind of liked it, even if he was still super exhausted, despite his earlier nap.

As the evening grew later, Bruce suggested they call it a night. “Tomorrow’s another day, and there’s still much to explore and learn. Get some rest.”

Jason agreed. He thanked Bruce and Alfred once again and made his way to his room. The manor was quiet, the soft creaks and whispers of the old house adding to the sense of peace. It was strange to be practically sent to bed by an adult after having been on his own for quite a while and staying up way past midnight most days, just because it was hard to find a place to sleep, or because he was cold or hungry or hurt or on the run from whatever he needed to run from that day.

After getting ready in the en suite, Jason climbed into bed and almost instantly closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, to tired to even think about anything more but still ready to face whatever challenges the next day would bring.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Jason woke up feeling more rested than he had in a long time. He’ almost slept through the night, and while his muscles still ached, the salve Alfred had indeed left for him in the en suite had helped to keep the pain at bay.

Jason stretched, feeling the slight ache in his muscles from the previous day’s training, and trying to warm up his arms and legs to get ready for the day. The morning light streamed through the large windows, casting a warm glow across his room.

Jason made his way downstairs, following the enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee and something delicious cooking. As he entered the kitchen, he found Alfred bustling about, preparing breakfast. Bruce was already there, dressed sharply in a tailored suit, sipping his coffee.

“Good morning, Jason,” Bruce greeted him with a smile. “How did you sleep?”

“Better than I have in a long time,” Jason admitted, taking a seat at the kitchen island. He felt a little awkward, unsure of how he fit into this new world of luxury and routine and quite shy to be asked questions like that. He couldn’t remember anyone ever caring about how he slept or if he was feeling well. Maybe his mom a long time ago, before she grew sick but that was a faint memory.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Bruce said. “Unfortunately, I have to be at Wayne Enterprises for most of the day. Some meetings I can’t miss, things I need to sign. But Alfred will be here if you need anything.”

Jason nodded, trying to mask his disappointment. He had hoped to spend more time with Bruce, even though he knew Bruce only offered Jason his time for training purposes, and besides he more than understood. Wayne was an important man and so was Batman. It was almost unbelievable he even found time to talk to Jason, let alone train him and show him the manor.

Bruce finished his coffee and stood up. “We’ll continue our training later this week. In the meantime, take it easy and don’t hesitate to ask Alfred if you need anything. We’re here to help.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” Jason said, appreciating the reassurance. But deep down, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was a burden, an outsider in this grand estate.

Bruce gave him a pat on the shoulder before leaving the kitchen. Alfred set a plate of scrambled eggs, toast bacon and some fresh fruit in a bowl, drizzled with some yoghurt in front of Jason, along with a glass of orange juice.

“Eat up, Master Jason,” Alfred said with a warm smile. “You’ll need your strength.”

Jason dug into his breakfast, savoring the delicious meal. Alfred’s cooking amazing! Jason never ate as well as he had the last couple days. He really didn’t want to go back to soggy sandwiches and left overs from the garbage cans.

After Jason finished, Alfred cleared away the dishes and returned with a proposition.

“Would you like to accompany me on some errands today?” Alfred asked. “I’ll be doing the grocery shopping, among other things. It might be a good way to get out of the manor for a bit.”

Jason thought about it for a moment. The idea of exploring Gotham with Alfred sounded appealing. “Sure, I’d like that.”

“Excellent,” Alfred replied. “We’ll leave in about half an hour. Feel free to explore the manor a bit more if you wish.”

Jason nodded and decided to go back to his room for the time being. He hasn’t yet started with the workbooks Alfred got him and he really wanted to do an exersize or two, while he had some free time for himself. The idea of catching up with his education was daunting, but also exciting.

Back in his room, Jason sat at the desk, opening the first workbook. The exercises were straightforward, and he quickly lost himself in solving math problems. The quiet of the manor and the focus on his studies made the time pass quickly.

Before he knew it, half an hour had passed. He closed the workbook, feeling a sense of accomplishment, and headed back downstairs. Alfred was waiting for him by the front door, keys in hand.

“Ready, Master Jason?” Alfred asked, his expression kind and encouraging.

Jason nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

They made their way to the garage, where among the rows of Bruce’s sleek black cars, Alfred walked up to a beautiful dark green bentley continental. Jason’s eyes widened at the sight of the car. It was a far cry from the beat-up vehicles he had seen on the streets.

The car's contours were smooth and graceful, flowing seamlessly from the front grille to the rear, where dual exhaust pipes hinted at the engine's hidden power.

The brown leather soft top complemented the dark green body perfectly.

Jason climbed into the passenger seat, feeling the luxurious leather beneath him.

The seats were upholstered in supple, rich brown leather that matched the soft top, meticulously stitched with a contrasting cream thread. The leather was buttery soft to the touch and the dashboard and door panels were adorned with polished walnut wood inlays. The center console housed a state-of-the-art infotainment system, its large touchscreen interface blending seamlessly with the classic analog dials.

Jason couldn’t help but feel a mix of awe and discomfort; this was a world he had never imagined for himself. But truth to be told, even if his parents never even owned a car and mom didn’t have a license, Jason was kind of a little car nerd. When he was really young he had a deck card game with a lot of different car pictures on it. It had been one of Jasons most priced posessions, even if it had only cost a dollar at the flea market.

Alfred navigated the bustling streets of Gotham with ease, pointing out various landmarks and places of interest. Jason found himself captivated by Alfred’s stories, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t quite belong.

Their first stop was a local market. Alfred parked the car and led Jason inside. The market was vibrant and lively, filled with fresh produce, meats, and baked goods. Jason had never been to a farmer’s market before, and the sights and sounds were overwhelming. He marveled at the array of colors and the hustle and bustle of the vendors and customers.

As they walked through the market, Alfred handed Jason a few items to carry. “Do you have any particular food preferences, Master Jason?” Alfred asked, glancing at him.

Jason hesitated. He had never really had the luxury of choosing his food. “Um, not really. I’m not picky.”
Alfred nodded thoughtfully. “Well, if there’s anything you’d like to try, just let me know.”
Feeling unsure, Jason just nodded, not wanting to impose.

He watched as Alfred carefully chose each item, engaging in friendly banter with the vendors. It was clear that Alfred took great pride in his work, ensuring that only the finest ingredients made their way back to Wayne Manor.

As they walked through the market, Alfred picked up a strand of bananas. Jason was touched by the gesture but also felt a pang of guilt. He wasn’t used to people going out of their way for him.

Once they had gathered everything they needed, Alfred paid for the groceries, and they made their way back to the car. Their next stop was a small, family-owned bakery. Alfred picked up some freshly baked bread and a few pastries, chatting warmly with the bakery owner.

Jason couldn’t help but admire Alfred’s demeanor. He was polite and respectful, treating everyone they met with kindness and dignity. It was a stark contrast to the world Jason was used to, and he found he liked to spend time with the older man.

With their errands complete, they headed back to Wayne Manor. As they drove, Alfred glanced at Jason. “Thank you for accompanying me today, Master Jason. It’s been quite enjoyable having your company.”

“Thanks for letting me come along,” Jason replied.
“Anytime, Master Jason. You are quiet well behaved and you were a big help carrying the heavy bags.”
“Sure,” Jason grinned. He liked to be helpful. Especially since Alfred was super nice to him.

Back at the manor, they unloaded the groceries, and Alfred began preparing lunch. Jason shyly offered to help, and Alfred accepted.

"Very well, Master Jason. You can start by washing the vegetables," Alfred instructed, handing him a colander filled with vibrant greens and colorful peppers.

Jason nodded and set to work, feeling good to be useful. It was kinda as if he was able to earn his keep, even if the bit of help he offered until now was by no means enough to cover all that Bruce and Alfred had done for him.

As Jason rinsed the vegetables under cool water, he glanced around the kitchen, taking in again its spaciousness and state-of-the-art appliances. It was a far cry from the cramped kitchens he was used to, and the difference wasn't lost on him.

The old kitchen back at home had been really small and super cramped. You could barely move around without bumping into something or someone. The floor was covered with this peeling linoleum, and in some spots, you could see the rough wood underneath. The whole place always smelled a little musty and greasy.

The countertops were cluttered with all sorts of mismatched dishes that were chipped and cracked. They only had a few old appliances, and none of them worked very well. The sink was always clogged, and the faucet dripped constantly, making this annoying dripping sound that echoed in the small space. A flickering fluorescent light hung from the ceiling, casting this weird, uneven glow over everything.

Their refrigerator was super old and noisy. It made these loud groaning and rattling sounds, and it was usually half-empty, with just some leftovers and the basics. The stove was a nightmare to use because the burners were rusty and it was hard to get them to light. Cooking anything was always a hassle, and you never knew when something might break down.

The cabinets had doors that didn't close properly and were filled with a few cans of food and some dry pasta. Every meal they made there was a struggle, and it showed how hard they were trying just to get by.

As they worked, Alfred guided Jason through various tasks, explaining the importance of each step. "Cooking is an art, Master Jason," Alfred said, his tone gentle but firm. "It requires patience, attention to detail, and a bit of creativity."

Jason listened intently, absorbing every word. He peeled and chopped, stirred and seasoned under Alfred watchful eye and careful instructions, finding a surprising amount of enjoyment doing these tasks. The kitchen filled with the delicious aroma of sautéing vegetables and herbs, making his stomach growl in anticipation.

"You're a quick learner," Alfred remarked as Jason expertly chopped a bell pepper. "And quite the natural in the kitchen."

Jason felt a swell of pride at Alfred's words. "Thanks, Alfred. It's kind of fun, actually."

Once the meal was prepared—a simple yet flavorful stir-fry with rice—they sat down to lunch. Jason couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment as he took his first bite. The food was delicious, and knowing he had helped make it only made it taste better.

After lunch, Alfred cleared the table and began to wash the dishes. Jason offered to help, and together they quickly finished the task.

“Would you like to see the garage?” Alfred asked with a twinkle in his eye. Jason didn’t know if he had been that obvious earlier while oggling Alfreds Bentley Continental.

“The garage?” Jason asked, curious.
Alfred nodded and led Jason, once again, down to the spacious, immaculately kept garage.

Inside, gleaming under the bright overhead lights, were several high-end vehicles, including Bruce's prized Batmobile. Jason's eyes widened in amazement at the sight of the sleek cars.

“Wow,” Jason breathed, his eyes wide as he took in the collection of gleaming cars. “These are incredible.”

“They are, indeed,” Alfred agreed. “Master Bruce has quite the collection. He takes great pride in maintaining them. Would you like to help me with some of the upkeep today?”

Jason nodded eagerly, hardly able to contain his excitement. “Really?”

“Indeed, Lad. I would quite like your help.”
Alfred handed Jason a microfiber cloth and some cleaning supplies. “Let’s start with the Aston Martin,” he suggested. “We’ll give it a good polish.”

Jason's eyes lit up as he approached the sleek, silver Aston Martin. “This is a DB5, right? 4.0-liter straight-six engine, 282 horsepower, top speed around 145 miles per hour. This car is a classic!”

Alfred raised an eyebrow, impressed. “You certainly know your cars, Master Jason.”
Jason grinned, even though he felt his ears heat up. “I used to read all the car magazines I could get my hands on. Dreamed of seeing a car like this for real.”

As they worked, Alfred taught Jason the proper techniques for cleaning and maintaining a luxury car. Jason listened intently, eager to learn. He moved the cloth in smooth, circular motions, carefully polishing the car's surface.

“This Aston Martin is so cool!” Jason said, his eyes wide with excitement. “The shape is just so awesome!”

Alfred smiled as he watched Jason buff the car’s surface. “You’re quite good at this,” he remarked. “Attention to detail is important.”

Jason beamed, looking up. “Thanks, Alfred! Working on these cars is super fun! And the leather inside—Connolly leather, right? It’s so fancy!”

“Indeed,” Alfred replied, pleased with Jason’s enthusiasm.

They moved to another car, and Jason's jaw dropped when he saw the sleek black Lamborghini Aventador. “Whoa! This one is amazing!” he exclaimed. “It has a V12 engine and can go super fast! I can’t believe I get to help with this!”

Alfred chuckled. “Your knowledge is impressive, Master Jason. Let’s see how you handle the oil change.”

Jason eagerly followed Alfred’s instructions, eyes shining as he worked. “This is like a giant puzzle!” he said, fascinated by how all the parts fit together.
“Every car has its own personality,” Alfred noted. “Understanding that is part of the fun.”
Jason nodded vigorously. It was so cool that Alfred took the time to show him the garage and teach him how to take care of all these amazing cars.

Once they were done in the garage, Alfred suggested they take a break. They headed back to the kitchen, where Alfred began preparing a light dinner. Jason once again offered to help, and together they made a simple salad with fresh ingredients from the garden, paired with a warm, hearty soup and a loaf of warm, fresh bread.

Bruce joined them just in time for dinner. He looked a bit worn after a long day at Wayne Enterprises, but his expression brightened when he saw Jason and Alfred.

“How was your day, Jason?” Bruce asked, settling into a chair at the dinner table.

“It was great,” Jason said with a smile. “Alfred showed me the garage and we worked on some of the cars. I even got to polish the Aston Martin and check the oil in a Lamborghini. It was so cool!”

Bruce’s eyes twinkled with interest. “That sounds like a fantastic day. I’d love to see your newfound skills in action sometime.”

Jason nodded eagerly, feeling a rush of excitement. This was his chance to impress Bruce, to show that he could be useful and maybe even worthy of the Robin mantle.

After dinner, Alfred cleared the table while Jason helped wash the dishes. As he scrubbed the plates, Jason thought about how he could make himself more useful around the manor. He didn’t want to be a burden; he wanted to contribute. It felt good to be doing something productive, especially alongside Alfred, who was so kind. He should really take some time to find out how he could help more. Maybe sticking to Alfred was a good idea, hopefully the man had enough tasks for Jason and would report his usefullness to Bruce.

Once the kitchen was tidy, Bruce came back down after changing into more comfortable clothes and suggested, “How about we watch a classic movie? Something light-hearted to wind down the evening.”
Jason's interest piqued, even though he couldn’t believe that Bruce would spend an evening with him after having such a long day at work and probably more work later tonight when he went out as Batman. Jason couldn’t wait until he was trained and able to help out.

“Yeah! That would be cool,” Jason said.

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. “How about The Maltese Falcon? It’s a great detective story, and I think you’ll enjoy the twists.”

Jason’s brow furrowed in curiosity. “I haven’t heard of that one. What’s it about?” He glanced down, fidgeting slightly with his hands as he spoke, feeling a mix of intrigue and nervousness.

“It follows a private detective who gets caught up in a hunt for a priceless artifact,” Bruce explained, a hint of enthusiasm in his voice. “It’s filled with intrigue and interesting characters.”

As they made their way to the family living room, Jason felt a mix of anticipation and curiosity. The cozy but strangely modern atmosphere of the room, paired with the soft lighting, felt inviting, but it was still so much more than Jason was ever used too.

As the movie began, Jason settled onto the plush couch, glancing around the cozy room, unsure of how to behave. He hesitated, wondering if it was okay to prop his socked feet up on the furniture.

Noticing Jason’s hesitance, Bruce stood up and walked over to a nearby shelf. “Here, let me get you a blanket,” he said, pulling a soft, dark blue throw from a neatly folded stack.

“Thanks,” Jason replied quietly, taking the blanket and wrapping it around himself. The fabric was warm and comforting, easing some of the tension he felt.

Bruce returned to his seat, and Jason tucked himself into the couch, trying to find a position that felt comfortable. He felt unsure to sit like that in front of Batman. Jason should train and make himself useful instead of cuddling up in that blanket, socked feet propped up on the couch.

As the opening credits rolled, he focused on the screen, but his mind wandered. Why was Bruce spending time with him instead of focusing on work or resting after a long day? It felt like a privilege, but also a bit overwhelming.

As the story unfolded, Jason found himself more and more captivated by the sharp dialogue and the mystery surrounding the elusive falcon statue. Soon the engaging plot captured his attention, and he found himself leaning back into the couch, the blanket cocooning him in a sense of safety.

Throughout the movie, Jason occasionally stole glances at Bruce, marveling at how someone so busy could take time to relax and enjoy a classic film with someone like Jason. It made him wonder if he could ever be that kind of partner—someone who could stand beside Bruce in both his ordinary life and his extraordinary one.

When the credits rolled, Bruce turned to Jason. “What did you think?”
“It was awesome! I didn’t expect the ending at all!” Jason said, feeling a thrill from the plot twists.

Bruce smiled, a look of approval in his eyes. “It’s one of my favorites. It captures the essence of a good detective story—complex characters and unexpected turns.”

Jason nodded, his gaze dropping for a moment. “I want to learn more about that stuff... Maybe one day I could help solve cases like that too,” he added, his voice soft but earnest.

Bruce’s expression softened. “With time and training, I have no doubt you will.”

Chapter Text

The morning started much like the last, with Jason waking up in a room far more luxurious than anything he had ever known. He stretched, feeling the lingering ache in his muscles, but the pain was a dull reminder now, softened by the salve Alfred had left for him. The early light filtered through the large windows, casting a warm, golden glow over the room.

Jason dressed quickly and made his way downstairs, drawn by the familiar aroma of freshly brewed coffee and something delicious cooking. As he entered the kitchen, he found Alfred bustling about, preparing breakfast. Bruce was already seated at the table, dressed in a crisp, tailored suit, sipping his coffee as he skimmed over a few documents.

There was a plate in front of him, half finished eggs on toast and yoghurt with fruit and a large glass full of strange green juice, but Bruce’s attention was elsewhere, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Morning,” Jason mumbled, sliding into his chair. He watched Bruce intently, waiting for the usual rundown of what the day would hold. But Bruce barely looked up, only giving a brief nod in acknowledgment.

Jason’s fingers drummed lightly on the table, a quiet rhythm of anticipation. “So, what’s the plan for today?” he ventured.

Bruce took a sip of his coffee, his gaze fixed on the papers in front of him. “I’ll be at Wayne Enterprises for most of the day,” he said, his tone flat, almost distracted. He didn’t follow up with anything else—no instructions, no training schedule, nothing. He stood up abruptly, gathering his papers and briefcase. “Be good for Alfred. I will see you at dinner.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard by Bruce’s abruptness. “Oh… okay.”

Bruce left without another word, the echo of his footsteps fading down the hall. The door shut with a soft click, leaving Jason alone in the kitchen, the silence suddenly oppressive.

Alfred appeared almost as if on cue from a room behind the kitchen. He was moving with his usual efficiency as he placed a bowl with joghurt, fruit and granola and a big glass of orange juice in front of Jason, before he busied himself with clearing away Bruce breakfast dishes.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked warmly, his voice carrying the gentle lilt of familiarity.

Jason shook his head, still processing Bruce’s sudden departure. “No, I’m good,” he replied, though the words felt hollow. He watched as Alfred continued his work, the older man’s movements precise and practiced, yet infused with a kind of care that Jason was still getting used to.

Jason sat at the counter, staring at the remnants of his breakfast. The yogurt, fruit, and granola had been refreshing, the orange juice a sweet burst of citrus, but the taste hadn’t registered much. His mind was still on Bruce’s hasty exit, the empty space left by his mentor’s silence. Had Jason done anything wrong?

He reached for his empty bowl, intending to at least clear his place, but before his fingers could close around the edge, Alfred was already there, his hand moving with a quiet efficiency that seemed almost effortless. Jason blinked, surprised by the speed with which the older man had swooped in.

“Oh—sorry, I was just about to do that,” Jason said, a hint of embarrassment coloring his tone.

Alfred gave him a reassuring smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “No need to apologize, Master Jason. It’s my job, after all. You just sit and relax.”

Jason hesitated, his fingers hovering over the countertop, unsure of what to do now that his task had been taken away.

He leaned back on the stool, his eyes following Alfred as the butler moved about the kitchen. There was a grace to Alfred’s movements, a practiced ease that spoke of years of service and care, of making sure everything in the manor ran smoothly.

Watching him, Jason felt a pang of guilt; he wasn’t used to being taken care of, to having someone else handle the mundane tasks he’d long since learned to manage on his own. Back with mom, when she had been sick and even before all the times she’d been wasted, Jason had taken care of things at home.

“You really don’t have to, though,” Jason murmured, more to himself than to Alfred. “I could at least rinse them off…”

Alfred shook his head, his expression kind but resolute as he rinsed the dishes and set them neatly in the drying rack. “It’s no trouble at all, Master Jason. You have your own responsibilities to focus on, and I have mine.”

Jason swallowed, the words sticking in his throat. Responsibilities. The word felt heavy, loaded with implications. Bruce had given him nothing to do, no tasks to complete, training, no nothing.

“Alfred,” Jason began, his voice tentative, “is there anything I can help with today?”

Alfred paused, a gentle smile forming as he turned to face Jason. “I appreciate the offer, Master Jason,” he said, his tone warm and patient, “but everything is well in hand. I’ve been keeping this house in order for quite some time, you know.”

Jason frowned slightly. He hadn’t expected Alfred to actually need his help—Alfred rarely did—but he’d been hoping for some way to fill the hours ahead. “Are you sure?” he pressed, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Alfred, ever perceptive, seemed to sense the tension in Jason’s posture, the slight furrow in his brow. As he wiped down the counter, he glanced at Jason with a subtle, reassuring smile. “Perhaps today you might take some time for yourself,” he suggested lightly. “Explore the garden, visit the library, or even play a few video games. There’s no rush to be productive every moment of the day. Sometimes, a bit of leisure is exactly what’s needed.”

Jason forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Alfred might think so. He was the kindest person Jason had known since … forever maybe. But Bruce would certainly br angry if Jason wasted the day away, even if he hadn’t given him any directions.

“Yeah… maybe,” Jason mumbled.

But the idea of doing nothing, of simply existing in this massive house with its endless hallways and perfectly kept rooms, felt wrong to him.

So he remained seated at the counter, watching as Alfred finished up. The older man worked in silence, his movements efficient but unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to see to these small, simple tasks. When the last dish was put away and the kitchen was spotless once again, Alfred turned back to Jason, his expression gentle.

“Anything else I can assist you with, Master Jason?” he asked.

Jason shook his head slowly. “No… I guess not.” He slid off the stool, feeling a bit lost as he stood in the vast kitchen. “Thanks, Alfred.”

“Anytime,” Alfred replied with a slight bow of his head, his tone warm with genuine care. “If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Jason nodded, but the words felt heavy and awkward on his tongue. He turned and made his way out of the kitchen, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the manor’s grand hallways. He wasn’t sure where to go or what to do. The garden? The library? Video games? All of it seemed meaningless, distractions from the gnawing sense of uselessness that had been growing since he woke up.

Jason lingered in the kitchen for a moment longer, his thoughts swirling in a mix of uncertainty and frustration. The idea of spending the day with no clear purpose felt like a punishment, even if Bruce hadn't explicitly said anything. Bruce’s silence, his lack of direction, only added to the weight pressing down on Jason’s chest. He felt like a fucking failure.

Eventually, Jason pushed away from the counter and made his way outside, deciding to explore the garden like Alfred had suggested. The morning air was crisp, and the sun was beginning to rise higher in the sky, casting a bright, clear light over the well-kept grounds. The garden was vast, with carefully manicured lawns, vibrant flower beds, and towering trees that provided ample shade. A small pond shimmered in the distance, its surface reflecting the sky like a mirror.

Jason walked along the stone path, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he took in the beauty around him. The garden was perfect—too perfect, in a way that made him uneasy. It was like a painting, a place meant to be admired from a distance, but not lived in.

He wandered past the flower beds, noting the meticulous care that had gone into maintaining each plant. It was the kind of work he could respect; it required patience, attention to detail, and a steady hand.

Maybe he could offer to help Alfred with the garden. But then, he quickly dismissed the thought. Alfred had already made it clear that everything was under control, and Jason didn’t want to be turned down again.

He found himself near the lawn, an expansive stretch of green that seemed to go on forever. The grass was short, neatly trimmed, and the smell of fresh earth was calming. Jason paused, looking around as if searching for something to do, something that would justify his presence here.

The idea of training crossed his mind—he could use the space to practice some of the moves Bruce had shown him. Maybe work on his endurance or his strength. But then doubt crept in. Bruce hadn’t mentioned any training for the day. What if he got hurt? What if Bruce found out and got angry?

Jason knew Bruce was the expert, knew he should trust him to guide his training, but the restless energy inside him wouldn’t settle. Jason frowned, kicking a stray pebble down the path. He needed to do something, anything to prove he wasn’t just a burden.

His eyes landed on the lawn mower stored in a small shed nearby. The thought of mowing the lawn crossed his mind—a task that was both physical and practical, something he could do without stepping on any toes. But as soon as the idea formed, he dismissed it again. This wasn’t the rough neighborhood he was used to; the lawn here was already perfect. His help wasn’t needed.

With a sigh, Jason continued his aimless walk, eventually finding himself circling back toward the manor. The garden was beautiful, but it offered little distraction from the gnawing unease inside him. He needed to do something useful, something that would justify his being here. But what?

The answer wasn’t in the garden, that much was clear.

He made his way back inside, the cool air of the manor a stark contrast to the warmth outside. The silence of the halls felt even heavier now, a constant reminder of the emptiness of his day. Jason’s footsteps echoed as he climbed the grand staircase on socked feet, the new sneackers carried in his hand. He quickly brought them back to his room. Leaving them by the door like the hobo he was had not even crossed Jasons mind.

Jason was not sure where to go next. He could stay in his room, be out if the way until he was needed but then he remembered thag Alfred proposed the library. Jason loved the library!

He loved the escape that books offered—the chance to lose himself in a story, to learn something new, or to imagine a world different from his own.

But today, the library felt more like a test than a refuge.

He walked slowly between the rows of books, his eyes scanning the titles. Classics, histories, encyclopedias, and novels. Jason knew he could easily lose himself in any one of them, but today wasn’t about escape. It was about proving his worth. He needed something that would make him better—better at detective work, better at being Robin, better at everything Bruce needed him to be.

Jason’s fingers brushed over the spines of the books, feeling the texture of the leather and cloth. There were so many choices, so much knowledge at his fingertips, but none of it seemed right. He wanted to grab a classic, to enjoy the time reading without fear or hunger gnawing at him. But the thought was fleeting, replaced by the cold reality that if he couldn’t show himself useful, all of this could disappear in an instant.

He paused in front of a section dedicated to criminology. The books were dense, full of knowledge that could take years to fully understand, but they were also full of the skills Bruce valued most. If he could just find the right one, maybe he could spend the day learning something useful, something that would make Bruce proud—or at least keep him from regretting his decision to take Jason in.

Jason pulled a book from the shelf, its title promising a deep dive into the psychology of criminals. He flipped through the pages, skimming over the dense text, trying to absorb as much as he could. This was what Bruce did, wasn’t it? He studied, he learned, he prepared. Jason could do that too.

But as he settled into one of the plush chairs by the window, the book open on his lap.

Jason's eyes struggled to focus on the text in front of him. The words seemed to jumble together, the lines blurring into an indecipherable mess. He squinted, trying to force his brain to absorb the information, but it was like trying to hold onto water—it kept slipping through his fingers. The book on criminal psychology that had seemed so promising now felt like a brick, heavy and impenetrable.

He sighed, slumping back in the chair. “What the hell’s wrong with me?” he muttered under his breath. The frustration was building, a knot tightening in his chest. The feeling of uselessness gnawed at him, whispering in the back of his mind that he wasn’t cut out for this. Bruce was a genius, a master detective who could probably memorize an entire book in a day. Jason couldn’t even get through a single page without his mind wandering.

What did he think was gonna happen? Like fuck he would just gonna magically become a brainiac because he had a library to pick books from.

He snapped the book shut with a little too much force, the sound echoing through the silent library. The disappointment in himself was like a lead weight. He wanted to be more than what he was. But every time he tried, it seemed like the universe—or maybe just his own limitations—was there to remind him that he wasn’t good enough.

Jason clenched his jaw, his hands tightening around the book. He’d been so eager to prove himself, to show Bruce that he wasn’t just some street kid Bruce had taken in out of pity. But here he was, failing at something as simple as reading. His thoughts spiraled, each one darker than the last. He was too dumb for this. He’d never be like Bruce, never be someone worthy of being Robin. Of being magic.

“What a joke,” he whispered, the bitterness in his voice thick.

Jason felt the familiar sting of tears at the corners of his eyes, but he blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. He wouldn’t let himself cry—crying was weakness, and he’d been weak for too long already.

His frustration boiled over, and he pushed himself up from the chair, abandoning the book on the side table. The library, which had once felt like a sanctuary, now felt suffocating. He needed to get out, to move, to do something—anything other than sit here feeling like a failure.

Jason stormed out of the library, his feet carrying him back toward the direction of the room he was staying in. He thought about just holing up there. But as he passed on of the dozen sitting rooms, the soft clinking of metal caught his ear.

He stopped in his tracks and peered inside. Alfred was there, seated in one of the wingback chairs, a collection of silverware laid out on a polished table in front of him. The older man was polishing each piece with meticulous care, his movements smooth and deliberate, as if the task was both a duty and a comfort.

Jason hesitated at the doorway, watching Alfred work. The way Alfred handled the silver was almost like an art form, each piece of cutlery becoming a little bit brighter, a little bit more perfect, under his careful attention. There was something soothing about it, something that contrasted sharply with the chaos in Jason’s head.

He lingered in the doorway for a moment, torn between retreating to his room and stepping inside. Jason had always found it hard to talk about what was bothering him. But there was something about Alfred, something in the way the man carried himself with a quiet strength and understanding, that made Jason feel like maybe—just maybe—he could say something.

Before he could second-guess himself, Jason cleared his throat, stepping into the room. “Alfred?”

Alfred looked up from his work, his expression warm and welcoming as always. “Master Jason,” he greeted, his tone gentle. “Is everything all right?”

Jason shrugged his shoulders, avoiding Alfred's gaze. "Yeah, I guess," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

He shuffled his feet, hands stuffed deep into his pockets as he looked around the room, focusing on anything but Alfred's eyes. The soft clinking of the silverware filled the silence that hung between them.

Alfred paused his polishing, setting down the piece of silver in his hand. He tilted his head slightly, studying Jason with a gentle curiosity. "Care to join me for a moment?" he asked, gesturing to the chair opposite him. His tone was kind, with no hint of pressure or expectation.

Jason hesitated, the urge to retreat to his room still gnawing at him, but something about Alfred's calm demeanor made him feel like he could stay, at least for a little while. He nodded and slowly made his way over to the chair, sinking into it with a quiet sigh. He glanced at the silverware spread out on the table, the polished pieces gleaming in the light.

Alfred resumed his work, his hands moving with practiced ease. "Polishing silver is one of those tasks that requires just enough attention to keep the mind occupied," he said, almost conversationally. "It can be quite calming, I find. A simple way to clear one's thoughts."

Jason watched Alfred for a moment, the rhythmic motion of the cloth over metal almost hypnotic. He didn't know what to say, how to explain the frustration churning inside him. "It looks... peaceful," he finally murmured, feeling silly for the way his voice wavered.

Alfred smiled softly, his eyes never leaving the silver he was polishing. "It can be," he agreed. "It’s a task where the results are tangible. You start with something tarnished and dull, and with a bit of effort, it shines again."

Jason nodded, though he still felt a bit lost. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself, with all the thoughts swirling around in his head. The weight of his earlier frustration and self-doubt still lingered, making it hard for him to find the right words.

Alfred seemed to sense Jason’s reluctance to speak, so he didn’t press further. Instead, he continued polishing, the soft sounds of the cloth against metal filling the quiet room. After a few moments, he glanced at Jason, his expression still kind but unassuming. “Would you like to try?”

Jason blinked in surprise at Alfred's offer, his hands still deep in his pockets. For a moment, he hesitated, his mind racing with thoughts that made him feel a little guilty.

Deep down, a part of him was startled that Alfred would trust him with something so valuable. Growing up, he'd learned to spot things worth stealing—a survival skill he'd honed out of necessity. If he ever needed to run, snatching a handful of this silverware would be a surefire way to get by. The pieces were small, easy to slip into a pocket, and without a doubt, they were worth a lot.

The idea lingered in the back of his mind, an old instinct from his days on the street that he couldn’t quite shake, no matter how safe things seemed now.

He looked up at Alfred, who was watching him with that same gentle expression, and Jason wondered if the older man had any idea what was going through his mind. Probably not. Alfred was kind, but he wasn’t naive. Jason felt a pang of shame.

Still, the idea of doing something with his hands, of focusing on a simple, calming task, was appealing.

Slowly, he pulled his hands out of his pockets and nodded. “Yeah… I’d like to try,” he said, his voice still low, but a little steadier now.

Alfred handed him a piece of silverware and a polishing cloth, his movements careful but unhurried. Jason took them with a sense of reverence, as if he was being entrusted with something important. He glanced down at the silver spoon in his hand, feeling its weight, the smoothness of the metal cool against his skin.

He started to polish, mimicking Alfred’s movements. At first, his hands were awkward, the cloth slipping over the surface of the spoon without much effect. But as he focused, he began to get the hang of it, the silver gradually starting to gleam under his touch. The repetitive motion was strangely soothing, giving him something simple to concentrate on, something that didn’t require him to think too hard.

As he worked, Jason couldn’t help but notice how the tarnish slowly faded away, revealing the bright, reflective surface underneath. It felt like a small victory, seeing the change he was able to bring about, even if it was just in this one spoon.

Jason couldn't help but turn Alfred's words over in his mind. You start with something tarnished and dull, and with a bit of effort, it shines again. It was a simple idea, but it stuck with him, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. Wasn't that what he was? Tarnished and dull, worn down by the life he'd lived before Bruce found him? He wondered, as he rubbed the cloth over the silver, if there was ever a possibility that, with enough effort, he could be something good—something better than what he'd been.

The memory of Bruce's voice drifted into his mind, clear as if he'd just spoken. "With time and training, I have no doubt you will," Bruce had said the day before.

Jason had replayed those words in his mind over and over since then, clinging to them like a lifeline. After all, nothing had changed since then, right?

But doubt crept in. Jason's thoughts wandered back to the morning. Bruce had seemed so different—distant, hurried. Jason couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Had he done something wrong? Had Bruce already started to regret his words? The fear gnawed at him, threatening to undo the fragile hope he'd been nurturing.

But maybe he was just in a hurry. Jason tried to reassure himself, recalling how Bruce had been preoccupied, almost rushing out the door. Jason was just a kid he picked up, Bruce surely had more important things on his mind than Jasons training.

Maybe Bruce had realized Jason needed to shine faster than he was capable of. What if Bruce didn’t have the time or the patience to wait for him to catch up?

What if he’d already begun to see the cracks, the flaws that Jason couldn’t seem to hide?

The thought sent a chill down his spine, the idea that Bruce might give up on him before he even had a chance to prove himself.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He wasn’t going to give up. Not yet. He wasn’t going to let the fear win. He was going to keep trying, keep pushing himself, no matter how hard it got. Maybe he wasn’t shining yet, but with time… maybe he could.

Chapter Text

The day’s fading light cast a warm glow over the grand dining room as Jason sat at the long, polished table. The soft clinking of silverware and the murmur of Alfred’s practiced movements filled the room. The setting was both inviting and imposing.

The rich wood of the table gleamed under the light of flickering candles, but Jason’s eyes were fixed downward, avoiding the array of dishes—roasted chicken, fresh vegetables, perfectly round little rosemary potatoes, and a delicate dessert that looked almost too perfect to touch.

The sound of footsteps approaching made Jason glance up. Bruce entered the dining room, his expression a mask of professional detachment. He was dressed in a different suit now, one that was less formal but still impeccably tailored. His demeanor was calm, almost serene, but there was an underlying intensity in his eyes that Jason couldn’t quite place.

“Evening, Jason,” Bruce said as he took his seat at the head of the table. His gaze briefly scanned the room, taking in the setup, before settling on Jason.

“Hi,” Jason mumbled, his eyes dropping back to the table as he picked up his fork and knife, though he didn’t feel much like eating.

Bruce began to eat, but his attention remained on Jason. His gaze was steady, but Jason could feel the weight of it, making his heart race.

“How was your day?” Bruce asked, his tone calm, almost as if trying to ease the tension he sensed in Jason.

Jason felt his chest tighten at the question. What could he say that wouldn’t sound useless? “It… it was okay, I guess. I, um… I spent some time in the garden… and the library.”

Bruce nodded, his expression neutral, but Jason felt like he was being scrutinized. “Did you find anything interesting in the library?”

Jason hesitated, his fingers twisting the edge of his napkin. He hadn’t expected this question and felt cornered, his anxiety spiking. “I… I tried to read a book on… on criminal psychology, but… it was really hard. I didn’t… I didn’t get very far.”

Bruce’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but he didn’t show any disappointment. Instead, he seemed thoughtful. “What made you pick that book?”

Jason’s throat felt tight. He shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Bruce’s gaze. His voice was almost a whisper now. “I thought… maybe if I could understand more… it would help me be… better.”

Bruce’s expression softened, and he leaned forward slightly, trying to connect with Jason, who still looked down at the table.

“What did you do in the garden?” Bruce asked, his tone curious but gentle.

Jason blinked, caught off guard by the question. He reached for his glass of water, but his hand trembled slightly, causing the ice to clink against the glass. Realizing he was shaking, he quickly set it down, his fingers instead tracing the rim of his plate, skimming the edge as he struggled to find the right words.

“I… I walked around, mostly. Looked at the flowers and stuff,” he mumbled, feeling self-conscious.

“Did you enjoy that? Being out in the fresh air?” Bruce asked, before he cut of another bite of roasted chicken.

Jason shrugged, his own meal long abadoned. “Yeah, I guess. It was quiet.”

Bruce nodded, sensing there was more beneath the surface. “What else were you doing while you were out there?”

Jason hesitated, feeling cornered by the question. He shifted in his seat, unsure of how much to share. “I… I thought maybe I could do some exercises out there. You know, like… keep in shape.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger but in thought. “That’s a good idea. The garden’s a peaceful place for that. Did you have anything specific in mind?”

Jason looked down at the table, his voice barely audible. “Maybe just some basic stuff… like running or… push-ups. I don’t know,” he stammered, his anxiety growing.

Bruce studied Jason for a moment, his gaze thoughtful as he processed the boy's words. “Training outside could be beneficial. Fresh air, open space. We could incorporate some of it into our sessions—maybe work on endurance or agility drills.”

Jason’s eyes widened slightly, and he quickly shook his head, panic flashing in his eyes. Bruce had misunderstood him. He hadn’t meant to suggest training together outside; the idea of that only added to his anxiety. He just wanted to be useful, to push himself alone where no one could see his mistakes.

“N-no, I didn’t mean together,” he stammered, his voice tinged with urgency. “I mean, just… on my own. In my free time. I just… I just thought I could get better that way. Without bothering you or Alfred.”

Jason froze as Bruce’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of training alone. There was no anger in Bruce’s expression, just a shift—a subtle tightening of his jaw, a more focused gaze. The change made Jason’s heart pound harder in his chest.

“Jason,” Bruce began, his voice calm but firmer than before, “why do you want to train alone?”

Jason hesitated, his hand trembling slightly as it hovered over his water glass. He didn’t want to admit it outright, but the words slipped out anyway, quiet and uncertain. “I just… I want to get better. Faster.”

Bruce’s gaze sharpened, and Jason felt a lump forming in his throat. He wasn’t sure why he had expected a different reaction, but the sudden tension made him regret speaking up at all. He averted his eyes, focusing on the rim of his plate, tracing it with a fingertip to keep his hands from shaking too much.

“You’ve only had one session,” Bruce said, his tone carrying a weight that Jason couldn’t ignore. “There’s no need to rush.”

Jason swallowed, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. It wasn’t just about rushing—it was about the gnawing fear that he wasn’t good enough, that he wasn’t improving quickly enough. But how could he explain that without sounding weak? He could feel Bruce’s gaze on him, waiting for an answer, but he had none to give.

Instead, he shrugged, a noncommittal gesture that he hoped would deflect some of the pressure. “I just thought… maybe if I practiced more, I’d get better.”

Bruce’s eyes didn’t leave him, and the silence between them grew heavier. Jason kept his focus on the table, pretending to be engrossed in the delicate pattern on the tablecloth. His finger traced it mindlessly, as if the intricate design might somehow provide an escape.

“No solo training,” Bruce finally said, his voice still calm but unyielding. “Not yet.”

The firmness in Bruce’s words sent a jolt through Jason, a sharp reminder of just how new and unsteady his footing was in this world. He bit down on the urge to argue, to insist that he could handle it. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure he could, and the thought of disappointing Bruce gnawed at him.

“Okay,” Jason mumbled, the word barely more than a whisper. He dared a quick glance up, catching the concerned look in Bruce’s eyes, and then looked away just as quickly.

Bruce’s tone softened, the tension in the room easing just a little. “We’ll work on it together. There’s plenty of time to get where you want to be, but we need to do it right.”

As they returned to their meal, Jason couldn’t help but wonder if Bruce could see through him—if he could sense the frustration and fear that Jason tried so hard to hide. He kept his eyes on his plate, trying to ignore the way his hands still shook slightly, the way his stomach churned with a mix of nerves and determination.

The rest of the meal passed in a quiet rhythm, the soft clinking of silverware punctuating the silence. Jason pushed the food around on his plate, his appetite having long since vanished.

Bruce’s eyes occasionally flicked towards him, as if assessing, but Jason kept his gaze down, focusing on the intricate patterns of the tablecloth.

Finally, Bruce broke the silence. “What else did you do today?”

Jason stiffened slightly at the question.

“I, um… I helped Alfred with the silverware and then worked on some of my workbooks,” Jason said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I mostly tried to stay out of the way.”

Bruce nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Alfred always has plenty on his plate, but you’re never a bother. You know that, right?”

Jason shrugged, feeling a familiar knot of discomfort. He didn’t want to argue and Alfred was kind but still, the man hadn’t asked to be burdened with a kid in his house.

Bruce’s voice softened, a hint of concern in his tone. “Did you do anything for fun today?”

Jason hesitated, then responded simply, “No?”

Bruce’s gaze remained steady, as if weighing Jason’s response. “Were you bored today?”

The question hit Jason like a cold splash of water. He looked up, alarmed, his eyes widening. “Bored?”

Bruce’s gaze was steady, his tone gentle but probing. “Yes, were you bored today?”

Jason’s heart pounded in his chest. He shifted in his seat, fingers gripping the edge of the table, trying to steady himself.

“I really tried to keep busy!” Jason told him, trying to defend himself. “I even thought about mowing your stupid lawn but …”

“But what, lad?” Bruce’s lips twitched into an almost amused smile.

“But it was perfect already!”Jason’s eyes filled with angry tears, and he looked away.

“Everything’s always fucking perfect here and I didn’t wanna mess anything up!”

The outburst hung in the air between them. Bruce’s amusement faltered, replaced by an uncomfortable realization. He leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the hurt in Jason’s voice. He hadn’t intended to make Jason feel like a burden, but it was becoming clear that his questions were having the opposite effect.

Jason’s shoulders trembled, the angry tears now spilling freely. He wiped at his face with the back of his hand, trying to stifle the sobs that shook his small frame. “I just… I don’t wanna be a problem. I want to be useful, but I don’t even know what’s okay or what’s not.”

Bruce’s expression shifted from bemusement to concern. He watched as Jason’s eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape. The boy’s discomfort was palpable, and Bruce began to realize the gravity of his missteps.

“Jase,” Bruce began, his voice gravelly and soft. “I didn’t mean to make you feel this way. I just wanted to know if you had a good time today. I didn’t think—”

“Please don’t send me away.”

Jason’s voice cut through Bruce’s attempt at reassurance, sharp and filled with raw fear. “Jason, no one’s sending you away,” Bruce said firmly, but he could hear the slight tremor in his own voice. “I’m not even thinking of that.”

Jason’s tear-filled eyes searched Bruce’s face, seeking reassurance. “Really?”

Bruce’s heart ached as he saw the fragility in Jason’s expression. He leaned in slightly, trying to close the gap between them, his gaze gentle but resolute. “I promise, Jason. No one’s going to send you away.”

Jason’s eyes remained locked on Bruce’s, still searching for any sign of deceit. The boy’s breath was shaky, but he looked more hopeful now. “You really mean that?”

Bruce nodded, his expression earnest and his voice steady. “Absolutely. You’re not going anywhere.”

Jason’s face crumpled with anxiety. ““So... as long as I don’t mess up, I can stay? Like, for real?”

Bruce hesitated, the weight of Jason’s words settling heavily on him. “Jay …” he started, his brow furrowing as he struggled to articulate his thoughts.

Jason didn’t wait until Bruce found his words. “But what if... what if I do mess up? Will you tell me? Like... before it’s too late?”

Bruce’s gaze softened as he saw the fear and uncertainty etched on Jason’s face. The kid had been through so much, and now he was sitting here, terrified of making a mistake that could cost him this new life.

Bruce swallowed hard, choosing his words carefully. "Jason," he began, his voice low and steady, "I’ll tell you. I promise, before it’s too late. You won’t just get kicked out, okay?"

Jason looked up at him, his eyes wide and searching. "You swear?"

Bruce nodded firmly. "I swear, Jase. We’ll talk about it, work through it."

Jason seemed to let out a small breath he’d been holding, his body relaxing just a little. He wasn’t completely at ease, but Bruce could see the tight grip of anxiety loosening its hold on him.

"Okay.” He let out a shaky breath, the tension in his small frame slowly unwinding. “Thank you.”

“Come on,” Bruce said, his voice softening as he gestured towards the kitchen. “Grab your plate. We can reheat your food.”

Jason hesitated, his eyes downcast “I don’t mind,” Jason mumbled. “I’m used to eat cold food.”

Bruce’s heart clenched at those words, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he simply repeated, “Come, Jay,” with a quiet firmness that left little room for argument. He knew better than to push too hard, but he also knew that Jason deserved more than just the bare minimum.

Jason sniffled, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt before nodding slightly. He reached for his plate, his movements slow and reluctant, as if he was bracing himself for some unspoken consequence.

They walked to the kitchen in silence, the only sound the faint echo of their footsteps against the tiled floor. Bruce took the plate from Jason’s hands and placed it in the microwave, setting the timer with a practiced motion.

The microwave hummed softly, filling the room with its rhythmic sound. Bruce leaned against the counter, his hands planted firmly on the cool surface as he stared at the clock on the wall.

The seconds ticked by, each one dragging out longer than the last, and Bruce found himself searching for the right words.

He glanced at Jason, who stood by the kitchen island, his small frame rigid, eyes fixed on the floor. The kid looked so out of place in this big, pristine kitchen, like he didn’t quite belong.

Bruce felt a pang of guilt.

The kid had been through hell, and Bruce knew he couldn’t fix that with just a promise or a reheated meal.

But he could damn well try.

The microwave beeped, breaking the silence. Bruce turned, pulling out the plate and setting it on the table in front of Jason. “Here”, Bruce said. “Foods better warm.” The boy stared at it, his fingers twitching slightly as he reached for the fork. But even as he took that first bite, it was clear his mind was somewhere else.

Jasons movements were slow, cautious. He took a small bite, chewing methodically, his gaze still focused on the table.

Bruce let out a quiet sigh, more to himself than anything. But the sound seemed to echo in the room. Bruce stayed where he was, leaning against the counter. He didn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless chatter or force Jason to talk. He just stayed, a steady presence in the room, hoping it was enough.

Jason’s response was immediate and instinctive. He started to eat faster, shoveling food into his mouth as if he were racing against some invisible clock. His movements became more frantic, almost desperate, and Bruce realized with a sinking feeling that the kid thought he was wasting his time.

“Jason,” Bruce said, pushing off from the counter and stepping closer. His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable concern threaded through it. “You don’t have to rush. It’s okay. Take your time.”

Jason froze mid-bite, his fork hovering inches from his mouth. His eyes flickered up to meet Bruce’s, filled with uncertainty.

There was a moment where he seemed to weigh Bruce’s words, trying to figure out if they were genuine or just something people said to be polite.

After what felt like an eternity, he slowly lowered the fork, placing it carefully back on the plate. His shoulders slumped, and he exhaled a shaky breath, the tension draining from his small frame.

“You don’t... have to stay,” Jason mumbled, barely audible. His voice was so quiet, so defeated, that Bruce had to strain to hear him. “I’m fine.”

The words hit Bruce harder than he expected. It wasn’t just what Jason said—it was the way he said it, like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Bruce.

He knew Jason wasn’t just talking about dinner. He was talking about a lifetime of disappointment, of people who had failed him over and over again. And now, here he was, trying to figure out if Bruce would be just another name on that long list.

Frustration bubbled up inside Bruce—not at Jason, but at the world that had made him feel this way. The world that had taught him that people didn’t stick around, that no one stayed unless you were useful, unless you didn’t cause trouble. It made Bruce want to punch something, to tear down whatever barriers life had forced Jason to build around himself.

Instead, he crouched down so that he was eye-level with Jason, making a conscious effort to be less imposing, more accessible. He didn’t want to loom over the kid, not when he was already feeling so small.

“I know I don’t have to stay,” he said simply. “But I want to.”

Chapter Text

The clinking of silverware against china was the only sound in the grand dining room of Wayne Manor. Morning light spilled through the tall windows, casting a soft, golden glow over the room, making the polished wood of the long table gleam. The table, so large that it could seat a dozen, felt empty with just the two of them. Jason sat across from Bruce, his shoulders slightly hunched, chewing slowly. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mixing with the scent of eggs and bacon.

Bruce sat at the head of the table and the occasional rustling of the pages was the only noise he made. His posture was relaxed, but there was an attentive stillness to him, like he was waiting for something. Jason kept glancing at him from under his eyelashes, trying to read him, trying to figure out if Bruce was expecting something—anything—from him. But Bruce’s expression, as usual, was calm and unreadable.

Jason dragged his fork through the scrambled eggs again, watching them break apart like crumbling pieces of his resolve. He hadn’t taken a proper bite in minutes, the food on his plate remained untouched beyond a few forced mouthfuls. His stomach churned, but it wasn’t from hunger. A low hum of nerves buzzed through his veins, anticipation twisting inside him like a knot he couldn’t untangle. He wanted to say something, maybe crack a joke, or ask Bruce about his plans for the day—anything to break the silence. But the words never came. They stuck in his throat like heavy stones, leaving him mute. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to make himself smaller in the enormous dining room.

He wasn’t used to the stillness. Back on the streets, silence usually meant danger was lurking, something to be wary of. Here, in Wayne Manor, the silence felt different—heavier, more watchful. Every scrape of his fork seemed amplified, like it echoed through the vastness of the room. His stomach twisted, but he kept eating because that’s what you did when you were given food—you didn’t waste it.

His mind was spinning, tangled up in all the unspoken expectations he felt pressing down on him. Bruce had been nothing but kind—always kind—but Jason couldn’t shake the feeling that he was constantly being evaluated, that at any moment, he might mess up so badly Bruce would change his mind about him. Bruce had said he’d tell Jason if things went wrong, promised he wouldn’t be left guessing. But Jason wasn’t sure if he could trust that—if he could trust himself to be enough for Bruce’s world.

The silence stretched on, and Jason’s chest tightened, the spring inside him winding tighter and tighter. He kept waiting for something to happen, for the other shoe to drop, for the world to remind him how fragile this new life was. He stabbed at his eggs again, hoping the motion would distract him from the unease building up inside.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Bruce’s quiet movements broke the stillness. He folded the newspaper carefully, his actions slow and deliberate, as if there was no rush. Jason’s eyes flicked up, catching Bruce’s calm demeanor, the way his every motion seemed measured, controlled. When Bruce set the paper aside and looked across the table at him, Jason felt a flicker of nervous energy rise in his chest, his back stiffening slightly under the weight of Bruce’s steady gaze.

Bruce didn’t say anything right away. His eyes, calm and observant, seemed to take in every small detail—the way Jason’s hand gripped his fork too tightly, the subtle tension in his posture. There was no judgment in his expression, only a quiet attentiveness that made Jason feel like Bruce could see right through him, through all the layers of bravado Jason tried to put up.

“We’re leaving at ten,” Bruce said, his voice calm, not pushing but gently guiding. “We have an appointment with the dean of Gotham Academy.”

The name was enough to make his pulse quicken, his heart thudding a little harder in his chest. Bruce had mentioned the Academy in passing, like a possibility, something far-off, not something that would happen today. His gut twisted sharply, the nerves flaring up again, stronger this time.

Jason’s fork stilled halfway to his mouth. He froze, the words sinking in slowly. Gotham Academy. Bruce had mentioned it as one option for school, bit Jason had thought it would be a distant possibility, something they might discuss weeks from now. But this? An appointment? Today?

He felt his gut twist at the mention of the dean. He knew what that meant—It wasn’t just a visit then, not just a casual look around the campus. This was something real. His pulse quickened, and for a second, his mind filled with the weight of everything he was supposed to be.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and set his fork down quietly. He couldn’t find his appetite anymore. The food on his plate blurred as his thoughts took over. Gotham Academy. Jason had seen the brochures even before he came to live with Bruce, the pristine grounds, the grand architecture of the Academy. But none of that had seemed real until now.

He heard the way Bruce’s voice changed when he talked about the school. It was prestigious. Elite. It was for the polished, the privileged, the future CEOs and senators. A a training ground for the city’s future leaders. And Dick had gone there—Dick, Bruce’s first son, the perfect Robin. It wasn’t for kids like him. It couldn’t be. He was just… Jason. The kid Batman picked up from the alley.

Bruce’s eyes didn’t leave him. His gaze was gentle, more attentive now, as if he knew exactly what Jason was thinking but was giving him space to work through it. “You don’t have to go through with it if you’re not ready,” Bruce added, his tone softer. There was no pressure in his words, only support. “We can take our time with this, Jason. If you’re not sure about it, we can talk it through.”

Jason swallowed hard, his throat tight. He met Bruce’s eyes for a fleeting second before looking away again, staring at his plate, at the half-eaten food he couldn’t bear to touch anymore. He didn’t know how to explain that he couldn’t say no. How could he? Bruce had taken him in, given him everything—shelter, food, the mantle of Robin. Bruce gave him the chance of a lifetime.

It felt like he had to live up to that now. He had to prove he deserved all of it. And if Bruce wanted him to go to Gotham Academy, then Jason had to do whatever it took to get in. He had to show Bruce that he wasn’t a mistake.

He swallowed hard and gave a small shrug, trying to play it cool, even though his chest felt tight. “It’s fine,” he muttered, barely audible.

Bruce didn’t push him. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering in a way that made it feel like he was speaking just to Jason, not as Batman, not as Gotham’s billionaire, but as someone who understood the weight Jason was carrying.

“Jason, I know this might feel like a big step,” he said, his words careful but sincere. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

didn’t want Bruce there, watching, witnessing him fail. If he messed this up, if the dean saw right through him—if Bruce saw it—what then? Jason didn’t want to find out. So he stayed quiet, nodding again, his eyes glued to the table. He felt like a coward, unable to say the things that churned inside him.

Bruce’s smile was small but warm, a rare, unguarded expression that Jason wasn’t used to seeing directed at him. It made Jason’s chest tighten further

“We’ll figure it out together,” Bruce said softly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. The reassurance in his voice wasn’t forced; it was steady, like Bruce had no doubt that Jason could handle this, even if Jason himself couldn’t believe it.

Jason forced a small smile in return, though his mind was racing. He hated feeling this way, like he wasn’t enough. He’d never had to prove himself like this before. Not with school, not with tests. The streets had their own rules, their own challenges, and he knew how to navigate them. Mostly.

But this—this was different. He wasn’t sure he could make it in a place like Gotham Academy, where everyone probably had perfect grades and no worries beyond what tie to wear to the next gala.

Jason felt like he was hanging by a thread, like any wrong move would reveal the truth—that he didn’t belong in this world, didn’t deserve to be Robin, didn’t deserve this chance.

But Bruce… Bruce seemed to think he could. So Jason had to give his best and hope against hopes that it might be enough.

***

Gotham Academy loomed in front of them, its towering stone walls covered in creeping ivy that stretched upward like nature trying to reclaim the structure. The air around it seemed different, charged with a sense of history and importance. The spires, dark and imposing, reached toward the sky, their Gothic architecture making Jason feel like he was stepping into a different world. Every detail of the place seemed deliberate, from the perfectly maintained cobblestone paths to the grand iron gates that creaked open as they entered.

Jason’s heart pounded as they passed through the gate. He couldn’t help but feel small beneath the towering arches and sprawling courtyard. Students— real Gotham Academy students —milled about in their neat uniforms: blazers crisp, ties knotted perfectly, shoes polished so brightly they reflected the overcast sky. Laughter and casual chatter filled the air as they walked by, but Jason felt like a ghost slipping through a world that wasn’t meant for him. He darted glances at them, trying not to stare too long, but each one looked like they had been born into this life, like they had never known what it meant to scramble for a meal or find warmth in an alley. This playe was full of peopel, who had always known stability, and privilege. One more foreign to Jason than the other.

Bruce led the way, his hand ghosting at Jason back, not really touching but guiding him through the sea of students. Jason’s palms felt clammy, and he shoved them into the pockets of his new dark blue jacket. He glanced down at his outfit—he had tried. He really had. The woolen pullover Alfred had bought him was soft, and his dark jeans were clean. He had even combed his hair, ran the brush through it until it lay flat, and made sure his nails were scrubbed throughouly. But even with the effort, he felt out of place, like someone they‘d call security on instead of allowing him into the building.

He kept his head down as they made their way through the courtyard, but his eyes darted everywhere, taking it all in. The grand buildings, the towering windows, the way the students moved with such ease, like they had never known anything but safety and certainty. Jason had grown up on the streets, in a world where silence meant danger and you learned not to trust anyone too easily. This place, with its manicured lawns and stone walls, was as far from his reality as he could imagine. But despite the unease gnawing at him, a part of Jason couldn’t help but feel drawn to it. There was something about the school—the echoes of laughter in the halls, the smell of old books mixed with polished wood—that made him want to belong here. It was a place where you could become someone , where the future felt full of possibilities, not just survival.

The woman at the front desk greeted them with a polite smile, the kind that felt perfectly rehearsed—professional but distant, like she’d done this a thousand times before. “Mr. Wayne,” she said, nodding to Bruce before her gaze shifted briefly to Jason. She didn’t linger on him, just a quick glance, but Jason felt it—felt her trying to size him up, figure out who he was in relation to Bruce Wayne. He was used to it by now, the way people seemed to measure him with just a glance. She didn’t say anything to him, just motioned for them to follow.

They walked down a long, wide hallway, the walls lined with large, gilded frames. Jason’s eyes drifted over the portraits—men and women in dark suits, some in robes and caps, their expressions stern and distant. The figures in the paintings seemed to stare down at him, their eyes following his every step. Headmasters, important alumni, people who had shaped the history of Gotham Academy.

Jason kept his gaze down, feeling smaller with each step, until something made him stop in his tracks. His eyes locked onto one particular portrait—a man standing tall, his face kind but dignified, wearing a suit that looked like it belonged to another era. The name beneath the portrait read Thomas Wayne.

Jason’s breath caught. Thomas Wayne. Bruce’s father. He had heard the name before, of course—everyone in Gotham knew the story of Thomas and Martha Wayne. But seeing the man’s face, the resemblance to Bruce, something about it made Jason feel a lump rise in his throat.

He remained standing, his feet glued to the floor, staring at the portrait. Bruce noticed Jason had stopped and turned back, following his gaze. For a moment, there was a quiet between them, the only sound the faint murmur of voices from the classrooms down the hall.

“That’s my father,” Bruce said softly, stepping up beside Jason. There was a warmth in his voice, an almost reverent tone, as if talking about his father in this place held special meaning.

Jason blinked, swallowing down the sudden tightness in his chest. “He went here?” he asked, though he knew the answer. Of course, he did. This was Gotham’s elite, and the Waynes were Gotham’s most influential family.

Bruce nodded, his gaze lingering on the portrait. “He was proud of this place. He always believed education was the foundation for everything—wanted to make sure Gotham’s future was in good hands.” Bruce’s lips curved into a small, nostalgic smile. “He was on the board, donated a lot to the school. His name’s still on one of the wings.”

Jason felt the weight of it—the legacy, the history. He wondered if Bruce felt it too, carrying the name of a man so important to Gotham’s past. He wondered if Bruce ever felt the same pressure he did, living up to expectations set long before you had a chance to define yourself.

Jason tore his gaze from Thomas Wayne’s portrait, but just as he turned, something else caught his eye—another portrait. A little further down the hall, Jason saw the familiar lines of Bruce’s face, younger but unmistakable. Bruce Wayne, standing tall in his academy uniform, his expression as calm and composed as ever.

“That’s you,” Jason said, surprise evident in his voice.

Bruce gave a slight chuckle, walking with him to the portrait. “Yeah,” he said, his tone lighter now. “I graduated from here.”

Jason stared at the portrait, amazed. He knew Bruce Wayne was a big deal—everyone did—but seeing him up on the wall of one of the most prestigious schools in Gotham was something else. Bruce wasn’t just wealthy. He wasn’t just Batman. He was one of Gotham’s most influential alumni. It hit Jason harder than he expected. This was the world Bruce came from, the world Jason was now trying to navigate, and it felt more distant than ever.

His stomach churned, the weight of everything pressing in on him. Jason shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, trying to steady himself. He wasn’t like Bruce. He wasn’t born into this. He wasn’t sure if he could ever fit in here. But maybe, he thought, maybe Bruce’s influence could help him get in, help him catch up on all the years he missed. Maybe, in a place like this, Jason could learn. And if he learned enough, maybe—just maybe—he could be good enough for college one day.

They reached a set of large, wooden double doors, polished to a deep shine, and the woman gestured for them to enter. Inside, the dean’s office was exactly what Jason expecte d . The room was grand, with high ceilings and tall windows that offered a sweeping view of the campus. The far wall was lined with shelves packed with thick volumes, old, leather-bound books that Jason’s eyes couldn’t help but linger on. Nothing was as breathtaking as the library in Wayne Manor but those were still some very beautiful books and Jason let himself be calmed by the smell of old paper.

As they stepped further into the room, the dean stood up from behind her large mahogany desk. She had silver hair, neatly tied back, and she wore a well-tailored suit that matched the sophisticated aura of the room. Her smile was warm, but Jason could tell it was the kind of smile adults used when they were trying to be polite, to make someone feel welcome. Her gaze shifted to him after greeting Bruce, and for a moment, Jason felt pinned under her attention.

She extended her hand to him, and for a second, Jason hesitated before he stepped forward to shake it. His hand shot out to meet hers, and he realized too late that his grip was a little too tight. He didn’t know what to say, but she didn’t seem fazed.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Jason. Welcome to Gotham Academy,” she said, her voice carrying a practiced warmth. Her eyes, though kind, were sharp—like she was already assessing him, trying to see what kind of student he’d be.

Jason swallowed, feeling the words stick in his throat. His eyes darted to Bruce, who stood beside him with that same calm confidence Jason had seen a thousand times before.

Jason nodded, muttering a quiet “thanks,” before dropping into the chair beside Bruce.

The dean sat back down behind her desk, glancing between them as she began to explain the academy’s programs. Jason half-listened as she spoke about the school’s history, its reputation, and the endless opportunities it offered. He couldn’t focus. His stomach twisted with every word. He felt like an imposter just sitting in this office. The kids out there, in their crisp uniforms, belonged in this world. Jason didn’t.

His leg bounced nervously under the desk as he stared at the floor, the dean’s voice washing over him. I don’t belong here, the thought circled in his mind. Every polished surface, every word spoken, reminded him of how far away this world was from the one he’d known. His throat tightened again. He wanted to shrink into the chair, to disappear.

“And of course,” the dean said, turning her gaze to Jason, “we’ll need to do a placement test, just to see where you’re at academically.”

Jason’s heart sank. A placement test. Of course, there was a test. His mind spiraled, the room suddenly feeling smaller, the air thinner. His mind raced, his thoughts spiraling downward. What if he bombed it? What if Bruce realized what a mistake he’d made bringing him here? What if he wasn’t as smart as Bruce thought? His schooling had been patchy at best since his mom died, bouncing between foster homes, barely making it through classes. He wasn’t like the other kids.

He tried to keep his face neutral, but his hands balled into fists in his lap. How was he supposed to do well on some fancy test meant for rich kids who’d been in private schools their whole lives?

He thought of Bruce, sitting next to him, supportive and confident, and the fear of letting him down gnawed at him. Jason swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. He didn’t want Bruce to see him fail. He didn’t want to disappoint him. If he couldn’t cut it at Gotham Academy, what did that say about him as Robin? He needed to be smart, sharp, quick on his feet—and if he couldn’t handle this, what hope did he have?

Bruce must’ve noticed the tension in Jason’s face because he leaned in slightly, his voice low, just for Jason. “You’ll do fine, Jason,” Bruce said, the words calm, but they felt like a lifeline.

Jason nodded, but the knot in his chest didn’t ease up. His heart still pounded, the anxiety buzzing just beneath the surface. Across the desk, the dean smiled warmly, her hands folded in front of her as she spoke, her tone patient and kind. “There’s no rush. You don’t have to decide anything today, Jason. If you’d prefer, you can take your time, think it over.”

Jason’s focus flickered, but it was hard to pull his thoughts away from the weight of the test. The word echoed in his head, test, placement test, over and over. He could feel his stomach churning again, but he pushed it down. His hands clenched and unclenched in his lap as his mind spun through the possibilities. He knew he wasn’t like the kids here—he hadn’t had tutors or private schooling. He wasn’t born into this. He was from Crime Alley. His education had been a patchwork of underfunded public schools, dodged CPS visits, and trying to survive. How could he possibly measure up?

But then the other thought hit him, the one that gnawed at him harder than the fear of failing: What if he didn‘t even try? He wanted this. He wanted it so badly he could taste it. And the idea of walking away, of letting the fear stop him before he even started—it wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t let himself run from this. Not when this might be the one chance to prove to himself, and maybe to Bruce, that he was worth it.

The dean’s words blurred as Jason took a breath, forcing his voice to work. “No,” he said, the word slipping out almost too quietly. He swallowed hard, glancing up at Bruce. Bruce’s calm, steady presence gave him just enough courage to push forward. Jason straightened in his chair, turning back to the dean, his voice a little stronger now. “No, I’ll take the test. Today, if that’s possible.”

There was a pause, and then the dean’s smile softened, something more real than the practiced politeness she’d shown earlier. She nodded. “Of course. We can arrange that.”

Beside him, Jason felt Bruce shift, a small movement, but when he glanced over, Bruce gave him a smile—a quiet, encouraging one that said everything without needing words. It was the kind of smile that felt like a promise, one that told Jason that, if he‘d do well, Bruce would get him into the school.

Jason’s chest still felt tight, and his hands were clammy, but he nodded again, more to himself this time. He wanted to get it over with. And no matter how scared he was, he wasn’t going to back down. Not now.

Chapter Text

Jason sat stiffly in the leather chair, his fists clenched tightly in his lap. Every muscle in his body felt wound up, like a coiled spring ready to snap. His breath came shallow, barely filling his lungs as he tried not to let the anxiety show. The heavy curtains were pulled back, the sun streamed in through the wide windows, bathing the dean’s office in a soft, golden light, but to Jason, it might as well have been a spotlight, harsh and unrelenting. His stomach twisted painfully—a knot that had been there since he’d taken the placement test the day before.

Sleep had been impossible last night. Every time Jason had closed his eyes, his mind had been flooded with test questions. Equations he wasn’t sure he’d solved right. Words he wasn’t sure he understood. He’d felt so far out of his depth that at one point, he’d fumbled in the dark for his old plush fox—the one he hadn’t touched since moving into Wayne Manor. It had been a long time since he’d held it close, but in the quiet of the night, with the weight of failure hanging over him, it was the only comfort he’d had. But even then, the plush toy pressed against his cheek hadn’t helped him sleep. He’d stared at the ceiling, heart pounding, until exhaustion finally dragged him under.

Now, sitting in the office, facing the dean, he could hardly breathe. Bruce was beside him, calm and composed as always, his presence both comforting and unnerving. Jason couldn’t shake the fear that Bruce was about to find out what a mistake he’d made. That maybe the dean was going to confirm what Jason had known all along—that he didn’t belong here. That he wasn’t good enough. Just a street kid playing dress-up, trying to be someone he was not.

The dean, seated behind her desk, had a kind expression, but Jason couldn’t trust it. Jason had seen that smile before, on teachers and social workers who were about to let him down easy. It’s okay, the smile said. We don’t expect much from you.

Jason stared at her, barely registering the sound of her shuffling through papers. His heart thudded in his ears, drowning out any other noise. He couldn’t bear to look at Bruce. He didn’t want to see the moment when disappointment crossed his face.

Finally, the dean spoke, her voice calm and professional. “Jason,” she began, glancing at the papers in front of her, “I have your results from yesterday’s placement test. I have to say, we’re quite impressed with your performance.”

Impressed? Jason’s pulse faltered for a second, but the moment of hope was short-lived as she continued.

“You did well in most subjects—just above average, which is quite commendable given your unique background.”

Above average. The words barely registered before the dean pressed on, her voice gentle but steady. “There were a couple of areas where you struggled a bit. Math and chemistry, for instance. You’re slightly below the average there, but with some additional support, I’m confident you can catch up.”

Below average. That’s all Jason heard. The knot in his stomach tightened, his throat constricting as the dean’s voice blurred into the background. She was still talking—something about how it wasn’t uncommon for students from difficult circumstances to struggle in specific subjects—but all Jason could think about was that phrase. Below average.

He knew it. He’d felt it while taking the test. The questions had seemed endless, the numbers blurring together on the math section. He could still feel the panic rising as time had slipped away, leaving him stuck on problems he didn’t understand. And now it was official—he had blown it.

The dean kept talking, but Jason’s ears were buzzing. She was probably just being kind, cushioning the blow. His mind spun, searching for ways to salvage this. Maybe he could argue his way out of it, convince Bruce not to kick him out of the manor. He wasn’t useless, he could still be Robin , he thought, his mind spiraling. Maybe if he trained harder, if he prove himself in other ways… But the doubt kept creeping in. What if Bruce didn’t want him anymore? What if this was it?

He glanced at Bruce, expecting to see disappointment in his face, but instead, Bruce was nodding slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Jason,” the dean’s voice cut through the haze, pulling him back to the moment. Her eyes were kind, patient, and there was something warm in her smile now. “Your scores in writing and reading comprehension, however, were outstanding. In fact, you scored better than 98 percent of all students in reading comprehension. That’s an exceptional achievement.”

Jason barely processed what she said. 98 percent? That couldn’t be right. His brain was still stuck on below average in math and chemistry. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to fight back the rising panic, but he could feel it building. His leg bounced nervously under the table, and his hands clenched tighter, nails digging into his palms.

He could hear Bruce and the dean talking now, their voices calm and steady, but it was like they were speaking over him, above him. He wasn’t part of the conversation anymore. They’re talking about me failing, Jason thought, his stomach sinking further. They’re deciding what to do with me, and I can’t stop it. He was trapped in his own head, too scared to ask the question he was dying to know the answer to: What happens now?

He was on the verge of full-blown panic when the dean’s voice broke through again, steady and reassuring.

“Jason,” she said, her tone steady, like she was pulling him back to the room, grounding him. Her eyes met his, and they weren’t full of pity or disappointment—just kindness. “We would be more than happy to accept you at Gotham Academy. You’ve done more than enough to show you belong here.”

Jason blinked, his thoughts screeching to a halt as if his brain had short-circuited. Wait…what? He stared at her, the words sinking in slowly, like his mind was too sluggish to process them. Accept? They wanted him?

The knot in his chest loosened slightly, but he still couldn’t fully grasp it. Had she really said that? He glanced sideways at Bruce, searching for some sign, some hint of what he was supposed to feel or think. Bruce was watching him, his expression soft, the lines of his face relaxed in a way Jason wasn’t used to. His hand rested lightly on Jason’s shoulder, the weight of it both reassuring and solid, like an anchor keeping Jason from drifting too far into his own head.

“You did great, Jason,” Bruce said quietly, his voice low and full of warmth, like he wasn’t just proud—he was sure of it. Sure of him. The steady confidence in Bruce’s tone made Jason’s breath catch in his throat.

Jason swallowed hard, his mouth dry. His fingers clenched into the fabric of his pants.  He didn’t trust the words yet, didn’t trust that they were real.

„I… I got in?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, like if he spoke too loud, the whole thing would shatter.

The dean nodded, her smile widening. “Absolutely, Jason. Your scores were very strong, especially in reading comprehension. You did exceptionally well there—better than most of our students. And while there are areas where you could use some support, particularly in math and chemistry, that’s normal. With a little extra help, I have no doubt you’ll excel here.”

Her words floated around him, wrapping him in a warmth he hadn’t expected. Strong scores? Exceptionally well? It didn’t seem possible. He’d convinced himself that the only thing he would hear today was about how much he’d failed. How he didn’t belong here. Yet, here she was, telling him the opposite.

Jason’s head was spinning. He looked at Bruce again, still searching, still bracing for disappointment, but all he found was that same calm pride. Bruce’s hand tightened slightly on his shoulder, a reassuring squeeze that made Jason’s breath stutter in his chest.

“We’re proud of you, Jason,” Bruce said quietly, and those words hit harder than any punch Jason had ever taken.

The knot in his chest loosened even more, but Jason still felt off-balance, like he was waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under him. His mind clung to the parts he’d done poorly on. Below average. That stuck in his head like a thorn, making him wonder if maybe they were just saying all of this because Bruce was Bruce Wayne.

But then, looking at Bruce—really looking—Jason saw something he hadn’t expected. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in Bruce’s expression. No hesitation. No second-guessing. Bruce wasn’t pretending, wasn’t trying to spare his feelings. He was genuinely proud.

Jason felt his heart lift, just a little. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t a trick. Maybe, despite everything he’d told himself, he was good enough. He still wasn’t sure if he fully believed it yet, but as Bruce smiled at him, that small, proud smile that said more than words ever could, Jason thought that maybe, one day, he might.

***

Jason sat cross-legged on his bed, the tablet perched on his knees, the blue light from the screen casting soft shadows on his face. He scrolled slowly through Gotham Academy’s website, every new click revealing something that made his heart beat faster just a little more. This was more than a school—it was a whole world and a chance of a lifetime.

First, he landed on the extracurriculars page. Clubs, groups, teams—there was something for everyone. His eyes flicked from one vibrant photo to another, each one more impressive than the last. There was a picture of the student-run newspaper, its pages filled with articles about art exhibits, school projects, even a feature on one of the student council members.

He clicked on a few, skimming through the articles until he landed on one he read more earnest, a student’s take on the upcoming city elections. It wasn’t some boring school essay. It had attitude, a real voice.

He could picture himself there—his name in the byline, writing about something that mattered. Not just following orders, but thinking, investigating. Maybe even making a difference.

He could see it so clearly: hunched over a desk in a cozy corner of the library, focused, productive. That was the dream!

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he clicked back to the homepage. Maybe he could fit in here. Maybe he could be one of those kids who had a future, who had options beyond surviving day to day. He kept scrolling, more out of habit than expectation—until something new caught his eye. A club he didn’t understand at first: “Lego Technic Club.”

He frowned. Lego? He knew what Legos were, obviously, but this wasn’t just about colorful bricks. The description pulled him in. The club was about creating advanced models with working gears, motors, and all kinds of mechanics. Jason’s eyes widened as he read about the projects—bridges, cars with functioning engines, even robots. He hadn’t even known you could do that with Legos.

He blinked, sitting back for a moment. New Lego Sets were always too expensive for his family to even think about. His toys had always been cheap, plastic things—knockoffs from dollar stores or hand-me-downs from neighbors. Sometimes it even were some lego bricks, mismatched an the plastic worn from use, never a new set though. But for one Christmas, a few years back, something had been different.

There’d been an old man who lived down the hall in their building. He’d dragged his knee when he walked, a slow shuffle that Jason could still hear in his memory. That was when his dad had been in prison for the first time—or maybe it was the second? Jason couldn’t quite remember. But it was before his mom started using drugs. She had still been kind then, still there for him. She would help the neighbor with his groceries, and in return, he’d always slip Jason a little bag of candy or a chocolate bar when they came back from the store together. Jason had always looked forward to those trips.

Then, right after New Year’s that one year, the old man had moved away to life with his daughter and her husband. But that Christmas before, he’d left something special outside their door—a small bag with chocolates, a few apples, some walnuts, and, tucked inside, a small Lego set. Jason remembered the thrill of it. It was the kind of thing kids in commercials got, not kids like him.

It wasn’t a big set—just a little car you could build three different ways. But Jason had been obsessed with it. He’d carefully followed the instructions, building and rebuilding the car, over and over again, until the pieces were worn smooth from use. That tiny set had been like gold to him, a glimpse into another world. What could I build with a club like this? he thought, his heart skipping a beat.

The idea of joining the Lego Technic Club at Gotham Academy was almost too much to imagine. It wasn’t just about building toys anymore—it was engineering. Real, complex designs with gears, motors, and mechanisms that could actually do things. Jason’s pulse quickened as his mind raced ahead. He could build something that worked, something that moved, something with a real purpose. And not just for fun—this could be useful. Really useful.

Bruce had mentioned once that he built most of his gadgets himself, working with only one guy from Wayne Enterprises when he needed extra expertise. Jason had been floored by that, thinking about all the tech in the Batcave, the grappling hooks, the Batmobile, the gadgets he used every night. If Bruce could do that…maybe Jason could learn to, too.

What if I could build my own stuff? His thoughts spun faster. What if he could improve his Robin gear, make it lighter, faster? He imagined himself in the Batcave, sketching out designs for new tools, maybe even showing Bruce something he’d created from scratch. That would be awesome.

He clicked through more photos of the club—students hunched over complicated models, deep in concentration. One photo showed a kid holding a remote control, steering a small robot through a maze of books and chairs. Another showed a car—no, a tank—built entirely from Lego Technic parts, rolling steadily across the classroom floor. Jason could see it now, himself among them, not just fitting in but thriving. Learning how to build things that moved, that could climb, that could fly.

His mind buzzed with possibilities, his fingers itching to get started.

And then he found the library page. Jason leaned closer to the screen, his eyes tracing the images of the towering shelves stacked with books, the reading nooks bathed in natural light. It wasn’t as grand as Wayne Manor’s library—nothing was—but this place felt real . Real students, hunched over their books, scribbling notes, chatting in the background. It wasn’t just a collection of rare volumes on display. This was where things happened . Where kids came to actually study, to learn, to dig into things the way he did when he was working a case. Jason could imagine himself spending hours here, losing track of time as he dove into history or some obscure subject for class.

His mind wandered to a future where he was part of this world, not just an imposter. He pictured himself, blending in with the other students—maybe even making friends. He let the image play out in his mind: late-night study sessions, laughing with people who saw him as more than alley trash.

But then, a word catched him. Tuition. His gut sank and he clicked on the page. He had been so exited that he didn’t think about the cost of attenting a private school like Gotham Academy.

The number was there, in bold, staring back at him like a challenge. His heart dropped, and the excitement he’d been riding high on all but vanished. The number was astronomical. His eyes widened, and his stomach twisted painfully. The excitement drained from him all at once, replaced with a cold, sinking feeling. He blinked, staring at the screen like the number might change if he looked at it long enough. But it didn’t. It stayed the same. Huge. Impossible.

“No way…” he whispered to himself, shaking his head slowly.

That was so so freaking much of money. And suddenly, everything he’d just imagined—the newspaper, the library, the classes—it all felt ridiculous. Why would Bruce pay that much for me? Jason’s stomach twisted painfully, and his throat felt dry.

All those ideas—him, fitting in at Gotham Academy? It seemed laughable now. This wasn’t for kids like him. This was for kids who’d grown up with money, with opportunities, with real families.

He was a street kid who got lucky. He didn’t belong in a place like that. He could almost hear the whispers of the other students, judging him. He shook his head, rubbing at his eyes.

He wanted to go. So bad! But even if Bruce would pay, how could Jason let him?

He wasn’t worth that kind of money. Bruce might have it, but Jason wasn’t his real kid.

His mind raced, already shutting down the hope he’d let himself feel. Nope. This was a mistake. It didn’t matter how much he wanted it. He wouldn’t be able to go through with it now, not after seeing that price tag.

He couldn’t ask Bruce for that. He wouldn’t. Not when it wasn’t even guaranteed he’d make it through the school year without screwing up.

This was the kind of money you spent for a luxury car, something only the richest people even considered. And Bruce was supposed to waste that on him?

The doubt gnawed at him, sharp and relentless. Why had Bruce even let him take the placement test in the first place? Had Bruce been hoping Jason wouldn’t pass, so he wouldn’t have to be the bad guy? That way, when Jason inevitably messed it all up, Bruce wouldn’t have to say, No, sorry, Jason, you’re not good enough. He could just step aside and let the school reject him, and that would be that. Problem solved.

But Jason had passed the test. He’d done better than he thought he could. And now the ball was in Bruce’s court.

Still, the idea of asking Bruce to pay that kind of money for him… it didn’t sit right. Jason wasn’t stupid. He knew the difference between kids like him and the ones who went to Gotham Academy. Those kids were born into this world—they had parents with connections, tutors, trust funds. They didn’t grow up in Crime Alley, scraping by with cheap toys and hand-me-down clothes. Jason couldn’t even compare. What was he doing trying to fit into a place like that?

The knot in his stomach twisted tighter as he thought about the other option—public school. Maybe the one in Bristol wouldn’t be as bad as the one near Crime Alley, the one he used to attend before he ended up on the streets. Public school might not have the fancy library or the student clubs, but it wasn’t like he needed that stuff anyway.

He didn‘t need some Lego Technic club, he thought, trying to convince himself. He didn’t need a fancy library or a newspaper or all those extras. Bruce hadn’t promised him any of that. Bruce had promised him school. A chance to graduate. That was it. Jason didn’t need all the bells and whistles. He just needed something basic, something manageable. And at least in public school, the stakes wouldn’t feel so impossibly high.

His mind spiraled downward, the doubts growing louder with every passing second. He‘ll screw it up at Gotham Academy, he thought bitterly. He‘ll mess up, just like always. He was too simple for a place like that. Too dumb.

He glanced at the tablet screen again, the tuition fee burning into his mind. He needed to talk to Bruce. Needed to tell him that this wasn’t going to work, that public school was the better option. Because no matter how much Jason wanted to go to Gotham Academy, deep down, he knew the truth. It wasn’t fair to ask Bruce to pay that kind of money when Jason was bound to let him down.

Chapter Text

That night at dinner, Jason barely touched his food. His fork dragged lazily through the lasagna, carving lines in the cheese without ever bringing a bite to his mouth. It was one of his favorite meals—Alfred couldn’t know that, but Jason had loved lasagna lunch at school. Despite this one probably being way tastier than the one at school, tonight it tasted like nothing.

Across the table, Bruce ate in his usual quiet, steady way, his movements calm and deliberate. But Jason could feel the weight of his presence, the unspoken expectation hanging over the table. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Bruce was waiting for something—for him to speak.

Jason’s stomach twisted. He knew he needed to say something, but every time he tried to force the words out, his throat tightened. He kept his eyes on his plate, hoping if he stayed quiet enough, maybe the conversation wouldn’t have to happen. But of course, that wasn’t how things worked with Bruce.

“You’ve been quiet,” Bruce said eventually, his tone even but probing, like he was giving Jason the space to decide how much he wanted to reveal.

Jason’s grip tightened around his fork, his knuckles going white. He couldn’t even look up. “Uh… sorry,” he mumbled, his voice low, eyes still glued to the mess of food on his plate. He swallowed, his throat dry. “We can talk about… stuff, I guess.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flashing in his eyes. “What stuff?” he asked, his voice gentle, but Jason could hear the curiosity there, the patience that Bruce always seemed to have, even when Jason was floundering.

Jason felt heat creeping up his neck. He wasn’t trying to be funny, but the way Bruce looked at him made him feel like he was trying too hard. He didn’t know what he wanted to talk about. No, that was a lie—he knew exactly what he needed to say, but the words felt stuck. Why did talking feel so hard? Why couldn’t he just spit it out?

“What did you think about the school?” Bruce asked, breaking the silence. His tone was casual, but Jason could feel the weight behind it. They’d been to Gotham Academy just that afternoon; of course, Bruce would want to know what he thought. That was normal, right? Adults were supposed to ask about school.

Jason swallowed again, but the knot in his stomach just tightened. He had to say something. He had to talk to Bruce about the school, but now that the moment was here, he could feel his nerves bubbling up, turning his thoughts into a tangled mess. He shifted in his seat, trying to steady himself.

“I…” Jason started, then paused, staring hard at his plate. He couldn’t look at Bruce, not yet. “I don’t think I want to go to Gotham Academy anymore,” he finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Bruce set his fork down slowly, his expression unreadable. Jason still didn’t look up, but he could feel Bruce’s gaze on him, heavy and patient.

“I thought you were excited about it,” Bruce said after a moment, his voice calm but with a hint of concern. “Why the sudden change?”

Jason’s pulse quickened. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, his thoughts racing faster than he could keep up. He didn’t know how to explain it, not without sounding stupid. He kept his eyes down, fingers tightening around his fork as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Just tell him, Jason thought. But it felt like the words were stuck, tangled up in his nerves. Every second of silence seemed to stretch out, and the more he waited, the harder it became to speak. He swallowed, his heart hammering against his chest, every beat louder in his ears.

“It’s… way too expensive,” he finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. The words felt clumsy in his mouth, and he stared harder at his plate. His appetite had been gone for a while, but now, just the sight of the lasagna was making his stomach churn. “For me to… fuck up,” he added, quieter. He shouldn’t be swearing like this in front of Bruce. “Besides, I won’t fit in anyway. So, you’re spending all this money for me to get thrown out on my ass. Might as well just do public school now.”

The words hung heavy in the air, like something fragile that Jason wanted to snatch back but couldn’t. The room felt too quiet after that, the kind of quiet that made Jason feel exposed. He clenched his fists under the table to keep them from shaking, wishing the ground would swallow him up.

Bruce didn’t respond right away. Jason could feel his gaze, steady but unreadable. He’d been sitting there like a stone since Jason had spoken, but now Bruce’s eyes were on him, focused, maybe thinking too hard about what to say next. That wasn’t a good sign.

“What makes you think you’d ‘fuck up’?” Bruce asked finally, his voice steady but calm. Jason could almost feel the exclamation marks in his head. Jason was sure if he kept talking like that, he’d eventually say something that would push Bruce over the edge. No one liked kids who talked nasty.

Jason shrugged, staring at his plate as though the lasagna might offer some kind of answer. “Dunno,” he mumbled, his voice dropping even lower. “You heard her, I’m behind in most things. Just ‘cause I can read doesn’t mean I’ll be able to keep up with everything else.”

“You did exceptionally well given your background,” Bruce said, his tone firm but not harsh. Jason couldn’t figure out what that meant. “The dean was positively surprised.”

Jason scoffed before he could stop himself. “Yeah, probably thought I couldn’t even read or something. Of course she was surprised.”

Bruce’s voice sharpened a bit, though it was still calm. “That’s not true.” He took a breath, as though he was choosing his words carefully. “She’s aware of how gifted students from more difficult backgrounds can be. It’s not just rich kids at the academy. There are a lot of students on scholarships, Jason. A tenth of the student body, in fact. The Wayne Foundation alone sponsors 35 full rides each year. Those students excel. Most of them are at the top of their classes.”

Jason shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. He could feel the tension knotting tighter in his chest. Maybe if he had earned a scholarship, things would be different. Maybe then he’d feel like he deserved this chance. But as it stood, Bruce was paying for everything, all things that Jason needed like food and a bed, and also for stuff that he wanted, like those workbooks, just because Jason got lucky, after trying to rip off the Batmobile instead getting the beatdown of his lifetime.

“I’m not clever like them,” Jason blurted out, his voice rough, and the words tasted bitter. They felt wrong, too simple for everything going on in his head. He shifted again, feeling especially small, like every time he opened his mouth, it just made him seem dumber. His grip tightened on the fork, knuckles going white, but his food stayed untouched.

“I mean…” he started, his voice faltering. He could feel his face burning, and he wished he could just shut up, stop sounding like such an idiot. But the words kept slipping out. “Maybe I could be good. If I had time to study, and, you know, if I actually went to school every day…” He hesitated, almost wishing Bruce would interrupt him, tell him to stop. “I’m not dumb,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. He hated how unsure he sounded.

He was good at some things. He was fast. He could learn things quickly when he had to. He was tough enough to handle whatever Gotham Academy or anyone else threw at him. But asking Bruce to spend all that money? That was different. It wasn’t just the food, the roof over his head, the safety. This felt like asking for something more. Something bigger.

“I mean, I fuck … I just mean, I’m fast, I can learn fast, everything you need me to learn to become Robin,” he said, the words rushing out, his chest tightening more with each syllable. He shoved his fork into his lasagna, but still didn’t take a bite, the tension pulling his shoulders tighter, his heart thumping painfully in his chest.

Bruce sat across from him, still calm, still watching, his face mostly unreadable. But Jason could feel his eyes on him, taking in every word, every twitch, every hesitation. Bruce wasn’t the type to just let things go. Jason knew that much.

“You’re not dumb,” Bruce said finally, his voice steady but a little softer now. He wasn’t trying to soothe Jason, not like some of the adults at his old school did. Bruce wasn’t like that. But there was something in his voice that made Jason’s heart thump harder.

Jason shifted again, the uncomfortable feeling settling deeper in his gut. His mind raced, telling him over and over that he needed to shut up. Telling Bruce he wasn’t smart enough for Gotham Academy—that was practically asking to get kicked out of the manor. And if he wasn’t good enough to be Robin, what reason would Bruce even have to keep him around? That thought gnawed at him, twisting his stomach even tighter.

He stared down at his plate, feeling stupid for even bringing it up. Bruce had taken him in, given him a home, and Jason couldn’t just throw that all away because he didn’t think he could cut it at some fancy school. Robin wasn’t just something he wanted—it was the only thing that made sense, that gave him a reason to be here. If he couldn’t be Robin, if he couldn’t learn how to be good enough, then what was the point? He had to prove himself, or else this whole new life would slip through his fingers and he might just end up where he came from.

“I… I mean, I can do it. I’ll learn,” Jason said, his voice strained. His heart pounded, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. “I just don’t want you to spend all that money for me to… mess up.”

There. He’d said it. It wasn’t the full truth, but it was close enough. He wasn’t afraid of hard work—he knew how to fight, how to survive. But he wasn’t Bruce, wasn’t the smartest person in the room. What if he couldn’t handle it?

Bruce set his fork down gently, his eyes focused on Jason now. But unlike before, his expression wasn’t unreadable. It was… softer, more patient, like he could see what Jason was struggling to say. The silence that followed wasn’t the usual uncomfortable kind, the kind that made Jason want to fill it with something—anything. This was different.

“Jason,” Bruce started, his voice calm but carrying a weight to it. “I don’t expect you to be perfect,” Bruce continued, his voice steady but kind. “Gotham Academy isn’t about you being ‘good enough’ for me. It’s about giving you the opportunities you deserve.

Jason’s chest tightened, but in a different way. Bruce wasn’t angry. He wasn’t disappointed. And somehow, that made it harder for Jason to respond, to put his feelings into words. His throat felt tight, like he was on the verge of something bigger than just a conversation about school.

Jason’s fingers curled into a fist in his lap, feeling the tension still there but shifting. “I just… don’t wanna let you down,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You won’t,” Bruce said, his eyes steady on Jason. “Not by trying. I won’t be disappointet by setbacks or mistakes. It is part of the process. That’s how you learn. Not by giving up before you were even able to start.”

Jason’s heart dropped at those last words. Giving up. That’s what Bruce dispiced. People who didn’t even try. Batman was all about discipline and endurance. All about doing tge right thing. And if he didn’t go to Gotham Academy—if he backed out now, didn’t accept Bruce to pay this huge fucking tuiton—wouldn’t that be giving up? Wouldn’t that be exactly the kind of thing Bruce couldn’t stand?

The words landed like a blow, heavy and unavoidable. Giving up. The one thing Batman never did. Jason’s mind raced, a storm of conflicting thoughts. If he didn’t go to Gotham Academy—if he backed out now, refused Bruce’s offer to pay the massive tuition—wouldn’t that be exactly what Bruce despised? Wouldn’t he just be proving him right, showing he was some street kid who couldn’t hack it, who gave up the second things got tough?

He stared at his plate, unable to meet Bruce’s eyes. His hand clenched around his fork, the metal cold and grounding against his palm. The anxiety coiled tighter, twisting his stomach. “Yeah, I guess… I mean, I’ll go. I’ll try. Of course, I’ll try.” The words came out stiff, sounding more like an obligation than a promise.

Bruce’s lips curved in the faintest hint of approval, a small nod that seemed satisfied enough. He picked up his fork, resuming his meal as if nothing monumental had just passed between them. “Good. That’s all I expect.”

Jason stared at his food, appetite gone. Bruce’s calm acceptance should’ve been reassuring, but it felt like a weight settling over him, pressing down. He’d agreed to try, but the fear still lingered—fear of failure, fear of proving Bruce right in the worst way possible.

Jason forced himself to take a bite of food, though it tasted like nothing. Across the table, Bruce ate in his usual unhurried manner, his gaze occasionally flicking over but never lingering. It felt like a test, but one he couldn’t quite figure out. Was Bruce waiting for him to say something else? To ask for reassurance? Or did he already know how tangled Jason’s thoughts were, and just wanted him to work through it on his own?

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to swallow. The last thing he wanted was to look weak in front of Bruce, but the knot of emotions he couldn’t untangle twisted painfully in his chest. Maybe he should be grateful. Bruce was offering him something incredible, something any kid would kill for, and he felt like he was ruining it before he’d even begun. But he couldn’t shake the doubt. What if he just… couldn’t do it?

“Jason.” Bruce’s voice broke through his thoughts, steady and calm, drawing him back. “Don’t force yourself to eat. You can always reheat it later or just get a snack.”

Jason’s grip on the fork tightened, the metal digging into his palm as he glanced up, startled by Bruce’s words. The idea of leaving food untouched—even for later—felt wrong. Wasteful. Every meal, every scrap of food mattered. He’d spent too many nights on empty stomach, too many days picking through trash or gnawing on bread gone stale and sour, just to make it through. He knew the ache of hunger so intimately it felt like part of him, like a shadow he’d never escape.

He forced himself to take another bite, the taste dull and flavorless, but he chewed mechanically, swallowing down memories as much as the food. He could feel the old instincts rising, a desperation to eat, to fill himself up. He wasn’t hungry—not right now—but something inside him whispered that he couldn’t risk letting this food go, not even for a moment. The idea of letting it sit, untouched, clawed at his nerves. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want Bruce to see him like this, so he focused on his plate, hoping the routine of eating would quiet the gnawing fear that he’d somehow end up hungry again. Alone, with nothing.

Bruce’s eyes softened, like he could read the tension coiled inside Jason. “Jason,” he said, voice low and measured. “You don’t have to finish it if you’re not hungry. There will always be more here.”

Jason’s chest tightened, a mix of shame and frustration bubbling up. There will always be more. The words sounded so simple, so easy. But Bruce didn’t know what it was like to be unsure if this meal would be the last for days, to wonder where the next one would come from. He didn’t know the panic that came from looking at an empty plate and knowing you couldn’t fill it again anytime soon.

He stabbed at the food, anger flashing as he tried to ignore the way Bruce’s words pricked at old wounds. “It’s fine,” he muttered, forcing another bite. “I’m eating.”

Bruce leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his gaze unwavering. “Jason, I understand-”

Jason’s anger flared, cutting him off sharply.

“You understand?” He knew he was being unfair, maybe even rude, but the words slipped out before he could stop them.

“You’ve always had a full plate, right? You don’t get it. I’ve gone hungry, Bruce. Really hungry. I’ve eaten things no one should ever have to eat. So yeah, I’m gonna finish what’s in front of me. That’s just how it is.”

The words were out now, raw and unfiltered, hanging in the silence between them. For a split second, a chill of fear slithered up his spine, and he waited, tense, bracing himself. He’d crossed the line, he knew it. Bruce had always been calm, but Jason knew there was a limit—a line you didn’t cross. This was Bruce Wayne, Batman. All that power, all that control. What if he’d finally pushed him too far?

But Bruce didn’t react with anger. He didn’t even look taken aback. He just sat there, listening, his eyes steady on Jason, calm in a way that made Jason’s stomach twist. The silence stretched on, and Jason could feel his heart hammering, adrenaline spiking as he waited for the inevitable snap, the reprimand, maybe worse. But none of that came.

Finally, Bruce spoke, his voice quiet and calm, but firm. “I know,” he said, nodding slowly, like he’d expected this reaction. “I know it’s not easy to let go of something that’s kept you alive.”

Jason felt his pulse thrumming in his temples, his breath shaky. He kept his eyes locked on his plate, struggling to breathe evenly. He couldn’t afford to let Bruce see him falter, couldn’t show any sign of weakness. Memories of the streets haunted him—times when he’d been caught, cornered, and barely escaped with a beating instead of worse. Even now, sitting at a warm table in a place that was supposed to be a home, that old fear clawed at him, telling him to brace for the blow he knew he deserved.

He clenched his jaw, his voice breaking despite himself. “It’s just… you wouldn’t get it,” he muttered, voice soft but sharp, daring Bruce to finally react, to show him the side he’d always expected to see. “Out there, you don’t leave anything behind. And you sure as hell don’t trust anyone who says they’ll give you more later.”

Bruce didn’t flinch. His face softened, the harsh edges melting away as he watched Jason with an intensity that felt almost too raw, too real. “You’re right, I haven’t been where you’ve been,” he admitted, his voice steady, as if he understood every ounce of Jason’s distrust. “You are right, I don’t know what it’s like. But I still want you to know that you’ll have enough here, not just today but tomorrow, and every day after.”

Jason’s fingers dug into the fork, the sharp press of metal grounding him. He didn’t want to believe Bruce’s words, didn’t want to trust him. Trust was a weakness, a crack he couldn’t afford. It felt safer to keep Bruce at a distance, to expect the worst. But another part of him, a part that was quieter and almost desperate, yearned to believe him.

He glanced up, meeting Bruce’s gaze, searching for any sign of deception, any trace of the anger he expected to see. But all he found was patience.

Jason felt the tightness in his chest ease, just a little. It’s been a long time ago that anyone has ever been patient with him. He nodded in agreement, before he forced himself to take another bite. The food still tasted like nothing, but he didn’t feel as suffocated, not as if he’d throw it right up. And for now that had to be enough.

Chapter Text

Jason perched on the edge of the ornate sofa, feeling as out of place as he had the first night he’d spent in this massive house. The den felt too formal, too still. The heavy, old-fashioned furniture seemed built for people with titles—guests in suits, executives who’d never missed a meal. Everything about the room screamed money, from the oversized fireplace with a stone mantle to the silver-framed portraits of people who probably had the same chilly expressions as Bruce.

He swallowed, his mouth dry, and glanced around. There were probably more fireplaces in this place than in the whole of Crime Alley. He wondered if they ever even used them or if they were just for show, like most of the things in this house.

The silence pressed down on him, thick and heavy. He was nervous, more than he wanted to admit, and his hands shook so much he’d shoved them under his legs to stop it. He could feel the tension running through his body, coiled up and ready to spring. His mind buzzed with memories, sharp and unwelcome—visions of bland offices with cheap plastic chairs, places that smelled like disinfectant and bad coffee, where he’d sat across from social workers who couldn’t care less.

The door would open any minute, and she’d walk in. Bruce had promised he knew her, said she was “one of the good ones.” But Jason wasn’t sure he knew what that even meant. He’d never met a good social worker. They were all the same: polite on the surface, but there was always that undercurrent of irritation, like he was just a box on a checklist they had to deal with before they could go home for the day.

He could practically hear them now, the words that had followed him from home to home. This one’s a difficult child. It was like a brand they’d stamped on his record, one they brought up with a raised eyebrow and a skeptical glance whenever they handed him over to another foster family. If he’s too much trouble, just call. We’ll work something out. He hated those words—hated how they made him feel like a burden, something temporary, easy to throw away.

He clenched his jaw, staring hard at a spot on the carpet, wishing it would swallow him up. He knew why Bruce had called her, understood that for him to go to school, to make it all official, this was just a necessary step. But the idea of someone else digging through his past, flipping through his record, seeing everything he’d tried to forget—it made his skin crawl. She’d come in, tell Bruce exactly what she saw, and that’d be the end of it. Bruce would find out who he was, the kind of kid that wasn’t worth the effort, and this little taste of stability would slip through his fingers like everything else had.

He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to sit a little straighter, trying to look like someone worth keeping around. His mind raced through the worst possibilities, bracing for the familiar ache of disappointment. He could already picture her disapproving face, the way she’d look at him and shake her head. Maybe she’d even tell Bruce he was making a mistake, that Jason was a waste of time, a lost cause.

His stomach twisted as the seconds dragged by. Every sound seemed too loud, the ticking clock in the corner, the faint creak of the old floors above. He could almost hear footsteps approaching, and he felt his heart kick up, pounding hard enough to hurt. Any second now, that door would open, and she’d walk in with a clipboard, all business, eyes narrowing when she saw him.

Jason’s fingers clenched tighter, digging into the soft fabric of the couch. Maybe if he held on hard enough, he could stop himself from shaking, stop the panic that simmered just beneath his skin. He didn’t dare let himself hope, didn’t let himself believe that this time might be different, that Bruce might be right. All he could do was sit there, waiting, praying silently that this wouldn’t be the moment everything fell apart.

The door opened, and Jason’s pulse jumped. He clenched his jaw and kept his gaze low, pretending to focus on the patterns in the rug. Her footsteps were soft, light, not hurried, but they sent a prickling unease up his spine. She was alone. Relief flickered in him, knowing she hadn’t brought Bruce along to sit through whatever judgment she was about to pass. But the relief was tangled with a knot of anxiety, an uneasy question twisting in his gut: could he convince her to keep quiet? And what if she was the type to expect something in return for her silence, what would he have to do for it?

Jason felt his chest tighten, and a faint wave of panic brushed over him. He didn’t want to be alone with her, not really, but he forced himself to stay silent, the air thick with his unease. He knew the drill—social workers always wanted to talk to the kid one-on-one, “protocol” they called it, and he wasn’t about to give her any reason to think he couldn’t handle it. So, he swallowed his fear, clenching his hands in his lap, and waited for her to speak.

She stood there for a moment, taking in the room, her gaze finally landing on him. Her expression was soft, almost hesitant, like she was trying to measure him up without making it obvious. Jason didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered, taking him in as though she was assessing something delicate and damaged. He bristled at it, even as he tried to brace himself, digging his fingers into his palms until the faint sting cut through his thoughts. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of thinking he needed anything from her.

“Jason, right?” She said, her voice quiet, almost soothing, as she moved to sit across from him. Her movements were unhurried, like she had all the time in the world, settling onto the edge of the couch across with her hands folded neatly in her lap. She didn’t seem to notice how stiff he was, how tightly he held himself, or if she did, she didn’t show it, but she still gave him plenty of space, as if she knew crowding him might set him off.

And then, all of a sudden, she gave him a small, calm smile, like they were two strangers meeting under far better circumstances.

He finally looked up for real, studying her with a wary eye. She didn’t seem much older than thirty, her brown hair pulled back, and her face was friendly, open, not stern. She didn’t carry a clipboard, just a notebook tucked under her arm. For a moment, she seemed almost approachable. But Jason knew better.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest, bracing himself for whatever judgment was coming. She’d try to be nice first, soften him up, and then she’d ask the real questions—the ones designed to pick him apart, to see just how ‘difficult’ he really was.

“I’m Sarah,” she said, her face soft but unreadable. He couldn’t stand that expression; it was too calm, too open, as if she thought she could slip in and pick him apart without him noticing. And he hated the way her eyes lingered, like she was sizing him up, trying to figure out if he was going to be another one of her “difficult cases.”

“I’m just here to help with a few things today. You must’ve been through a lot to get here, huh?”, she continued.

He frowned, narrowing his eyes. “What’s that supposed to even mean?” he snapped, a reflex, the distrust coming out sharper than he intended. He expected her to sigh or roll her eyes, maybe even snap back. That’s what social workers did, right? They tolerated you just long enough to figure out where to put you next. He wondered if she was one of the rough ones, the kind who’d shove you if you didn’t move fast enough, or the quiet type who’d drop you off at your next stop without a word of goodbye.

She didn’t flinch at his tone. She held his gaze, that calm, unreadable expression never faltering. She just nodded, her eyes steady, as if his reaction was expected, even accepted.

“I only meant that it must’ve been a long road to get here. And now, coming into a new place, meeting new people—it’s not easy,” she said gently. There was no condescension, no pity, just a quiet understanding that made him feel exposed, like she was looking past his defenses, right to the raw nerves underneath.

Jason shifted, pulling his arms tighter across his chest. He didn’t need her pity or her reassurances. He’d learned a long time ago that people only said things like that to make themselves feel better, or to pretend they actually cared before they inevitably gave up on him.

“Yeah, well,” he mumbled, glaring down at his shoes. “I’m used to it.” He didn’t know why he said it, why he even bothered to answer. Maybe he just wanted her to get it over with, to start telling him what a problem he was. That was always the first step, getting the kid to open up so they could remind him why he didn’t belong.

But Sarah just nodded again, her expression unchanged. She didn’t press, didn’t pry, just sat there quietly, waiting, as if she could sit there forever if he needed her to. “Still, it must be hard,” she said finally, her voice soft. “Moving around, never really feeling like you have a place that’s just yours.”

He felt his jaw tighten, a flicker of irritation sparking in his chest. “You don’t know anything about me,” he shot back, the words laced with bitterness. He knew he was being rude, maybe even more than rude, but he couldn’t stop himself. If she thought she could just waltz in here, act like she understood him, she was dead wrong.

“No, you’re right,” she said calmly, nodding as if he’d made a fair point. “I don’t know you yet. But I’d like to. Only if you want, of course.” There was a warmth in her voice, something patient and unhurried, as if she was letting him know that he could take his time, that he didn’t need to have his walls up around her.

Jason narrowed his eyes, studying her for any hint of insincerity. It felt like a trick, like she was playing some angle he hadn’t figured out yet. But she didn’t look away, didn’t flinch under his scrutiny. Instead, she simply waited, letting the silence stretch between them, as if giving him the space to decide how much he wanted to share.

“So what’s this, then?” he asked, suspicion lacing his words. “You gonna tell Bruce that he is making a mistake or something?” He kept his tone defiant, daring her to say it, to give him a reason to bolt out the door and never look back.

Sarah’s eyes softened, a small, understanding smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Not at all,” she replied. “I’m here because Mr. Wayne wants to make sure you have everything you need. And I’m here because I want to help make this place a little more yours, if you want it to be.” She paused, tilting her head thoughtfully. “I’m here to see what you need, and how I can help.”

Jason frowned, caught off guard by her earnestness. He shifted slightly on the couch, the leather creaking under him, a familiar discomfort creeping back in. It didn’t make sense. No one had ever taken the time to help him like this before. A small, almost painful flicker of hope sparked within him, but he quickly stifled it. Maybe she was different. Maybe she was genuine. But that didn’t mean he could let his guard down. He looked away, attempting to rein in the tension that still gripped his shoulders, ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger.

“Mr. Wayne told me you’re thinking about going to Gotham Academy. That’s a big step,” she said after a moment of silence, her tone gentle and inviting.

Jason felt his jaw tighten at the mention of the school. “Yeah, he thinks I should go. Pretty expensive, though,” he mumbled, his voice edged with resentment as he shot a glance at her, gauging her reaction, eyeing her to see if she’d take the bait. He half-expected her to agree, to start listing all the reasons Bruce’s money would be better spent on some other kid. But instead, she just nodded thoughtfully.

“Mr. Wayne has always believed in investing in people, especially the ones he believes in,” she replied gently, a hint of warmth in her voice.

Jason’s stomach twisted, and he forced his gaze down, staring at a scuff on his shoe as he chewed the inside of his cheek. There was something in her words that pricked at him, something that felt too genuine, too… nice. He didn’t trust it. Couldn’t. People had softened him up before, only to pull the rug out from under him. He wasn’t about to let her do the same.

“So, are we finished then? Bruce wants to take me in. I wanna stay here,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper, like he could say the words without really owning them, without the risk they carried. He braced himself, waiting for her to snap back, waiting for her to put him in his place, to tell him that his opinion didn’t matter here.

But instead, she simply looked at him, her expression shifting as if she were trying to see past his words, past the bravado. “Do you?” she asked, a calmness in her tone that felt unsettlingly genuine. “Do you want to stay here? Go to Gotham Academy, be Mr. Wayne’s ward? Because if you do, Jason, I will help make it official. But if you don’t, I will try to find a different home for you.”

He almost flinched, his pulse quickening as the words hit him. He forced out a laugh, but it sounded hollow, bitter. “So you’d get me out of here if I told you I don’t want to stay?” he threw back, his voice laced with a hard edge, challenging her, daring her to say no.

“Do you need me to get you out of here?” She took his dare, but he could see the challenge in her eyes; she was testing him, and he hated the feeling of being on the edge of vulnerability. could feel her watching him, her eyes cutting through his defenses, and he hated it. Hated how she was looking at him like she actually saw him, like he was more than just another kid to be tossed aside. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground shifting beneath him, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to jump or run back.

She couldn’t really mean it. She must know he’d say no. People didn’t just go against Bruce Wayne, not for someone like him. But her words lingered, scratching at something deep inside him, something that felt raw and exposed.

But he didn’t want to risk it. His fingers curled around the edge of the table, knuckles white, as the possibility—faint, barely formed—gnawed at him. Being here with Bruce, with Alfred, it was the first glimmer of stability he’d had in… he didn’t even know how long. It was a break from the constant, churning chaos he’d grown used to.

It wasn’t perfect, and the tension was always there, simmering just below the surface. But it was something —something he’d come to want, even if he wouldn’t dare say it out loud.

So he shook his head, and the words slipped out, rough and barely audible. “I really want to stay here.”

The admission hung between them, fragile and exposed, like he’d just handed her something vulnerable that she could easily twist and break. He could already see the pity in her eyes, and he clenched his jaw, bracing himself for the disappointment he expected her to mask behind a tight smile. He half wanted to push, just to see if she’d snap, declaring him a lost cause or more trouble than he was worth.

The quiet hung between them, stretching out, and she didn’t move, didn’t say anything condescending. Her face remained open, patient. He swallowed, eyes dropping to the floor. Was it really that easy? Just a few words, and he could stay? He didn’t want to let his guard down.

But he wondered. Would she really do it—find him another home, a good one, if he said he didn’t want to stay here? Would she try to find a family who might treat him with the same kind of strange, unfamiliar kindness he’d started to feel here? He wasn’t sure. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew the answer.

Here was his best shot. Better than any foster home he’d been in, better than the back alleys he hid in when there was no other option. Bruce hadn’t hurt him, not even once. Not a single slap, no backhand, not anything. And he knew enough about places like this to understand that, most of the time, there was a catch. Most of the time, the kindness didn’t come for free.

But Bruce? He hadn’t laid a hand on him. It left Jason wondering, an uneasy tension in his stomach. He’d heard stories, knew what happened when you crossed the line with people who thought they owned you. He’d seen how punishments could come, swift and harsh, a hand that hit as fast as it gave.

And Bruce… well, he was Batman. Jason couldn’t help but wonder what kind of punishment Batman might hand out if it ever came to that.

But as he sat there, he knew. Being here was better than anywhere else he’d known. Here, he had food that wasn’t just scraps, a bed that felt solid beneath him, he had books to read and the possibility of school and Robin of course, but. That was a whole other kind of crazy.

This place, this chance—it was something he wasn’t ready to throw away. He sat, the quiet stretching on, letting it settle over him, a quiet tension loosening ever so slightly in his chest. The air felt thick with words unspoken, possibilities he hadn’t dared let himself imagine.

Sarah held his gaze, her face calm, patient. She looked at him like she had all the time in the world, like she could sit here forever, just waiting for him to drop his guard. For a second, he thought maybe he could, too. There was a calmness in the way she waited that unnerved him, made him feel seen in a way that was both strange and unsettling. But then the feeling passed, and he straightened, swallowing hard as the familiar wariness slid back into place like well-worn armor.

“Well then,” she said finally, her voice a gentle nudge breaking the silence. “If you’re sure, we’ll work on making this place feel like home.” She let the words hang between them, as if she was giving him a last chance to back out. He could feel her watching him, waiting, like she almost expected him to challenge her or bolt.

He shifted, uncomfortable under her steady gaze, and found himself glancing away, bracing against the kindness that lingered in her tone. He wasn’t used to it, couldn’t quite bring himself to trust it. But he stayed silent, letting her continue.

She sighed, almost to herself, her voice dropping to a softer, almost reflective tone. “I know it’s hard to believe things might actually work out. But I’ve seen kids like you make it, Jason. I’ve seen them find stability, even after everything they’ve been through.” Her words were steady, calm, but they carried a weight that seemed to press against him, gentle but unrelenting, as though she was trying to tell him something he couldn’t quite bring himself to hear.

He glanced out the window, his heart giving a faint, unwelcome ache at the thought of hope. “Okay,” he muttered, barely loud enough for her to hear, still avoiding her eyes.

Sarah reached for her notebook, flipping it open with the practiced ease of someone used to dealing with tense silences. She looked back up at him, her face open and attentive. “So, what do you say we start small? What do you need, Jason? What would help you feel more comfortable here?”

The question threw him. It wasn’t the kind of thing people asked him. He felt his mind stutter, scrambling for an answer, caught between the prickling distrust he wore like a second skin and a faint, flickering hope he couldn’t quite snuff out.

He shifted in his seat, feeling the edges of awkwardness creeping over him as he mumbled, “I dunno. I have everything I need.” He forced himself to sound casual, dismissive, as if he hadn’t been asked the one thing he hadn’t let himself think about.

Sarah didn’t push him, didn’t even let out a sigh of disappointment or impatience. Instead, she just nodded, jotting something down in her notebook, her expression thoughtful. “Alright,” she said, looking back up with that same calm, steady gaze. “If anything comes to mind, you can let me know. No rush.”

Her voice was gentle, the kind you’d use on a skittish animal. It made him feel both seen and invisible all at once, a strange sensation he wasn’t sure how to handle. He clenched his jaw, staring at the edge of the table, half-hoping she’d just give up and go away. But she didn’t. She just stayed there, a quiet, unmovable presence, her patience stretching between them like a bridge he wasn’t sure he wanted to cross.

“Listen,” she said softly, leaning forward a little, her eyes never leaving his. “I know this all probably feels overwhelming. New place, new people, a lot of promises that must sound too good to be true.” She smiled, a small, knowing curve of her lips. “I won’t pretend I understand everything you’ve been through, but I want to help, Jason. Not just because Mr. Wayne asked me to, but because I believe that you deserve this chance.”

Jason shifted again, feeling the tension crawl up his spine, a defense mechanism he couldn’t quite shake. He cleared his throat, glancing toward the door, half-ready to make his escape.

But something in him kept him rooted in place. Maybe it was the way she talked to him—not like he was a case file or a problem to be solved, but like he was a person who mattered.

Finally, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I… don’t know what I need,” he admitted, the words feeling strange and heavy on his tongue. “I mean, I’ve got food, a bed, clothes… that’s enough, isn’t it?”

Sarah tilted her head, her gaze softening as she took in his words. “Those are important things, yes,” she agreed, her tone gentle. “But you’re allowed to want more than just the basics, Jason.”

He shifted again, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling a flush of frustration at his own vulnerability. “I’m not used to… all this,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely around the room. “People saying they want to help. People giving a damn. It’s… weird.”

Sarah smiled, a small, understanding smile that didn’t carry a hint of pity, only empathy. “That’s okay,” she replied softly. “We can go slow. There’s no rush. I’m here to help you find what makes you feel safe, what makes you feel like you belong. And if that takes time, that’s perfectly fine.”

Her words lingered, echoing in the corners of his mind, filling up spaces he’d long ago shut off. It was uncomfortable, almost painful, like someone had pulled open the curtains in a dark room he’d gotten used to.

He swallowed, nodding, his gaze dropping back to the floor. “Yeah,” he murmured, barely audible. “Okay. I guess… ”, he said.

As Sarah closed her notebook, she glanced over at Jason, offering him an encouraging nod before getting up and moving to the door. She paused, her hand on the handle, and gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m going to have Mr. Wayne come in, okay? I think it might help to continue the conversation together.”

Jason stiffened, his heart pounding. He didn’t really want to sit with Bruce right now, didn’t want to feel that intense gaze pinning him down, but he swallowed and gave a quick, reluctant nod. Sarah slipped out of the room, her footsteps soft, and a minute later, Bruce walked in, his face calm but attentive.

“Sarah told me you were talking about what it would take to make you feel more at home here,” Bruce said, after he sat down. His voice was steady, a little quieter than usual, as if he were mindful of the tension filling the room. He nodded toward Sarah, giving her space to continue leading the conversation.

“Jason’s not used to people asking what he needs,” Sarah said, keeping her eyes on Jason, clearly focused on making him feel heard. “And that’s okay. But we want you to know that it’s not a one-time question, Jason. We’re both here to support you.”

Jason’s fingers twitched at the edge of his sleeve, and he shifted in his seat. “I don’t… I don’t know what to say,” he muttered, staring at the floor. “I don’t really need anything. I’m good with what I have.”

Bruce leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, but he let Sarah continue, clearly content to follow her lead. She watched Jason carefully, her tone soft and patient. “It can be anything, Jason,” she said. “Doesn’t have to be big. Maybe there’s something small that could help make this place feel a bit more like yours.”

Jason’s gaze flickered from the floor to the window, then back down again. His fingers fidgeted, and he let out a small, shaky breath. He didn’t want to ask for anything. It felt weird, foreign, like he was waiting for someone to slap his hand away and tell him not to get greedy.

But their silence stretched on, expectant but gentle, and finally, he gave in, if only to break the tension. “I guess…” He paused, biting his lip before he pushed on. “I’ve got this picture of my mom. Just a small one.”

He reached up, scratching the back of his neck. “I keep it in my bag, but… maybe a frame? Just so it doesn’t get messed up.”

Sarah smiled, nodding as if this was the most reasonable request in the world. “Of course,” she said softly. “We’ll find something nice for it. Do you want to keep it in your room?”

Jason’s fingers picked absently at the hem of his sleeve, his eyes dropping to the floor again. He could feel the warmth rising to his face, a mix of embarrassment and a hint of something he couldn’t quite place. “Yeah. And… maybe a beanie?” He spoke almost to himself, voice so quiet it was as if he hoped they wouldn’t really hear. “It’s getting cold outside.”

He swallowed, wondering if that sounded stupid. After all, he already had the jacket Alfred had picked out for him, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn something so nice. But no matter how many layers he piled on, he couldn’t seem to shake the cold that seemed seeped into his bones, deep and persistent, like it was trying to remind him of the past he wanted so badly to forget.

Bruce nodded, giving him a small, encouraging smile. “We can definitely get you a beanie,” he said. “Any particular color?”

Jason shrugged, shifting a little. “Any is fine,” he mumbled. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “I’m not trying to be picky or anything.”

Sarah leaned forward, resting her hand lightly on the edge of her notebook, her eyes soft and reassuring. “You’re not being picky, Jason. It’s okay to have preferences,” she said, her voice gentle, like she could see right through his insecurities. “Maybe you could go shopping with Mr. Wayne to find the right beanie? Make a day of it, even. What do you say?”

He shifted in his seat, the idea catching him off guard. Bruce was a man with a hundred responsibilities, a hundred things demanding his attention. He ran companies, managed charities, even made time to train him. But of course Sarah couldn’t know about the guy with the cowl, so Jason tried to think of a fitting response.

“I dunno,” he muttered, glancing up at Bruce. “I mean, yeah, I guess. If… if that’s cool.” The words felt clumsy, like he wasn’t quite sure how to hold onto them.

Bruce’s smile grew, a touch of warmth in his eyes. “It’s very cool,” he replied, a hint of gentle amusement in his tone. “We can pick out a frame for that picture of your mom, too. We’ll find something nice,”

Jason’s heart did a strange little twist in his chest. He nodded, unable to hide the faintest trace of a smile. “Thanks,” he said, and he meant it, more than he could say. He shifted, letting himself relax just a little, the tension slowly unwinding.

He glanced back at Bruce, catching the way he watched him, patient and unwavering, like he had all the time in the world. For the first time, Jason felt like that might be true. Maybe Bruce wanted to be here and maybe he really thought it more important than some boardroom meeting or training session.

Jason felt a strange weight lift from his chest, something he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. He stole a glance at Sarah, who gave him an encouraging nod. There was something in her expression, a quiet pride, as though she knew exactly how much that small admission had cost him. “You’re doing great, Jason,” she said, her tone firm and reassuring. “Small steps, right? That’s all it takes.”

He nodded, his eyes drifting to the window, where the afternoon light filtered through, casting long shadows across the floor. He could almost see it now: the quiet of the store, the simple act of choosing a beanie, maybe something dark and plain, maybe something with just a hint of color. It felt surreal, yet oddly grounding.

Glancing back at Bruce, he caught the way Bruce watched him—patient, steady, and unwavering.

“Maybe…” Jason began, the words tumbling out before he could think to stop them, “maybe we could go tomorrow? I mean, if you’re not too busy.” His voice faltered, a touch of doubt creeping in. He half-expected Bruce to remind him of all the things he had going on, to brush the suggestion aside, even if gently.

Bruce’s expression softened, and he leaned forward just slightly. “Tomorrow works perfectly for me, Jason,” he said, a reassuring certainty in his tone.

Jason felt something like a spark of warmth settle into his chest. He nodded, his shoulders relaxing, even if just a bit. “Yeah, okay,” he replied, his voice softer now. “Thanks… for that.”

Bruce nodded in acknowledgment, Jason saw the flicker of a smile and as Bruce and Sarah exchanged a quick glance, a silent understanding passing between them, Jason began to believe that Bruce truly wanted him in his life—not out of obligation or because Jason had begged to be useful, but simply because he chose him. It was a fragile realization, a thread of hope weaving its way into his guarded heart.

Chapter Text

Jason sat in the passenger seat of Bruce’s sleek black car, watching the early morning light filter through the trees as they left Gotham behind. It was a strange sensation, heading out to a shopping center rather than skulking through the alleyways.

Bruce was relaxed, dressed down in a simple gray hoodie, a cap pulled low over his face, and sunglasses that shielded his eyes. As they pulled up to the shopping center in a town far enough from Gotham to feel anonymous, Jason glanced over at him, wondering if people would still recognize Wayne.

They walked through the store entrance, Bruce strolling casually beside him, hands in his pockets. A few people glanced their way, eyebrows raised as they did a double-take. But, to Jason’s relief, no one approached them, and he let out a slow breath, relaxing his shoulders as he took in the stores around him.

As they walked into the home decor store, the scent of expensive candles and dried lavender hung thick in the air, and Jason’s nose crinkled slightly, not used to the overpowering fragrance. He glanced around at the neatly arranged displays, feeling a bit like a bull in a china shop, as though every step might knock over something fragile and delicate. Bruce moved easily through the aisles, his gaze lingering on polished wooden frames and intricate glassware, his casual confidence standing in stark contrast to Jason’s hesitation.

They reached a shelf lined with picture frames, and Bruce picked one up, inspecting it before turning to show Jason. It was made of dark walnut, smooth and heavy, the kind of wood that seemed right at home in a room with leather armchairs and shelves full of dusty books. Jason’s fingers brushed over the frame, feeling the polished surface beneath his fingertips, his eyes catching the small sticker in the corner.

Fifty-five dollars. He had to stop himself from whistling under his breath. Fifty-five freaking dollars Back in Gotham, he could pick up a frame for a couple bucks at a thrift store, and it’d do the job just as well. The number felt absurd, excessive, and he hesitated, wondering if it was worth pointing out. But when he glanced back up at Bruce, the man’s expression was open, patient, waiting for his response. Jason swallowed, shoving down the urge to protest.

“Yeah. It’s nice,” he murmured, feeling the words slip out before he could second-guess them.

Bruce gave a small nod, his face softening with approval as he turned toward the counter. He handled the transaction with a casual ease, reaching for his wallet and handing over the bills like he was paying for a cup of coffee. Jason watched him, marveling at how effortless it seemed for Bruce, the way he navigated these places that still felt foreign to Jason, even after all these years. Bruce seemed unfazed, his demeanor as calm as if he’d just checked off another mundane task from his day.

They continued down the bustling hallway to the outdoor gear shop, and Jason’s eyes drifted over the sturdy displays: racks of flannel shirts, shelves lined with steel-toed boots, jackets meant to withstand the harshest winter winds. When they reached the wall of beanies, Jason’s gaze lingered on the rows of neatly stacked hats, each one a burst of color against the earthy tones around them. There were rows of them in deep greens, vibrant reds and yellows, warm browns, and every shade in between, each one looking soft and nice. He ran his hand over a few, feeling the different textures—some wool, some softer, all warm to the touch.

Bruce nudged him gently. “Pick out whichever you like,” he said, his tone light, almost encouraging. “Or get a couple. Whatever you want.”

Jason’s eyes darted to the price tag. Thirty-five dollars. For a beanie. He’d spent so long scraping by, making do with what he could scrounge or steal, and the idea of picking out a hat that cost as much as a full week of food felt… strange. Unnecessary, even. He felt his chest tighten, an old reflex kicking in as he did the mental math. That amount of money could buy him a lot of other things—practical things. Things that, a few days ago, he’d have never imagined trading for a single hat.

He shifted, glancing at Bruce, trying to gauge his reaction. But Bruce was looking at him with that same quiet patience, his body language unhurried, like he had all day for Jason to make up his mind.

Taking a breath, Jason reached for a beanie in a dark, rich red. It was soft, the wool warm and thick, the kind of hat that would hold up through long nights in the cold, and he liked the deep, rich color. He held it up, glancing back at Bruce. “This one’s good.”

Bruce’s smile deepened, a hint of warmth that Jason caught out of the corner of his eye. “Solid choice,” Bruce replied, his tone easy. “You sure you don’t want to grab another?”

Jason shook his head, clutching the beanie. “Nah, one’s enough,“ he muttered, feeling a faint warmth spread across his cheeks. He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Thanks… for this,” he mumbled, barely loud enough to hear.

Bruce’s smile softened, a look in his eyes that Jason wasn’t sure he’d seen before—something warm, almost protective. “You’re welcome, Jason. Now, let’s go pay for this and grab some lunch. There’s a spot nearby with great sandwiches.”

As Bruce led the way to the register, Jason trailed beside him, the new beanie tucked under his arm. The shopkeeper, a middle-aged woman with short, curly hair and an inquisitive glance, looked Bruce over, eyes lingering just a little too long. She probably recognized him—maybe the sunglasses and cap weren’t quite enough to mask Bruce Wayne’s familiar face. But she didn’t comment, her hands moving smoothly as she rang up the beanie, handing it over with a small nod.

Once they were back out in the mall corridor, the clamor of shoppers and the hum of voices surrounded them. Jason found himself matching Bruce’s pace, his shoulders gradually dropping as the tension he’d been carrying all morning began to unwind. He took a breath, letting the air fill his lungs, almost savoring the subtle ease that had started to settle over him. This was… normal, he realized. Just walking with Bruce, strolling past shops with glistening window displays and store fronts bursting with mannequins in cozy winter layers, the scent of fresh coffee and pastries wafting out from a café nearby.

Jason’s gaze drifted over to Bruce, and he caught a glimpse of something unexpected—a softness in Bruce’s expression, a quiet satisfaction that seemed to melt away the usual sharp lines of his face. Bruce looked… content. The sight brought an odd warmth to Jason’s chest, an unfamiliar but not entirely unwelcome feeling.

They wandered down the corridor, passing more stores, the bustle of families and friends mingling around them. It was the kind of place he never would’ve pictured himself—too polished, too safe. And yet, here he was, alongside Bruce, just another face in the crowd.

As Bruce led them into the deli, Jason felt a familiar pang of discomfort creep up. The place had that polished, trendy look—light wooden tables, walls lined with chalkboards advertising artisanal soups and house specials, and big windows that overlooked a small plaza outside. The scents of fresh bread and hearty soups filled the air, mingling with the quiet hum of conversation and the clang of dishes from behind the counter. They slid into a booth by the window, and Jason picked up the menu, letting his gaze wander over the prices.

Fourteen bucks for a sandwich? His stomach clenched a little, and he quickly lowered the menu, trying to keep his expression neutral. He'd never get used to how expensive these places could be. A week ago, fourteen bucks would have covered his groceries for days. But here he was, sitting across from Bruce Wayne, who had already spent fifty-five dollars on a picture frame for his mom’s photo and thirty-five more on a beanie that he’d probably never have picked for himself. Now they were ordering overpriced sandwiches, and Jason felt the weight of every dollar in a way he doubted Bruce ever did.

Bruce didn’t even glance at the menu, leaning back with an air of easy confidence, his focus solely on Jason. “They have a good roast beef sandwich here,” he suggested, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Or the pastrami. You could get both if you’re hungry.”

Jason shifted in his seat, caught off guard by the offer. He glanced at the menu again, his eyes skimming over the prices, then shook his head, forcing a casual shrug. “Uh, yeah, no. One’s enough,” he replied, his voice quiet. He could feel a flush creeping up his neck, embarrassment prickling at the back of his mind. After a moment, he added, “Roast beef sounds great.”

Bruce nodded, giving the waitress their order without a second thought. His demeanor was so easy, so unbothered, that Jason almost envied it. He watched as Bruce leaned back, his gaze drifting to the window, the corners of his mouth softened in an expression that Jason rarely saw. Bruce looked at ease, genuinely relaxed. And for a moment, Jason felt the unease in his own chest begin to loosen, just a bit.

When the sandwiches arrived, Jason took a tentative bite, the warm flavors of roast beef and melted cheese hitting his tongue. The sandwich was good, better than any he’d had in a long time. He let himself savor it, feeling the comfort of a warm meal settle in his stomach. But every now and then, he found his gaze drifting to Bruce, wondering why the man was willing to spend so much money on him. A beanie, a picture frame, and now an expensive lunch—all things that Bruce had offered without a second thought, as if Jason were worth every penny.

He glanced up, catching Bruce’s eye. Bruce offered him a small smile, one that reached his eyes with a warmth that felt solid, almost grounding. And in that moment, Jason felt something unfamiliar, something like stability beginning to take root. Would Bruce really take care or Jasons needs? What do you need to feel safe, Sarah had asked. And Jason had no answer above the picture frame and a beanie. Both of which Bruce got him less than 24 hours later.

He finished his sandwich, mumbling a quick “Thanks,” and they rose from the table, stepping back out into the bustling corridor of shops. The sounds of the mall washed over them—the chatter of people, the upbeat background music, the occasional burst of laughter. Bruce fell into step beside him, and they wandered aimlessly, weaving through the scattered crowds.

They passed a store with rows of posters displayed in the window. Bruce slowed, gesturing with a nod. “See anything you like?”

Jason gave the posters a cursory glance—rock bands, a few movie characters, some cityscapes. He shrugged, not wanting to seem too interested, even though a few caught his eye. It felt silly to even consider asking for one. He already owed Bruce enough, he thought. And besides, where would he ecen hang them. There were already picture frames on the walls of the room he slept in and it was not his place to redecorate a space that was handled with care for years.

“Nah, not really,” he mumbled, hands shoved deep into his pockets and the moved on to a shop display, right the next one over, filled with video games, bright banners advertising the latest releases and special bundles. Jason lingered for a second, eyes trailing over the rows of cases, but the price tags made him pull back, his gaze slipping to the floor. Bruce watched him, his expression thoughtful, but Jason didn’t give him a chance to say anything before moving along, stepping past the display with a tight-lipped smile.

Bruce kept pace beside him, making small comments here and there, but he didn’t push when Jason gave brief, dismissive answers. They paused in front of a sports store, and Jason’s eyes caught on a soccer ball in the window, its bold red and white pattern gleaming under the fluorescent lights. It was a special one, designed for the latest Copa America, the display said and it was really expensive but hyper nice, Jason thought.

He hadn’t played in years, not since he was a kid kicking around in the alley. But the thought was there, fleeting, tugging at a corner of his mind. Still, he pushed it aside. For now. Maybe they even had a ball laying around somewhere on the manor grounds. They had a kid living there. Dick surely had had a ball to kick around. Even Jason had one as a kid, battered and old, something he picked from the trash back then but he‘d loved it all the same.

They turned a corner, and Jason’s footsteps faltered, his gaze snagging on the Lego store up ahead. He hadn’t been in one in years, not since the days when he used to press his nose up to the glass, staring at the displays and imagining building something of his own.

Jason hovered near the entrance of the Lego store, his eyes snagging on the sets through the glass—a towering pirate ship with its sails unfurled, a sprawling winter wonderland scene complete with tiny figures in scarves and mittens, and a detailed city skyline. Each set looked more intricate than the next, like miniaturized worlds waiting to be built. He felt that familiar pull, the urge to lose himself in the pieces, snapping them together to form something from nothing.

He took a small step closer, fingers itching as he imagined holding the tiny bricks in his hands. The pirate ship caught his attention the most, its crew frozen mid-adventure, sails billowing in some imagined wind. He could picture himself building it, step by step, methodical and calming, watching it come together like he used to with those bag of abroken bricks mom and him got from the thrift store.

But then his eyes flicked to the price tag, and reality hit him hard. Freaking expensive, he thought, sucking in a breath. He’d never had a set this big. They were always too pricey, too far out of reach. A toy that wasn’t practical, just a luxury for someone else’s childhood. He shook his head, trying to squash the thought. There was no reason to start now, not with Bruce already dropping money left and right.

Still, he followed Bruce inside when he wandered into the store. Bruce moved through the space casually, like he belonged there, stopping in front of a massive replica of the Taj Mahal made entirely out of Lego. The model stood on its own platform, glowing under soft lighting that made each detail pop.

“Impressive, huh?” Bruce said, glancing back at Jason with a faint smile.

Jason nodded, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “Yeah… it is.”

Bruce looked at him for a moment, then tilted his head toward the rest of the store. “Go ahead. Look around. You seemed interested outside.”

Jason hesitated, glancing at Bruce, then back at the rows of shelves filled with brightly colored boxes. Part of him wanted to protest, to say he didn’t need anything, but there was a part of him—a much smaller, quieter part—that just wanted to indulge. Looking around did cost nothing. At least it didn’t when he was with Wayne, clean clothes and combed hair. So he gave a small shrug and moved off down one of the aisles, letting his eyes trail over the sets.

His gaze lingered on a section of model cars—sleek sports cars, trucks, and even motorcycles built from tiny Lego bricks. They were intricate, with working parts that turned, lifted, and spun. Jason’s fingers twitched as he imagined building one, the careful placement of each piece, the satisfaction of snapping it into place. He could already picture himself at home, the room quiet except for the soft click of Lego bricks fitting together.

His fingers twitched at his sides, but he forced himself to shove them deeper into his jacket pockets. He couldn’t get caught up in that. Not when Bruce had already spent a fortune on him. It wasn’t like Jason was a kid anymore who could get away with wanting things.

He glanced over his shoulder, thinking about heading back toward the front where Bruce casually checked out the Star Wars isle, until the guy turned towards Jason and stopped next to him.

Bruce was watching him, a knowing expression on his face. “You like these?” Bruce asked, his voice gentle.

Jason felt a flicker of embarrassment and shrugged, trying to play it off. “Yeah, I mean… they’re cool.“ His voice trailed off as he glanced back at the sets, the desire lingering despite himself. He stuffed his hands back into his pockets, trying to distance himself from it. “But, you know, it’s just Legos. Not like I need ‘em.”

Bruce didn’t answer right away, didn’t push. He just stood there, the silence between them not uncomfortable but still heavy with something unspoken. Finally, he smiled, small and soft, a warmth behind his eyes that Jason didn’t know what to do with. “It doesn’t always have to be about what you need,” Bruce said, his tone quiet, almost as if he was letting Jason in on a secret. “Sometimes it’s okay to want something just because you like it.”

Jason’s throat tightened. The words hit him harder than they should have. He looked away, jaw clenching as he stared at the boxes. He wasn’t used to this. To having someone notice the things he wanted and not get angry at him for it. His dad hated it when Jason’s eyes lingered too long on things they couldn’t afford. A simple Matchbox car was enough to set him off, as if Jason’s wanting was a personal insult, a reminder of how little they had.

“You don’t need that crap,” his dad had snapped more than once, the words burning into Jason’s memory. “Stop looking at stuff you can’t have.”

Bruce’s voice brought him back to the present, pulling him from the weight of those old memories. “Jason?” It was soft, cautious, like Bruce didn’t want to push but also didn’t want to let him slip away.

Jason’s throat tightened as he fumbled with his words, his hand brushing the edge of the little paper bag that held the beanie. “It’s… I don’t know. You already bought me that stuff.” He glanced at the price tags on the shelves, feeling the weight of the numbers pressing against him. The cheapest car set was almost seventy bucks, and the most expensive? Three hundred fifty dollars. Jason felt his chest constrict. That used to be their monthly rent, for crying out loud—insane money for what? A toy? “It’s too much,“ Jason finally said.

„It‘s really not,“ Bruce answered. „Too much.“

“I’d never ask you for that,” Jason muttered, almost like he was apologizing for even looking.

Bruce didn’t react the way Jason expected. His expression remained calm, steady, with no trace of impatience. “You’re not asking me for anything,” Bruce said gently, his voice low and unhurried. “And even if you were, that wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

Jason looked at the shelves again, feeling the tension building in his chest. He didn’t want to want this, didn’t want to feel like some kid hoping for a toy he couldn’t afford. But the idea of building one of those cars, of losing himself in the quiet precision of snapping pieces together, it tugged at him, hard.

“I don’t know,” Jason mumbled. His gaze lingered on the sets. He could almost picture it—sitting on the floor with the pieces scattered around him, the quiet click as each one snapped into place. It was the kind of thing that used to pull him in completely when he was younger, back when he could spend hours getting lost in something like this.

Bruce’s voice broke through his thoughts, soft but clear. “It’s up to you,” he said. “But if you want it, I’ll get it for you. No strings attached.”

Jason glanced at him, searching Bruce’s face, half-expecting to find some hidden catch. But Bruce’s eyes were steady, unwavering, filled with something Jason couldn’t quite name. It almost hurt how easy Bruce made it seem.

Jason swallowed, unsure what to say, when the words just spilled out, sudden and awkward. “There’s a club at Gotham Academy,” he said, his voice quiet, like he couldn’t stop himself. “They had these pictures—super cool stuff they built. Only, they used motors and things that worked, you know?”

He felt stupid the second the words left his mouth. Why was he talking about this? Bruce had better things to do than stand here listening to him ramble about a club he wasn’t even a part of. And yet, Bruce’s attention didn’t waver. He looked at Jason like what he was saying actually mattered.

“They had, like, full-on working cars made out of Legos,” Jason added, trying to sound casual, but he could hear the edge in his own voice, the way it betrayed the excitement he didn’t want to admit he felt. “It’s… it’s crazy, right?”

Bruce didn’t miss a beat. “Sounds impressive,” he said, his tone still easy, like Jason’s words meant something. He nodded toward the cars on the shelf. “Maybe you’d like to try building one yourself.”

Jason tensed up. It sounded too simple, too easy. But something in Bruce’s tone, in the way he made it seem like it wasn’t a burden to listen to Jason, to stand here in a Lego store and offer to buy him a set… It stirred something unfamiliar in Jason. A part of him wanted to let it happen, to just accept that maybe it was okay to want something.

“I dunno,” Jason muttered, glancing away. He stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets, feeling the weight of the moment press down on him. “It’s not like I could do anything fancy with it. Just, you know, regular stuff.”

Bruce’s gaze didn’t falter. “That’s the point,” he said. “It’s yours to build however you want. Fancy with a motor or just the regular thing like in the instruction booklet. ”

Jason blinked, the words sinking in slowly. There was something in Bruce’s voice, something so patient and calm, that made Jason feel like maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t such a big deal to want something, to have something for himself.

Jason's fingers hovered over the box, the cool edge of the cardboard grounding him as his gaze swept over the sleek Ferrari F40 on the front. The red was bold, intense, and the design... precise. The kind of precision that tugged at him, made him imagine running his hands over each brick, piece by piece, snapping it all together into something whole. Something his.

But then he saw the price tag.

Ninety-nine dollars.

His stomach tightened, an old reflex. That number flashed in his mind like a warning sign, and with it came a memory—sharp and unforgiving. He could almost hear his dad’s voice, rough with resentment. “You think we got money for that? Hell no, put it down.“ The weight of those words, the years of stretching every penny, settled back into place like an old scar he couldn’t forget.

A hundred bucks. That was groceries for a week. It was rent, or a bill paid, or the difference between lights staying on or flickering out. It wasn’t a toy, not for someone like him. He’d never dared to even look at things like this as a kid, never let himself get close enough to want something so far out of reach. And now, standing in front of it, the same knot of guilt twisted tighter in his chest.

Jason pulled his hand back, the slight brush of his fingers on the box lingering longer than he meant. He turned away, forcing the desire down. It was just a toy. He didn’t need it. He couldn't let Bruce spend that much on something so... unnecessary. That price tag felt like too much, like asking for more than he deserved.

But Bruce saw it—the hesitation, the way Jason’s eyes lingered just a second too long on the set before he stepped back.

“You like that one?” Bruce’s voice cut through the tension, calm, steady, like a lifeline.

Jason shoved his hands into his pockets, forcing the unease deeper. “Yeah, I mean... it’s cool,” he mumbled, glancing back at the box for just a second before looking away again. “But it’s, like, a hundred bucks. It’s too much.”

There was no judgment in Bruce’s gaze, no pushback. He didn’t try to argue, didn’t brush aside the concern like it didn’t matter. He just stood there, patient as ever, his presence as unshakable as always.

“If you don’t want me to spend that much,” Bruce said, his voice as steady as ever, “maybe you can find something else. Something you’re comfortable with.”

Jason swallowed hard, his throat tight. It wasn’t about Bruce’s money—he knew Bruce could buy the entire store if he wanted to. That wasn’t the point. He couldn’t shake the thought of all that money being spent on him, on something so... unnecessary.

He forced himself to turn away from the Ferrari, his eyes scanning the shelves again. Something smaller. Something less... indulgent. His gaze landed on a smaller set, a yellow McLaren. It wasn’t as striking, didn’t pull at him the way the Ferrari had, but it was enough. Simple, sleek, and safe. He picked up the box, feeling the lightness in his hands. 168 pieces. $16.99.

This, he could accept. This wouldn’t feel like too much. It wouldn’t feel like a weight he couldn’t carry.

He held the McLaren up, avoiding Bruce’s eyes. “Hey, uh... what about this one?” he asked, holding it up for Bruce to see. “It’s smaller. Way cheaper, too.”

Bruce glanced at the box, then back at Jason. His expression softened, and for a moment, Jason thought he might insist on getting the bigger set. But instead, Bruce just nodded. “If that’s what you want,” he said simply. “We’ll get it.”

Jason felt a small surge of relief. He nodded, holding the box a little tighter. “Yeah, this one’s good.”

Bruce didn’t press any further, just smiled and led the way toward the register. Jason followed, the yellow McLaren in his hands. It wasn’t the Ferrari. It wasn’t the car that had hooked him in, made his heart beat a little faster. But it was cool. Still so so cool!

Chapter Text

Jason sat cross-legged on the edge of his bed, his fingers resting on the soft quilt. In front of him were the three items Bruce had gotten him earlier: the brown wood picture frame, the red beanie, and the small Lego set of that yellow McLaren. They were laid out neatly, still untouched, and each one still had its price tag attached, the small pieces of paper tugging at his mind like weights.

He shifted uncomfortably, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of the quilt. His eyes darted from one item to the next, his stomach tightening with every glance.

The frame was classic, not flashy like the modern ones you’d see in trendy stores. It looked like the kind of thing his mom might have picked out if she'd ever cared about frames at all. But Money wasn’t for pretty things. It was for rent, or more often, for whatever her addiction demanded that week. He had picked it out because it felt right, like it fit—not him, maybe, but this place. It fit the manor, with its high ceilings and old-world charm. It fit the guest room he was staying in. Huh, his room, he guessed. Seems like he would be staying. At least for a while now.

He liked the idea of it, of staying. And of the frame, even though the empty space behind the glass stared back at him like an unspoken challenge. It was meant for his mother’s picture. But Jason couldn’t bring himself to place the photograph inside. The very idea of it felt... too permanent, like he, and his bag full of trauma, had a place here.

Beside the frame, the red beanie was folded up. He loved the color, the soft wool. It was something he‘d longed for since he roamed the Alleys after he ran away from the foster parents. He could still feel the cold of Gotham’s streets in his bones, the bitter wind that cut through everything, the cold constantly hurting his ears. He’d wanted a beanie so bad, he‘d even asked Bruce for it. And yet, the thought of putting it on right now made his chest tighten.

The small Lego set was the last thing Bruce had bought for him. The McLaren sat untouched, the box unopened. Jason wanted to tear into it, to start building it right there, to lose himself in the click of plastic pieces fitting together. But he couldn’t. The thought of it made his fingers twitch, the weight pressing on his chest again. He didn’t need this—didn’t need any of it, really.

Jason swallowed hard, his hands gripping the edge of the bed. He wanted to like these things—no, he did like them. The frame for his mom, the beanie in his favorite color, and the Lego set - he really wanted to build that car.

His eyes wandered to the shelf across the room, lined with perfectly placed decorative trinkets—elegant things, vases, vintage candle holders, a globe, lexikas and little sculptures of men on horses and a bust, each one fitting the manor’s aesthetic in a way that was almost stifling.

He imagined the bright yellow Lego car sitting there once it was built, standing out against the muted tones, too bright, too childish for a room like this. It wouldn’t fit in at all. This wasn’t a kid’s room, after all. It was a guest room, and Jason wasn’t their kid. He didn’t need a kid’s room.

Back home he had a bedroom, his own one too. A tiny space with the broken door, the peeling wallpaper, and the busted dresser missing half its drawers. He’d spent years in that room, making the best of it, finding corners where he could stash his books or hide from his dad’s rage. This room in the manor wasn’t like that, though. This room was spotless, immaculate, and it wasn’t his. Not really.

This room was worlds apart from his broken childhood bedroom and yet it didn‘t feel like a place he could set up his own things. But he didn‘t need that. Jason had everything he needed now and more.

Bruce had bought these things for him, and Jason had let him. And now, as they sat in front of him, the guilt gnawed at his insides. The social worker, Sarah, she had kinda forced Bruce to get Jason things that he needed to feel at home. And despite Bruces reassurances earlier today in the shops, Jason still couldn’t shake the idea that he was taking advantage, that he was accepting more than he deserved. He wasn‘t Waynes real kid.

He should’ve just told Bruce to return everything.

Jason exhaled sharply and flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. The bed was so big that he didn’t even touch any of the stuff in front of him. His eyes drifted over to the beanie, to the frame, to the box of Legos. He knew he should be grateful—grateful that Bruce had decided to keep him, that he hadn’t just left him zip-tied for the cops the day they met, back when Jason had tried to steal the tires off the Batmobile.

He should be grateful for the roof over his head, for the fact that soon, Bruce would send him to school, that he wasn’t still freezing and starving on the streets of Crime Alley.

But instead, all he felt was this sinking weight in his chest. He didn’t deserve any of this. Not the nice bed, not the things Bruce had bought him, not even the room  he got to stay in. A room that had clean sheets, soft pillows, and space—so much space.

He sat up, thinking about going downstairs to ask Alfred if he needed help with dinner prep. Maybe keeping busy would help ease the knot in his stomach, but before Jason could move, he heard the sound of the front doors opening. He froze, listening. Someone had entered the manor with their own key. It couldn’t be Bruce or Alfred—they were already home. He heard footsteps, then a voice, loud and sharp.

“Bruce!” someone shouted from the front hallway.

Jason tensed immediately, sliding off the bed in one quick motion. His instincts kicked in. Whoever this was, they weren’t here for a friendly chat.

Quietly, he slipped out of the room and into the hallway, moving along the shadowed corridor, hoping to stay out of sight. He peered around the corner and saw him—a man, tall and fit, wearing light washed blue jeans, a ridiculously bright batik pullover splashed with all kinds of colors, and a yellow beanie that didn’t seem to match anything. The guy was also sporting red sneakers, which made the whole look even more absurd.

Jason was about to roll his eyes at the outfit when he noticed Bruce descending the stairs. His usual calm, collected demeanor didn’t falter as he approached the guy. But something about the way Bruce moved made Jason tense even more.

Then, before Bruce could even say a word, the man barked out, “Fuck you, Bruce!”

Jason recoiled, heart pounding, but he stayed hidden behind the corridor’s edge, watching. The guy was angry. Furious, actually. And Jason had no idea who he was.

“Dick,” Bruce started calmly, but the man—Dick, his kid —was having none of it.

“You got a new kid without telling me,” Dick snapped, thrusting his phone in Bruce’s face. Jason could see the faint glow of the screen from where he was hiding.

Bruce glanced at the phone but didn’t reach for it. “Dick, please. Let me explain.”

“Explain?” Dick’s voice dripped with disbelief. “The paper explained enough!” He waved the phone again. “Jason Todd, eleven years old, Crime Alley born and raised, now being fostered by Bruce Wayne. Really, Bruce? You didn’t think to tell me?”

Jason’s breath caught in his throat. So that was it. That morning at the shopping center, the one time they were out in the public, and now there were pictures of him and Bruce, plastered all over the internet.

Bruce remained calm, his voice low and steady. “He needed someone, Dick.”

“That's not what this is about!” Dick cut him off. “You didn’t tell me about him! For how long? A week? A month?”

Jason’s pulse quickened, his hands trembling slightly as he pressed his back against the wall. He peered around the corner, his breath held tight in his chest. This was Dick Grayson—the Dick Grayson , Bruce’s first kid. The first Robin. And he was pissed, practically vibrating with anger as he squared off with Bruce in the entryway. Jason had never met him, but he didn’t have to. He’d heard enough to know the weight of this confrontation.

Jason’s fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, knuckles white with tension. He’d been around plenty of arguments, but this was different. This wasn’t just shouting or frustration—it felt like something deeper

Had he caused this? Had he made things worse between them?

“Jason has only been here a few days, Dick,” Bruce finally said, his voice low, almost cautious. His gaze flickered briefly down the hallway, and Jason shrank back further into the shadows, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“A few days? And when were you planning to tell me?” Dick’s voice cracked, frustration boiling over. He ran a hand through his hair, yanking off his yellow beanie in the process.

“You don’t just take in another kid and... and keep it quiet, Bruce! You can’t do that!”

Jason bit his lip, sinking deeper into the shadows, trying to make himself as invisible as possible. He didn’t know what to do—whether to stay hidden or step out and face the situation. But right now, the safest option seemed to be staying right where he was, out of sight, out of mind.

He clenched his teeth, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. He didn’t want to be here—not in the middle of this . He never asked to be caught in some family drama.

Bruce stepped closer to Dick, his voice softening, but the weight behind it was unmistakable. “Dick, listen. It’s more complicated than you think.”

“Complicated?” Dick let out a sharp laugh, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “What’s complicated, Bruce? You take in a kid, and I have to find out from the media? I thought we were… I thought you’d trust me enough to tell me something like this!”

The word “trust” hung in the air, thick and heavy. Jason felt a sharp pang in his chest, a wave of guilt flooding him. He was the reason Dick was standing there, accusing Bruce of hiding things. He was the cause of this!

Bruce’s face softened, but he remained firm. “I was going to tell you. I just... I needed time. Jason needed time to adjust. It’s been... difficult for him.”

Jason’s heart clenched at the mention of his name. Hearing Bruce defend him, in that quiet, steady tone, only made him feel worse. He didn’t deserve it. Not the kindness, not the protection, and definitely not the place he was taking up in Bruce’s life.

Dick shook his head, pacing a few steps back. “It’s not about him, Bruce! It’s about you !” His voice wavered, raw and vulnerable now. “You could have just called me. Could have told me abput him.“

Jason bit his lip harder, tasting blood. His hand clutched the side of the doorframe, trying to ground himself, but the edges of his vision blurred.

Jason’s breath hitched as Bruce’s words sank into the air between them. “Jason... he’s been through a lot. He needed stability first, and I was trying to give him that.” The way Bruce said it, so steady, so certain, made Jason’s chest tighten. There was no accusation in his voice, no defensiveness—just quiet conviction. Like Bruce actually cared, like Jason was something worth protecting.

But that only made things worse.

Dick’s shoulders slumped, his fury ebbing like a receding tide, leaving behind something far more painful. He dragged a hand down his face, exhaustion etched into every line. “I get that. I do. But I… I would’ve liked to have known. I would’ve liked to have been there for him, too.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, bitterness creeping in. “But of course, you didn’t think about that, did you?”

Jason flinched as those words cut through the air. I would’ve liked to have been there for him.

The guilt weighed heavier now, settling like a stone in his stomach. He wasn’t worth it. Not the care, not the protection, and definitely not the way Dick was speaking about him—like he was someone who needed looking after. Jason had survived just fine on his own for years. He didn’t need this—didn’t need to be the cause of someone else’s pain.

Dick sighed deeply, the sound of it heavy in the quiet hallway. He shoved the yellow beanie into his jacket pocket, his eyes softening with a sadness that Jason hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t just anger in Dick’s voice—it was hurt. A deep, raw hurt that Jason didn’t fully understand but could feel the weight of. It tugged at the corners of his chest. He knew what it felt like to be disappointent by your own parents.

Bruce reached out, placing a hand on Dick’s shoulder. His touch was hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if it would be welcomed, but there was a genuine warmth in his voice. “I’m sorry. I really am, Dick.” There was a brief pause, and then, almost softly, “Would you stay for dinner, chum?”

Jason held his breath, watching from the shadows as Dick stood there, staring at Bruce for a long, drawn-out moment. The silence was thick, but not uncomfortable. Dick shifted slightly on his feet, and then, with a small nod, he agreed.

Bruce’s reaction was instant, his expression softening into something that Jason hadn’t seen before—something vulnerable, almost hopeful. The way Bruce smiled, like this small gesture from Dick was enough to put the pieces of everything back together, made Jason’s heart lurch in his chest. For all his strength, all his stoicism, Bruce smiled for real when his grown kid stayed for dinner. Jason would never have that!

And in that moment, Jason felt like he was intruding on something. Slowly, he backed away, slipping silently down the hallway, his footsteps muted against the plush carpet.

He moved silently, like he wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. His hand reached for the doorknob of his room, turning it softly, careful not to make a sound.

Once inside, Jason let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He leaned back against the door, eyes closed, the soft click of the latch sealing him away from the conversation he couldn’t face. He didn’t know what to feel—didn’t know if he should be relieved that Dick was staying or terrified that he was the cause of the fight in the first place.

He crossed the room in slow, measured steps, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. His eyes drifted to the wall in front of him, unfocused, lost in thought.

Bruce had smiled like having Dick stay for dinner was the only thing he’d ever wanted.

No one would ever smile at Jason like that.

Mom was dead and it had been a long time, before addiction, that her smile had been anything but sad when she looked at him.

His throat tightened as memories flickered at the edges of his mind, unbidden and unwelcome. Before everything went bad. Before addiction hollowed her out, before her hugs became stiff and her eyes distant. He tried to hold onto those fleeting moments when her smile had been real—when it had been just for him.

Jason remembered being smaller, back in first grade or so, when things were better. When her love for him felt warm and solid, not like the aching absence he carried now. He could see her clearly in his mind’s eye—her hands cupping his cheeks as she kissed him goodnight, her voice soft as she read him stories of Jane Austen and Charles Dickens. He used to sit beside her, sounding out the words on the page, feeling her pride in every syllable he got right.

The scent of tomato soup would fill their cramped apartment sometimes, and she always made it with rice instead of noodles because Jason liked it that way. She’d hum under her breath as she stirred the pot, glancing over her shoulder to flash him a smile that made his little heart swell. It wasn’t perfect—nothing in their life was perfect—but it was enough. Back then, it felt like love. Real love.

But that was a long time ago. Before she started disappearing for days. Before the money for food turned into money for her next fix. Before she forgot to smile at all.

Jason blinked, staring down at his hands. He could still feel the ghost of her touch sometimes, the way her fingers had ruffled his hair, the way she’d held him when the world felt too big and too scary. But that was gone now. She was gone.

No one would ever love him like that again.

Chapter Text

Jason thought about skipping dinner altogether. Normally, he wouldn’t even consider it. He never missed a meal if he could help it—his stomach had long been trained to take what it could get, to not waste any opportunity to eat. But tonight, with the weight of the earlier argument still hanging over him, he didn’t want to go downstairs. He didn’t want to draw their attention to himself. Didn’t want to cause any more trouble.

But not showing up might cause a fuss too, and the last thing he wanted was for Bruce to come looking for him. So, reluctantly, he pushed himself off the bed and headed toward the dining room, his footsteps heavy with hesitation.

When he reached the doorway, he paused, hovering just outside the room. Bruce and Dick were already seated at the long table, their voices low and easy, like whatever tension had been between them earlier had melted away. Jason stood awkwardly at the entrance, unsure if he should interrupt them or just slip in quietly and hope they wouldn’t feel disturbed by his presence. His fingers twitched at his sides, the urge to retreat strong.

But before he could make a decision, Dick looked up, his gaze landing squarely on Jason. A grin broke out across his face, wide and genuine, like they were old friends and not awkward strangers. “Hey there,” Dick said, his voice warm and disarming. “I’m Dick.”

Jason swallowed hard, feeling his palms grow clammy. He hadn’t expected that—hadn’t expected him to be so… nice. Suddenly shy, he gave a small nod, his throat too tight to say much. “Jason.”

“Nice to meet you, Jason,” Dick said, still grinning like this was the best thing to happen all day. “Come sit. We were just talking about the time Bruce tried to make pancakes and set the kitchen on fire.” He laughed, glancing at Bruce, who gave a small, exasperated sigh but didn’t deny it.

Jason couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips as he stepped closer to the table, easing himself into the chair next to Bruce. The warmth of the room felt foreign to him, like he wasn’t sure if he belonged here, but Dick’s easy demeanor helped.

Jason’s eyes lingered on the Coca-Cola can, its bright red label clashing with the soft whites and silvers of the manor’s formal table setting. It was such a small thing, but it stuck out to him, like something that didn’t belong in this polished world he found himself in. The drinks they’d had all week were always water or tea—simple, refined. Nothing like the sugary soda that now sat casually in front of Dick, looking like it belonged in some fast-food joint in the city, not here in the Wayne Manor dining room.

Dick must’ve noticed him staring because he flashed a grin and lifted the can slightly, like he was making a toast. “Want one?” he offered, his tone light. “There’s plenty in the fridge.”

Jason blinked, surprised by the easy offer. For a second, he thought about saying yes. A can of Coke sounded good. Great even.  But he didn’t need soft drinks, didn’t want to seem spoiled. Not when back home, he was lucky to get food at all some nights.

Quickly, he shook his head, his gaze dropping to his lap. “No, it’s… it’s fine,” he mumbled, the words sticking in his throat like they didn’t quite belong either.

Bruce’s voice came from beside him, steady and calm, as if trying to ease whatever tension had settled in the room. “It’s okay, Jason. If you want something else, just let Alfred know. He can get you whatever you need.”

Jason nodded without looking up, but the idea of asking Alfred for anything—especially something like a soft drink—felt wrong. He didn’t need any “extras.” Extras were for kids like Dick. Extras were for people who had enough that they could waste it on things like soda or sweets. Back home, in Crime Alley, they never had that. Extras weren’t even a thing. You took what you got, you ate what was in front of you, and you didn’t complain.

The thought of asking Alfred for something special, something just for him, twisted his stomach. Why would he need anything beyond what they already gave him? The meals here were more than he ever had back home. Rich, filling food that made him feel heavy and warm, not like the days when he’d grab half a stale sandwich from the fridge and call it dinner because that’s all they could afford.

Dick must’ve caught Jason staring at the Coke again because he smiled, tapping the can. “Yeah, Alfred doesn’t buy this stuff on his own. But if you ask, he’s more than ready to get it for you.”

Jason blinked, his gaze flickering from the can to Dick’s easy smile. It seemed so casual, so normal for someone to just ask for something they liked. Jason felt a familiar knot of discomfort. He wouldn’t ask for something like this—not when he didn’t need it. He wasn’t like Dick. Wasn’t their kid.

He’d learned not to expect extras, not to ask for things that weren’t necessary. He didn’t need soft drinks or sweets. As long as they fed him, that was more than enough.

As if on cue, Alfred walked in with another tray, setting it carefully on the table. “Master Richard, if you must know, I did indeed procure your Coca-Cola with a degree of personal reluctance,” he said, his tone dry but laced with affection. “But, of course, I am more than happy to accommodate your tastes when required.”

Dick laughed, taking another sip of the soda. “See, Jason? Alfred’s a softie when it comes to making sure we’re happy. You just have to ask.”

Jason shifted awkwardly in his chair, glancing down at his plate. It was nice, he thought, that they’d do that for Dick. That Bruce and Alfred would go out of their way to get him things just because he liked them.

Jason wasn’t sure he’d ever been spoiled like that before. Not even when his mom was at her best. She loved him, sure, but they never had enough to give extra for the sake of it.

It was nice, though. That Bruce and Alfred spoiled their kid.

Jason’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of the napkin on his lap, his eyes flicking between the polished silverware and the glimmering crystal glasses on the table.

Jason sneaked another glance at the red can, listening as the soft fizz of carbonation hissed when Dick took a sip. It seemed easy for him to ask for things. Natural, even. Like it never crossed his mind that it could be too much or that someone might say no.

Jason tried to imagine himself asking for a Coke. He couldn’t. The words felt strange even in his head. Back in Crime Alley, he never asked for things—he just took what he could get. If there wasn’t any food, he’d make do. If he found an old, expired box of crackers, that was dinner. If there wasn’t anything at all, he went to bed hungry. Extras like soda were never on the table. Hell, food wasn’t always on the table.

He didn’t belong here. This wasn’t his life.

Jason shifted in his seat, still glancing down at his plate as Alfred quietly moved around them, placing the last of the dishes on the table. Dinner was served, and the rich smells filled the air—roast chicken, potatoes, and a side of vegetables—all meticulously prepared, as expected. But Jason’s stomach twisted, not from hunger, but from the overwhelming sense of unfamiliarity with the situation.

“Jason,” Dick’s voice broke through his thoughts, light and friendly. Jason looked up to see that same easy grin. Dick leaned back in his chair as if completely at ease in the grand dining room. “So, how’ve you been liking it here, Jay?” His tone was casual, warm, as if they’d known each other longer than just these few minutes.

Jason hesitated, feeling the weight of the question. “It’s… nice,” he finally muttered, his voice low. He wasn’t sure how much to say. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but also didn’t want to act like he belonged in this fancy world either.

“Nice is a good start,” Dick said, a laugh in his voice. “This place is huge, huh? It took me a while to get used to it when I first moved in, too.”

Jason nodded, eyes flicking up to meet Dick’s for just a second before darting away again. “It’s… really big,” he agreed, the words feeling clumsy in his mouth. He didn’t know how to talk to people like Dick—people who seemed so comfortable and… happy.

Alfred, ever attentive, began serving them, placing plates carefully in front of each of them. “Master Jason,” he said, his voice as steady as ever, “if there is anything more you would like or if you have any particular preferences, please do not hesitate to ask.”

Jason just nodded, the familiar unease creeping in. He’d never been comfortable asking for anything.

From across the table, Dick caught his eye, his expression somewhere between a grin and an eyebrow raise that clearly said: Told you so. But thankfully, he didn’t rub it in. Instead, he asked, “So, what do you like to do for fun? Any hobbies?” His voice was friendly, casual, clearly trying to get Jason to open up a bit.

Jason shifted in his seat, eyes locked on the neatly arranged vegetables in front of him. His fork hovered above the food, tracing invisible patterns as he struggled to answer. “I don’t know… I like reading, I guess,” he muttered, barely audible, as if admitting something shameful.

He half-expected Dick to laugh, to call him out. Who’s this alley kid pretending to be some bookworm? Dumb trash acting like he’s into reading for fun. Jason braced himself for the worst, shoulders tensing, waiting for the rejection he’d learned to expect.

But instead, Dick’s face lit up. His eyes brightened with genuine interest. “Did you see the library already?”

Jason looked up, caught off guard by the excitement in Dick’s voice. For a moment, he forgot the fear of looking out of place, the ever-present sense that he didn’t belong here. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice a little stronger, a flicker of enthusiasm breaking through his usually guarded tone. “The library is awesome.”

Dick leaned forward slightly, as if sharing a secret, his grin widening. “Right? It’s huge! You can get lost in there. What kind of stuff do you like to read?”

Jason’s fingers gripped the fork tighter. He wasn’t used to people caring about what he liked—certainly not enough to ask. “Uh, mostly classics and, you know, adventure stuff,” he said, the uncertainty creeping back into his voice. He wasn’t sure if his answer sounded right in these halls. Everything around him felt too polished, too perfect, like he might leave a mark if he touched anything too much. “I liked Sherlock Holmes… but, I mean, I read whatever I can get my hands on.”

Dick’s grin only grew wider, his enthusiasm never faltering. “You’ve got to read Harry Potter then. I’m not usually big on books, but those are killer. You’d love ’em.”

He took another bite of food, nodding toward Jason’s plate like it was no big deal, like they could just keep talking about books and normal things forever. As if they weren‘t annoying Bruce by talking a hundred miles a minute when the man deserved to eat in peace. But Bruce just smiled at them, all fond and stuff and Dick took another bite of food, before continuing. “So, what else do you like to do? Any sports?”

Jason hesitated, his fork scraping lightly against his plate. He could feel the weight of the question in his chest. Back in Crime Alley, sports weren’t exactly something you had time for. There were no teams, no leagues, no coaches yelling at kids to hustle. Just a cracked ball and an empty alley. “Uh, yeah,” he said quietly, trying to sound casual. “Sometimes… I’d play with a ball in the alley.”

He said it softly, like the words themselves felt too small for this space. Like mentioning something so simple, so street-level, didn’t fit in a house like this. It sure as hell wasn‘t enough to keep up with Batman and Robin.

Dick didn’t seem to notice the hesitation, though. He was all smiles, all ease. “Man, I used to kick the ball around with the other circus kids when I wasn’t training and I still liked to play when I came to live here. Of course, Alfred wasn’t thrilled when I kicked a ball through a window once. Not my finest moment,” he added with a laugh.

Jason relaxed just a little, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He could almost picture it—Dick, who seemed so at ease here, so at home, playing soccer and causing trouble just like any other kid. Maybe they weren’t so different after all. Only that Jasons dad would have kicked his ass, if Jason broke the window, playing soccer.

“Maybe we could play sometime,” Dick suggested casually, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. But to Jason, it felt bigger. Like Dick was offering him a spot in this new, strange world, and not just at the dinner table.

Jason nodded. “Yeah, that’d be cool,” he mumbled, his voice small but genuine.

They ate in a companionable silence for a moment before Dick glanced over again, curiosity lighting his eyes. “So, you been up to anything else since you got here? Did you do anything with Bruce?“

Jason froze. The fork he’d been holding dropped against his plate with a soft clink, and he felt the weight of the question settle like a stone in his stomach. He hadn’t meant to say anything, but the words slipped out before he could stop them. “Uh… yeah, we were uh … training. In the cave. A bit.”

Dick’s smile faltered for a second, his expression unreadable as he glanced over at Bruce. It was subtle, just a flicker of something before he masked it with a nod. But Jason noticed. And his heart clenched.

Jason’s hand grabbed the napkin tighter, twisting it like it could somehow anchor him in the moment, stop the sinking feeling gnawing at his insides.

He knew it. Dick thought Jason was not good enough. The thought gnawed at him, twisting tighter as he forced himself to speak, each word more frantic than the last.

“I-I’m trying, okay?” His voice wavered, barely steady, as if saying it out loud would somehow make it true. “I know I’m not… I know I’m not as good as you were - being Robin. I’m trying to get better. Bruce is helping me train, and I’ll… I’ll get there. I’ll train real hard, I swear. I’m sorry if I’m not… if I’m not good enough yet.”

The words tumbled out, clumsy and desperate, but the room had gone eerily quiet.

Jason risked a glance at Dick, expecting to see disappointment, maybe pity. But what he saw instead caught him off guard. Dick’s eyes weren’t soft; they were hard, narrowed, and his lips pressed together in a tight line. His jaw clenched.

“You gave away Robin,” Dick said suddenly, his voice tight, low. It wasn’t loud, but it was filled with a kind of anger that made Jason’s stomach twist in knots. “Robin was mine. My mom gave me that name. You don’t just… gift it away like it’s some hand-me-down.”

Jason’s throat tightened. His eyes went wide, flicking between Dick and Bruce, trying to make sense of the sudden shift. Dick wasn’t smiling anymore; he looked pissed. Really, really fucking pissed.

Jason’s pulse raced, panic bubbling up inside him. He’s mad because he took it. Jason shouldn’t have taken it. He didn’t know… His hands went clammy as he gripped the napkin even tighter, almost shredding it in his fingers.

“I-I didn’t know,” Jason stammered, voice barely a whisper, his chest tight with fear. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know it meant that … that much to you. I didn’t… I don’t want to take something that’s yours.”

Dick’s gaze flicked to Jason for a moment, and his anger seemed to soften, just a little, at the sight of Jason’s panic. But it didn’t vanish entirely. He shook his head, exhaling sharply before looking back at Bruce.

Jason sat still, feeling the weight of the tension in the room press down on him, so thick he could barely breathe. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. The fork sat untouched beside his plate now, his fingers still gripping the napkin in his lap as though letting go would somehow make the situation worse. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, a sickening beat that matched the panic rising in his chest.

Dick’s voice cut through the silence again, sharper this time. “You should’ve asked me, Bruce. What’s wrong with you? You didn’t even talk to me about him.”

Jason felt like he was shrinking in his seat, his chest tightening with every word. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected Dick to be so angry. Maybe a little annoyed, maybe distant, sure, but angry? His mind raced, trying to make sense of it, but all it came back to was the same sinking thought: Bruce hadn’t bothered to ask Dick, hadn’t bothered to consider how much Robin meant to him, and now Jason was sitting here, wearing a name that didn’t belong to him.

“I’m sorry, chum,” Bruce’s voice came, quiet but firm, laced with a regret Jason hadn’t expected. “Jason doesn’t need to be Robin. I didn’t think.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final, but to Jason, they landed like a punch to the gut. He doesn’t need to be Robin.

Bruce was taking it away. Robin.

Jason’s chest tightened, a crushing wave of panic threatening to choke him. He got it—he really did. Of course Dick was more important. Jason could see it in Bruce’s eyes, the way they softened when Dick spoke, the way Bruce’s whole demeanor changed around him. Dick lit Bruce up from the inside, like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm.

Dick was Bruce’s son, his real kid, and Jason was just… alley trash, that he picked up. That’s all he’d ever been.

But Robin… Robin was Jason’s chance. His chance at something better, something more than cold streets and hunger pains. As long as he had Robin, as long as he could prove he was worthy of the mantle, he was useful. He had a purpose here. Robin ensured that Jason was fed, warm, going to school. Without Robin, without the training and the mask, what was left?

Jason’s breath hitched, panic clawing its way up his throat. His voice cracked as he spoke, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “But… but that was the deal, wasn’t it?” He could barely meet Bruce’s eyes, his hands trembling in his lap. “You… you said I could stay, you’d take care of me… as long as I was Robin.”

He could feel both Dick and Bruce staring at him now, the weight of their gazes too much to bear. His hands twisted nervously in his lap, gripping the napkin so tightly his knuckles turned white. He didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to see the disappointment he was sure was written all over their faces.

Dick’s head snapped around, eyes wide in disbelief, fury rolling off him in waves. “What?” His voice was tight, trembling with barely contained rage, the sharpness of it like a slap in the face.

Jason flinched instinctively, his breath catching in his throat as he shrank into his seat. He hadn’t meant to mess things up this badly. He didn’t know how to fix it now. His chest felt tight, panic slowly squeezing the air out of his lungs. His fingers trembled in his lap, still twisting the napkin into a wrinkled mess.

But Dick wasn’t done. He pushed back from the table, the screech of his chair against the hardwood floor making Jason wince. He was on his feet now, towering over the table, his blue eyes blazing with anger as they locked onto Bruce. “You made him think that? You made a kid think he had to earn his place here?” The incredulity in his voice was palpable, but it was the hurt beneath the anger that twisted the knife deeper. “What the hell, Bruce?”

Bruce, who had been silent, stood slowly, the tension in his posture betraying his usual calm. His face was as still as stone, but there was something raw, something pained behind his eyes, a flicker of regret. “It’s not like that,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with the weight of the moment. But the words didn’t land like they were supposed to. They hung in the air, too flimsy to stand against the fury crackling in the room.

Dick scoffed, his laugh bitter, sharp. “Right, because the kid’s just making that up ? Sure, he’s begging you to take care of him for the fun of it.” His tone was dripping with sarcasm, every word laced with disbelief and hurt. “Is that what this is to you? Fun and games?”

Jason’s heart pounded painfully in his chest. His breaths were shallow now, quick and uneven, and his hands gripped the edge of the table, white-knuckled. He felt trapped, like he was watching something unfold that was about to sweep him away, and he had no idea how to stop it. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t opened his stupid mouth, none of this would be happening.

“Dick, please,” Bruce’s voice cut through, quieter now, softer. “Kid, you know it’s not like that.”

But Dick shook his head, his fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tight with the weight of emotions he wasn’t ready to let go. “I don’t know anymore, Bruce. Not after all this. You’ve apparently done a lot of shitty things lately.” His voice cracked just a bit, the anger mixing with something deeper, something more painful. “Like giving Robin away without asking me. My mom gave me that name. Not you.”

Jason’s stomach dropped at the words. He felt like an intruder, someone who had stolen something sacred without even realizing it. A fresh wave of guilt crashed over him, and he couldn’t hold back the shallow, panicked breaths that were coming faster now, his chest rising and falling too quickly.

Bruce’s apology came, but it was too late. “I didn’t think, Dick. I’m so sorry.”

But Dick wasn’t having it. His voice was ice cold now, laced with more anger than Jason had ever seen before. “It’s not yours to pass on just because you need a damn sword hanging over some kid’s head,” he spat, eyes blazing with the betrayal that was clearly tearing him apart. “Robin is worth more than that. You’re turning something that was good into something really shitty if you use it like that. You’re hurting him.”

As Dick’s words pierced the air, Jason felt his world tilt dangerously. The panic was overwhelming now, each breath feeling harder to take than the last. His hands trembled violently as he clutched his chest, struggling to breathe, his mind racing with the thought that Bruce was going to take it all away, and there’d be nothing left for him. His throat tightened as the room seemed to close in on him, everything too hot, too sharp, too much. He was suffocating under the weight of it all, and he couldn’t make it stop.

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the sound of Jason’s ragged, uneven breathing. Dick’s anger still hung in the air, but it was muted now, like even he had realized how badly this conversation had gone off the rails.

Bruce took a step forward, his voice low and careful as he tried to soothe the tension in the room. “Jason…” He moved to kneel beside him, his eyes full of something Jason couldn’t place—regret, maybe, or something deeper. “You don’t have to be Robin to belong here. That was never the deal. Robin… Robin is a choice. Not a condition.”

But Jason was too far gone, too lost in the spiral of panic to hear the words clearly. All he could think about was how close he was to losing everything, how fragile his place in this house really was. Without Robin, he was nothing.

He could hear Dick’s voice, softer now, distant. “He‘s panicking, Bruce.”

Bruce shifted closer, his movements slow and deliberate, trying not to startle Jason further. He placed a steady hand on Jason’s shoulder, grounding him with the touch, though Jason barely seemed to register it. His breathing was still erratic, shallow gasps pulling in too little air, eyes wide and unfocused.

“Jason,” Bruce’s voice was low, calm. “I need you to listen to me, okay?” His hand squeezed Jason’s shoulder gently. “I’m right here with you. Just breathe with me. Can you do that?”

Jason didn’t respond. His mind was spinning, his chest heaving as the panic clutched at him, tight and suffocating.

Bruce kept his voice even, steady. “Follow my breath. In… and out. Slowly.” He exaggerated his breathing, making it loud and deliberate. “In… and out.”

Jason’s breaths were still too fast, but he twitched, his body trying to follow the rhythm even as his mind stayed trapped in fear. Bruce didn’t let up, his tone never wavering. “In… and out. You’re safe here, Jason. I’ve got you.”

The room was silent except for Bruce’s deep, measured breaths and Jason’s ragged gasps, but slowly, painfully slowly, Jason’s breathing began to sync with Bruce’s, each exhale a little less panicked than the last.

“Good,” Bruce murmured, nodding slightly, though Jason still wasn’t quite seeing him. “You’re doing good. Now, I want you to look around. Tell me what you see. Anything.”

Jason blinked, his eyes darting around the room, still glazed with panic. His voice was hoarse when he finally managed to whisper, “The… the table.”

“Good,” Bruce encouraged softly. “What else?”

Jason swallowed hard, his gaze shifting slightly, still shaky. “Um… the window.”

“Right. The window.” Bruce’s hand moved gently to Jason’s back, steadying him. “You’re doing great. What else can you see? Something close by.”

Jason’s breaths were still uneven, but the focus seemed to be helping. His eyes fell on his plate. “The… the plate,” he mumbled.

“That’s right,” Bruce said, his tone never changing, calm and reassuring. “Now, what can you feel? Focus on your body. Your hands, your feet.”

Jason hesitated, his mind struggling to pull away from the panic, but he forced himself to follow Bruce’s instructions. “My… hands. On the chair.” His grip was still tight, fingers digging into the wood.

“Good,” Bruce said, nodding again. “Feel the chair. Focus on the weight of it, the texture. What else can you feel?”

Jason’s breathing hitched, but it was slower now, more controlled. “My… feet. On the floor.”

“That’s it,” Bruce murmured. “You’re here, Jason. You’re right here, with your feet on the ground. You’re safe.” His voice was unwavering, a steady anchor in the chaos of Jason’s mind.

Jason’s breath hitched again, but it wasn’t the frantic gasping it had been before. His chest still felt tight, but the overwhelming pressure was starting to ease. He could hear Bruce’s voice more clearly now, the grounding weight of his hand steadying him.

“What can you smell?” Bruce asked gently, keeping Jason focused on the physical, on the present.

Jason blinked again, his breaths slowing. He inhaled shakily. “Food,” he whispered. “The food.”

“Yeah,” Bruce said softly, “the food. You’re doing good, Jason. Just keep focusing. What else?”

Jason swallowed hard, trying to calm the last traces of panic still bubbling in his chest. “The… the air. It smells like… wood. From the fire.”

Bruce’s hand never left Jason’s back, its warmth anchoring him further. “That’s right,” he said quietly. “Keep focusing on those things. The smells, your hands, your feet on the ground. You’re here. You’re safe.”

Jason’s breathing had steadied, no longer the frantic gasps it had been. His heart was still pounding, but the panic was starting to release its grip on him, leaving behind a shaky exhaustion. Dick was still there, sitting down again. Not screaming anymore.

Bruce stayed with him, breathing in rhythm until Jason’s breath finally matched the steady cadence. The room was quiet again, but this time, it was a calmer, more grounded silence.

Jason leaned back into the chair, still feeling the weight of it beneath him, still hearing the steady rhythm of Bruce’s breath beside him. He wasn’t okay, not fully, but he wasn’t drowning anymore either.

Jason’s fingers loosened from the napkin that had been twisted in his lap. His muscles still trembled with the aftermath of the panic, but the sharp edge of fear had dulled to a tired ache. He wasn’t sure what to say—if there even was anything to say.

Jason could feel Dick’s gaze on him, softer now, but still intense  

Dick exhaled slowly, his voice more tentative now, like he was testing the waters, trying not to set off another wave of tension. “Jason… I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at Bruce.” His eyes flicked to Bruce, the lingering frustration evident, but softer now. “I should’ve handled that better. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Jason’s heart lurched in his chest, his throat tightening painfully. He didn’t know how to process that. Dick wasn’t mad at him? That couldn’t be right. He could feel the weight of his own shame pressing down on him, like something he couldn’t shake. He’d tried to take Robin without even asking. That was practically like stealing. The thought twisted in his gut, his mind echoing the words that haunted him—alley trash.

He swallowed hard, struggling to force the words out, his voice small and hesitant when he finally spoke. “I just… I thought…” The sentence trailed off into silence, the words sticking in his throat. He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to say. The feeling was too big, too heavy.

Bruce’s voice broke through the quiet, his tone calm, but weighted with something Jason didn’t quite understand. “Jason, Robin is a choice. Not a condition.” Bruce’s eyes softened as they locked on Jason’s. “I should’ve made that clearer.”

Jason’s gaze flicked up, uncertainty clouding his eyes. “But… Dick…” His voice cracked, the embarrassment clear, his words stammering out in pieces. “It’s… it’s his.”

A flicker of guilt crossed Bruce’s face. He hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. That was my other mistake. I should have asked Dick before offering Robin to you.”

Jason’s stomach twisted, a wave of confusion hitting him. “I just wanted to be useful,” he whispered, his voice still weak, as if he was waiting for the ground to fall out beneath him.

Jason’s mind raced, scrambling to make sense of it all. It didn’t click. Why would Bruce give him Robin—such a clear, important task, a responsibility—and then turn around and say it wasn’t about earning a place? That didn’t make sense. Why would Bruce get him all these things, spend so much money on clothes, food, the fancy room, freaking Gotham Academy —when Robin was just a choice? Who, in his right mind, would cash out that much money on a random kid for nothing?

Jason’s thoughts spiraled. Nothing in his life had ever been free. Everything came with strings attached.

Dick’s jaw tightened, the frustration he’d been trying to hold back flaring up again. “That’s not how it works, Jay,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “He’s not supposed to make you feel like you have to earn a place here.”

Jason’s brow furrowed, confusion washing over his features. He still didn’t get it. How could that not be how it worked? He glanced between them, then down at his hands. His voice came out quieter, almost fragile. “I really wanted to stay,” he said, struggling to make them understand. “You were nice, and you gave me food and a bed and… Alfred got me workbooks. Just like you promised. No one ever stuck to their promises before.”

The room fell silent for a beat, the air thick with the weight of Jason’s words. Bruce’s face softened, the realization of just how deeply Jason had misunderstood settling in.

Bruce started to speak, his throat tight with regret, but before he could, Dick cut in, his voice surprisingly gentle despite the tension that had just flared between them moments ago.

“Bruce is a big dumb sometimes,” Dick said with a half-hearted smile, eyes still flicking over to Bruce, the frustration not completely gone. “He doesn’t always get it—what we’re really saying when we say something else.” He shot a pointed look at his father, but there was something softer in his gaze now. Understanding, maybe. “But here’s the thing, Jay—when he makes a promise? He keeps it. Always.”

Jason’s eyes flickered toward him, unsure.

“He told you he’d care for you, right? He meant that,” Dick continued, his voice steady now, but not pushing. “No strings attached. You don‘t have to do anything at all for him to keep his word.”

Jason sat there, his mind buzzing, trying to absorb what Dick was saying. It sounded absurd.

Mom had loved him, sure, but her addiction had wrapped itself around her love like a vice, squeezing it into something Jason couldn’t trust.

It was the kind of love that promised warmth, but often came too late—when she was too tired, too strung out, too lost in the haze to remember promises she’d made. Her love squeezed tight when it showed up, desperate and urgent, but it slipped just as quickly through her fingers.

Jason had learned young that her love was a thing he couldn’t count on, not because she didn’t care, but because she couldn’t. Her addiction had her in its grip, and it wrapped around her like a suffocating vine.

And his dad—his dad had loved him too. Jason was sure of it, in a way that a kid instinctively knows, but his father’s love was a different kind of fragile. It was buried under the weight of his own anger, frustration, and fear. He wasn’t a bad man, but he was a man with too too many broken dreams, and too little ability to handle any of it.

He’d grown up rough, uneducated, with fists as his only answer to problems he didn’t know how to solve. His anger wasn’t born from hate—it was born from helplessness, the crushing pressure of feeling like everything was slipping out of control.

When his frustration boiled over, it was his fists that did the talking, not because he wanted to hurt Jason, but because he didn’t know how else to make the world around him stop falling apart.

Both of them had loved Jason, in their own broken ways. But their love was unreliable, shaped by heir trauma. They were too young, too overwhelmed, and too lost in their own struggles to offer Jason the kind of security he needed.

His mom’s warmth flickered like a candle in the wind, and his dad’s affection was buried under layers of resentment toward the life he couldn’t fix. Jason had learned early on that relying on them—or on anyone—would only lead to disappointment. Their love, like everything else in his life, was something that could vanish when things got hard.

But now here was Dick—Bruce’s kid—telling him that Bruce was different. That he could trust him. It didn’t add up. Why would Bruce promise that? Why would anyone? It‘s not like they loved him or anything. Not like mom and dad did.

Jason’s gaze flitted to Bruce, who was watching him carefully.

“You really mean that?” Jason finally mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. “That he’ll… just keep his word? No matter what?” It was to good to be true. Jason just didn‘t get that lucky.

Dick nodded, leaning in a little closer, his smile still there, but gentler now. “Yeah, Jay. I do. I‘m super angry at him right now but between you and me, I told him to shove Robin where the sun didn‘t shine just a couple weeks ago. Giving it to you is a whole lot better!“

Jason’s brow furrowed. “But I’m not… I’m not even good at this. I mess up, I’m slow, I don’t…” His voice cracked, frustration and fear tangled up in his words. “Why would you be okay with that?”

“I always wanted a little brother,” Dick laughed and before Jason couldn’t even think about that elefant in the room , a voice broke the silence.

“Gentlemen,” Alfred announced from the doorway, his tone warm and unhurried, as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired. “Your food has grown cold, I’m afraid. Of course, I can reheat it for you, but if you will, dessert is waiting. I prepared cinnamon buns.”

Jason’s automatic instinct was to say he could eat the dinner cold—no problem. He was used to it. He could also go with Alfred to reheat it, just like Bruce had done a couple of nights ago when they were both still figuring out how to coexist. But before he could speak, Dick perked up like an overgrown puppy.

“With vanilla cream cheese frosting?” Dick asked, hope brightening his tone.

Alfred gave a slight, knowing smile. “Master Richard, how could I possibly forgo the cream cheese frosting? I shall prepare a dish for each of you at once. Would you fancy some tea, Master Jason? A calming blend, perhaps, to accompany your dessert”

Jason hesitated, glancing up at Alfred’s patient, unwavering gaze. The warmth in the offer felt safe, like the quiet hum of a heater in the dead of winter, but he wasn’t used to it. He shifted in his seat, unsure how to accept without feeling like he was imposing, like he was asking for more than he deserved.

“I—uh, sure, tea’s good,” he mumbled, trying to sound casual, but the uncertainty was still there, tugging at the edges of his voice. He wasn’t sure how else to respond. Was it rude to ask for tea? He wasn’t used to this kind of attention.

Alfred gave a small nod, ever so graceful in his movements, as though Jason’s hesitance was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Very well, then. I shall return shortly.” And with that, he turned and left, leaving a comfortable quiet in his wake.

With that, Alfred turned toward the kitchen, leaving Jason sitting there, still processing the warmth of it all—the tea, the cinnamon buns, the offer without expectations. He could hear Dick muttering something about Alfred being the real hero in the house, but Jason barely registered it. The room felt heavy with all the things he didn’t understand but desperately wanted to believe in.

Bruce caught his eye again, his gaze steady but soft. Jason’s heart was still heavy, but as he glanced at Dick and Bruce, who both looked at him like he mattered, something inside him warmed in a way it hadn’t in a long long time.

Chapter Text

Jason sat on the farthest edge of the family den’s oversized couch, back straight, his hands folded tightly in his lap. He wasn’t sure why he felt so on edge, but his heart had been racing since they left the dinner table. It had been a quiet affair after the tense conversation earlier, and the warm cinnamon buns Alfred had brought were a brief but pleasant distraction.

Now, though, it was just him, Dick, and Bruce, and that awkward silence had settled back in. He stared at the enormous TV across the room, feeling small, unsure if he should make himself comfortable or just stay perched on the edge of the couch like this.

He glanced sideways at Bruce, who was sitting on the opposite side, leaning back into the cushions as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Jason felt a knot twist tighter in his chest. He’d been fine watching a movie with Bruce before, felt comfortable even—cuddled up in a blanket with his feet propped up. But that was different.

Dick was here now.

Dick, who’d been kind to him. Cool, even. And Jason liked him. He really did. But Dick had history with Bruce. He was the original Robin. He belonged here in a way Jason didn’t, a way Jason never could. And no matter how much Dick smiled at him, no matter how easygoing he seemed, Jason couldn’t shake the feeling that he was in the way.

Dick re-entered the room with two large bowls of popcorn in one arm and three sodas balanced precariously in the other hand. He grinned when he saw Jason still sitting upright on the edge of the couch. “You’re gonna break your back sitting like that, Jay.” He plopped down in the middle of the couch and handed one of the bowls to Jason before leaning back. “Come on, get comfy. I don’t bite. And Bruce is, like, half asleep already.”

Jason snuck a glance at Bruce, who wasn’t asleep but certainly seemed relaxed enough to be. His feet were propped up on the coffee table, his eyes half-lidded.

Jason swallowed hard and shifted his position, cautiously pulling his legs up under him. He let himself sink back into the cushions just a little, testing it out. Nothing happened. Dick didn’t comment, and Bruce didn’t seem to notice. The tension in Jason’s shoulders began to ease, and after a moment, he even reached for the blanket at the end of the couch and pulled it over his lap.

There. That wasn’t so bad.

“See?” Dick said with a grin, handing Jason a soda. “Way better.”

Jason nodded, taking the soda, though he kept it close to his chest, unsure if he should actually drink it yet.  He watched as Dick flipped through the movie options, scrolling through an endless selection of titles. “Alright, Jay, your call. What are we watching?”

Jason blinked, caught off guard. His call? He hadn’t expected that. “Uh…” He glanced nervously between Dick and Bruce, then at the TV. “I… don’t really know. Whatever you guys want.”

“Nah, come on, you pick,” Dick said, nudging Jason lightly with his elbow.

Jason hesitated for a long moment. It was a simple enough question, but the weight of it felt bigger. Dick wanted him to pick. Like it actually mattered what he wanted to watch. His stomach flipped, that old sense of wariness creeping in.

Finally, he muttered, “I… I like action movies.” Safe Coice. Every guy liked action movies.

“Good choice,” Dick said without missing a beat. “Action it is.” He clicked through the options and pulled up Fast & Furious . “Can’t go wrong with a classic, right?”

Jason found himself nodding before he even realized it. “Yeah. That’s… that’s good.”

“Perfect,” Dick said, grinning as he hit play. He settled back into the cushions, the opening credits starting to roll. “We’re in for a good one.”

As the movie played, the roaring engines and over-the-top stunts filling the room, Jason gradually let himself sink further into the cushions. Dick was cool. Dick was nice to him. And maybe it was okay to let his guard down.

Jason tugged the blanket tighter around his shoulders, feeling the soft warmth against his skin. It was strange, this sense of safety—this feeling like he could just be without the constant need to brace for something to go wrong. It was like waiting for a punch that never came.

“Are you cold, Jason?”

The quiet concern in Bruce’s voice caught him off guard. Jason blinked, glancing over, and saw Bruce looking at him, not at the movie. His gaze wasn’t hard or distant like Jason sometimes expected—it was soft, like he really actually cared. Jason wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

“Uh, no. I’m okay,” Jason mumbled, though his grip on the blanket tightened just a little.

Bruce didn’t seem convinced. Without a word, he grabbed his phone, swiping across the screen a few times. “I turned the heating up,” he said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Here and in your room too. There’s an app on your tablet—you can regulate the temperature yourself whenever you want. We updated it in all the family rooms a couple of years ago.”

Jason stared at him, processing. He could control the heating? It was a simple thing, but it hit him hard. Back home, half the time the heating didn’t work, and when it didn’t, Jason was never sure if it was just broken again or if his mom hadn’t paid the bill. She’d always say it was fine, and then suddenly, she’d have just enough cash for her next fix. Jason never asked questions—it was easier that way.

Before he could respond, Dick chimed in, stopping the movie mid-action scene. “Right, the great ‘Bruce Wayne Discovers Smart Homes’ saga,” he said, rolling his eyes with a grin. “I was living here, minding my business, and all of a sudden, Bruce orders everything to be upgraded—lights, heating, TV—everything became voice-activated. Freaked me out. One minute I’m getting a snack, next thing I know, the TV’s talking back to me.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh, it was,” Dick insisted, tossing a handful of popcorn in his mouth and smirking. “Until Alfred put a stop to it when you tried upgrading his kitchen. You know how he is with his space.” Dick turned to Jason with a wink. “Now, everything stays in the family wing—and the Batcave, obviously.”

Jason couldn’t help but grin. The thought of Bruce being excited about something like smart home tech was funny. He’d always thought of Bruce as more of a stoic, old-school type of guy, but seeing this side of him—it was… nice.

But at the same time, it was overwhelming. Jason had grown up worrying about whether or not the heat would even be on, or if the water would get cut off. The idea of controlling the temperature with a swipe of his finger was so far from what he was used to.

He glanced over at Dick, who had casually pressed play on the movie again, like nothing had happened. He tossed popcorn into his mouth, completely at ease, like he’d seen this film a million times. It took Jason a second to realize—Dick had paused the movie for him. So he wouldn’t miss anything.

That was pretty freaking nice.

Jason hesitated for a moment, glancing at the bowl of popcorn Dick had casually placed near his legs, right on the upholstery of the couch. He shifted, eyeing it like he wasn’t quite sure it was meant for him, but the soft buttery smell and the quiet rumble of his stomach pushed him to take a chance. Slowly, Jason reached out and grabbed a small handful, careful not to spill any on the pristine couch.

The saltiness hit his tongue immediately, grounding him. He hadn’t realized how hungry he still was, but with each bite, the tension in his shoulders eased just a little more.

From the corner of his eye, Jason noticed Dick watching him for a split second, just long enough to catch him snacking. Dick’s grin widened, warm and easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Told ya, these movies never get old,” he said, his voice light and teasing as one of the characters on screen defied all logic with a wild car stunt.

Jason snorted softly, his lips twitching into a smirk despite himself. He didn’t have to force a laugh—Dick had that kind of energy that made it hard not to feel a little more at ease.

“Yeah, they’re… kinda fun.”

“That’s the spirit,” Dick said, settling in further. He didn’t push, didn’t ask questions, didn’t make Jason feel like he had to fill the silence. And for that, Jason was grateful.

Minutes passed, and Jason found himself getting more comfortable. The movie played on, full of explosions and impossible feats, but Jason’s mind wandered, caught between the absurdity on the screen and the calm around him.

And soon enough, he was grinning at some of the absurd moments, the ridiculous one-liners and gravity-defying car chases.

But then, just as Jason felt his shoulders drop, his body easing back into the couch with a kind of relaxation that came unexpected, Bruce’s voice cut through again.

“Still hungry?” Bruce asked, his tone neutral but carrying enough weight to make Jason pause. Jasons grin faltered.

He’d had been in the middle of reaching for another handful of popcorn, fingers brushing against the kernels. His hand froze, and a flicker of doubt crept in. Was Bruce hinting at something? Was he eating too much? Popcorn wasn’t free—maybe he shouldn’t have eaten so much of it. Or maybe he should’ve eaten his leftover dinner instead. Had Alfred saved it in the fridge for later, or just thrown it out? His chest tightened at the thought.

He blinked, forcing himself to meet Bruce’s gaze. “No?” Jason muttered, though it came out more like a question than an answer. His voice was quieter, unsure.

Dick snorted from his side, and Jason quickly glanced at him, wondering if he’d missed something. Dick grinned wide, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement as he tossed a piece of popcorn in the air, catching it effortlessly in his mouth. “Jeez, Bruce,” he said, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe his dad. “Chill. You’re gonna smother the kid.”

Jason’s eyes flicked between the two of them, confusion swirling. Smother him? Bruce was smothering him?

Bruce gave Dick a look, the kind that should’ve shut him down, but the sharpness wasn’t there. It was soft, maybe even a little guilty. “I’m just checking,” Bruce said, his voice quieter now, as though he was trying to explain without saying too much.

Jason, still holding the popcorn, let the moment hang for a beat longer, unsure if he was supposed to laugh or something. But Dick didn’t seem bothered, his legs now stretched out comfortably as he threw another piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Are you good, Jay,” Dick asked.

“I’m good,” he said.

“See?” Dick said with a wink, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “He’s good. Let the kid eat his popcorn in peace, Bruce.”

Bruce just sighed, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he leaned back into the couch

For Jason it felt like a quiet permission. The tension Jason had felt slowly started to melt away again. Maybe Bruce wasn’t mad at him. Maybe he really was just checking. Making sure that Jason wasn’t satisfying his hunger with junk food.

Jason’s hand drifted back to the popcorn, more tentative this time, and he took a few pieces, carefully chewing as he turned his attention back to the movie.

Bruce, still quiet, shifted slightly. He wasn’t watching the movie as intently as Dick and every so often, his gaze would flick toward Jason, as if making sure he was still okay. And somehow, that attention didn’t feel bad.

About halfway through the film, Dick got up to refill the popcorn and grab more drinks. “You want anything else, Jay? More soda? Another snack?”

Jason hesitated for a moment, glancing between Dick and Bruce. The offer caught him off guard, and he wasn’t sure how to respond. The idea of asking for more felt strange, almost like he didn’t want to push his luck. But Dick was being casual about it, like it was no big deal, and Bruce hadn’t said anything.

Jason swallowed. “Uh… more soda’s, if that’s okay?”

“Coming right up,” Dick said with a wink, disappearing into the kitchen. His lighthearted energy filled the room, and Jason found himself relaxing a little more, the tension slowly unwinding.

Bruce shifted slightly, still sitting nearby, his attention now fully on Jason.

“You okay, Jason?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

Jason nodded, though he wasn’t sure how much of that was true. He wasn’t panicking anymore, wasn’t on edge, even kinda relaxed and enjoying the movie, but there was still this uncertainty under the surface, like he didn’t know how long this safety would last. “Yeah. I’m okay,” he said, voice soft.

Bruce didn’t press further, just gave a slight nod, his gaze holding steady for a moment longer before turning back to the screen. Jason breathed out slowly and tugged the blanket closer again, feeling its warmth wrap around him. It wasn’t just the blanket, though. It was the whole room. The whole situation. He hadn’t felt as safe as this for a long long time.

Dick returned with a tray, balancing a bowl of fresh popcorn and drinks. “Alright, stocked up and ready for round two,” he announced, flopping back onto the couch with exaggerated flair, sliding the bowl toward Jason. “I even brought the good stuff—root beer floats. You’re welcome.”

Jason couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at his lips. “Thanks,” he mumbled, accepting the soda and taking a sip. It was cold and sweet, the kind of treat he hadn’t had in a long time. Moms boss, back when she’d still been working in the diner, had sometimes treated him to a milkshake. It had special, just like it did now, even though to Dick it probably wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

“Alright, let’s get back to it,” Dick said, settling back in with a satisfied grin. “This is the part where they do the insane heist, and the laws of physics just stop existing.”

Jason nodded, letting himself sink back into the couch. His feet found a more comfortable spot tucked under the blanket.

Bruce and Dick were close, but they didn’t feel suffocating. For once, Jason didn’t feel like he had to fight for space or hold his breath waiting for the worst. The blanket was warm, the roat beer float was sweet and yummi and the movie was great. Jason loved cars and this one was all about it.

Chapter Text

After the movie ended, Bruce shifted forward in his chair, his gaze flicking briefly to the clock. The movement was subtle, but it signaled a change—like flipping a switch from relaxation to duty. “We need to get ready for patrol,” he said, his voice steady, a quiet authority behind it that always made Jason sit up a little straighter.

Dick, lounging comfortably beside Jason, stretched his arms lazily, letting out a contented sigh. “Yeah, time to suit up,” he agreed, the words rolling off his tongue with ease. Then, with a playful grin, he turned toward Jason, his eyes bright with mischief. “So, what do you think, Jay? Want to come with us tonight?”

Jason blinked, caught completely off guard. His heart stuttered for a beat, his mind racing to catch up with the offer. He instinctively looked at Bruce, seeking some kind of confirmation, or maybe permission.

Bruce had been clear before—Jason wasn’t ready for this yet. He was not allowed to come with until he was stronger, faster, until he had more training. More stamina. More discipline. Jason didn’t want to push it, didn’t want to be a burden or slow them down. After all, he knew better than anyone that he was far from Robin material. He didn’t want to mess anything up by getting in the way.

But instead of the frown or stern look Jason had expected, Bruce met his gaze and nodded, his expression calm, unreadable. “You can come,” Bruce said, his voice steady and deliberate, as if he had already thought it over. “Dick will be with you, and if anything gets dangerous, he’ll take you home. It’s a slow night anyway.”

Jason felt a jolt of excitement surge through him, mixing with the flutter of nerves. They were actually inviting him. He was coming with them.

“Okay,” Jason replied quickly, his voice a little too eager. He swallowed and nodded again, more firmly this time. “I’ll… I’ll get ready.”

Bruce smiled slightly, not the full kind, but that subtle, almost hidden smile that was barely there unless you knew what to look for.

“Dress warm,” Bruce added, his tone softening, a hint of concern creeping in. “It’s cold out.”

Jason didn’t need to be told twice. He was already halfway up the stairs before he even realized it, the excitement thrumming through his veins. His feet barely touched the steps as he darted into his room. He yanked open the dresser drawer, pulling out the thickest hoodie he owned. He layered it with a long-sleeved shirt, and for good measure, he doubled up on socks, a trick he’d learned back on the streets during the winter months. If nothing else, at least his feet wouldn’t freeze.

He grabbed his new red beanie from the bed, pulling it over his head and adjusting it. Not thinking twice about it. Bruce had told him to dress warm. He wanted Jason to use the stuff he bought him. And Jason was so exited to be out with them!

Jason he made his way back down to grab his thick parka and his shoes before he made his way up to Bruce’s study.

Both Bruce and Dick were already there, dressed in sleek black thermals. Jason had to admit, they looked pretty cool. He knew they’d be putting their costumes on over the thermal gear, which made the whole thing even more impressive. It was like they were superheroes underneath everything, even before the suits went on.

“Ready?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow as Jason approached.

Jason nodded, unable to suppress a small grin. “Yeah.”

They headed downstairs together, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls of the narrow passage as they descended into the Batcave.

Jason’s breath caught in his throat, the sheer scale of it still overwhelming. The cold air brushed against his skin, carrying with it the scent of oil and leather, and the distant hum of the Batcomputer filled the cavern.

He’d been down here before, had even slept down here but he had been too cold and scared and hungry to really see beyond that. Tonight, though, was different. Tonight, he was wide awake, ready to take it all in. He wouldn’t miss a single thing!

While Bruce and Dick began suiting up, Jason took a moment to marvel at everything. He looked around with fresh eyes. The Batcomputer loomed like a command center from a sci-fi film, its multiple screens displaying live feeds and coded data, their glow casting a pale blue light across the room. Rows of sleek vehicles were lined up—each one a masterpiece of engineering. Fast & Furious was nothing against that.

It was like stepping into a completely different world, one he hadn’t fully understood before, but desperatly wanted to be part of.

Dick, halfway into his Nightwing suit, glanced back at Jason, catching him in mid-marvel. With an easy grin, he tossed a wink over his shoulder.

“You’re riding with me tonight, Jay,” he said, tugging the blue emblem into place on his chest. “Promise we’ll keep it smooth—no Fast & Furious tricks. Well… maybe one or two.”

Jason couldn’t help but grin back, the nervous energy in his stomach loosening a bit. “I’ll hold you to that.” he shot back, his voice steady but laced with excitement.

Dick turned to Bruce with a mock-serious expression. “Did you hear that, B? We’ve got ourselves a little thrill-seeker in the making.”

Bruce, now fully suited in his Batman gear, cut a sharp glance at Dick, though there was something softer behind the cowl’s stern eyes. “Stay close to Nightwing,” he instructed Jason, his voice firm but calm. “This is about watching and learning, not taking risks.” Then, turning to Dick, he added, “Nightwing, no stunts.”

Jason felt the seriousness in Bruce’s tone like a weight pressing on his chest. He nodded quickly. “I got it. No risks.”

But Dick, seemingly immune to Bruce’s gravity, smirked, strapping on his gauntlets with exaggerated nonchalance. “Come on, B, lighten up. Gotta show the kid what these bikes can do. First time out should be fun.”

Bruce sighed, his usual composure cracking just a little. “Nightwing, please.” His voice carried the quiet exasperation of someone used to dealing with Dick’s antics.

“Relax, old man. I won’t let anything happen to your precious baby bird,” Dick shot back with a grin, though the teasing made Jason’s ears burn.

His cheeks flushed as he shifted uncomfortably. He knew Dick was just teasing, but the words hung heavy in the air. The idea of being Bruce’s “precious” kid felt wrong. He was just a boy Bruce had taken pity on. Nothing special about him, nothing precious.

Bruce wasn’t being overprotective because Jason was important—he was just trying to make sure he didn’t screw things up.

Jason forced the thought aside, tugging his red beanie down a little lower. He didn’t want to give Bruce any reason to think this was a mistake, didn’t want him to second-guess inviting him along. Bruce had set the rules, and Jason wasn’t about to break them.

The air in the cave hummed with anticipation as Bruce handed Jason a sleek, black helmet. The matte finish caught the dim light, and Jason could feel its weight as he gripped it. He turned it over in his hands, noticing the small earpiece tucked inside. “This is your comm,” Bruce said, his voice carrying the same serious tone. “You’ll be able to hear us, and we’ll hear you. It’s simple—just press this button if you need to talk.”

Jason nodded, slipping the helmet on over his beanie, making sure tge earpierce sat secure againts his ear. The helmet fit snugly, the padding pressing against his temples. His heartbeat quickened, the buzz a constant reminder of how real this was becoming. Bruce’s hands, steady as ever, adjusted the helmet and checked the earpiece, his silent approval palpable in the brief squeeze he gave Jason’s shoulder.

A black domino mask was next, fitting smoothly over Jason’s eyes. It felt like an unspoken weight, a signal that tonight was different, that he was stepping into something more.

“No names,” Bruce said firmly, his deep voice grounding Jason. “You call me Batman, and you call him Nightwing,” Bruce’s eyes flicked to Dick, “Nightwing, what his name? Your call.”

Dick stayed quiet for a moment, securing his helmet before he turned to Jason. His expression was serious. Jason held his breath, waiting, his heart thudding against his ribs.

Finally, the playful glint in Dicks eyes was back as he gave Jason a small smile.

“I think you’ll make one hell of a Robin.” Dick shot with a grin as he secured his own domino mask.

“Robin?” Jason repeated quietly, feeling the weight of it in his mouth. “Are… you sure?”

Jason looked over at Bruce, expecting to see some sign of disapproval, but Bruce just nodded once, his gaze steady. “It’s yours,” Bruce confirmed. “If you want it.”

Jason’s throat tightened. “Yes!” he blurted, the word escaping before he could second-guess himself. He wasn’t ready to live up to the name, not yet—not the way Dick had, not the way they expected him to. But he he’d make damn sure that one day he was ready. He owed it to them, to Bruce, and to the legacy of Dick’s mom. One day, he’d be worthy of Robin.

Dick gave Jason a thumbs-up. “Looking sharp, Robin. Ready for the ride of your life?”

Jason swallowed, the nerves still fluttering in his stomach, but he managed a smile. “Yeah. Ready.”

“Good,” Dick said with a wink, his carefree demeanor lightening the atmosphere.

Bruce, in full Batman mode now, shot a dry look in Dick’s direction. “Helmets stay on, Nightwing. And Robin—” He turned to Jason, his voice carrying that calm authority that left no room for argument. “You do what we say. If we tell you to run, you run. If we tell you to hide, you hide. No discussions in the field. Got it?”

“Yes!” Jason straightened, determined. He’d show them just how well he could follow orders. No messing this up. This wasn’t just an outing. This was the first test of Jason in the field. He would not fuck this up.

With helmets securely fastened, Dick and Jason followed Bruce toward the bikes, the cave stretching out around them like an endless, shadow-filled cathedral. Dick’s bike gleamed under the sharp overhead lights—dark blue, sleek, and built for speed. It looked like something out of a dream, powerful and dangerous.

Jason paused for a second, taking it all in before he carefully climbed onto the back. The seat was smooth, the leather cool beneath his fingers. His heart pounded in his chest, the anticipation and nerves mingling until it was hard to tell which was which.

As Dick settled into the driver’s seat, the bike roared to life with a deep, bone-rattling rumble that reverberated through Jason’s entire body. He gripped the handlebars at his sides, feeling the vibrations hum through his fingertips, his breath catching for a split second. This was it. He wasn’t just some kid from the streets tonight.

Tonight, he was Robin.

Bruce’s Batmobile started up with a low, throaty growl, but Jason’s focus remained fixed on the bike beneath him, the power of it humming under his legs. Dick glanced back, his grin as wide as ever, eyes twinkling with the promise of something more.

“Hold on tight, Robin!” Dick’s voice crackled through the comms as the bike roared out of the Batcave, the rush of wind slapping against them as they shot out into the cold Gotham night.

Jason’s heart hammered in his chest, his pulse thrumming in his ears as the city blurred by. Streetlights smeared into streaks of gold, and dark alleys seemed to merge into one. For the first few moments, it was exhilarating—a strange mix of surreal and thrilling to be out here, riding through Gotham not as some nameless kid, but as Robin. He was in this, part of the action.

But then Dick revved the engine.

The bike lurched, and Jason barely had time to brace himself as they careened into a sharp turn. The tires screeched against the asphalt, hugging the edge of the alley as Dick leaned into the curve. Jason’s stomach flipped, a gasp catching in his throat as the world tilted with the motion.

“Nightwing!” Jason shouted, gripping the seat so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Batman said no stunts!” His voice was edged with panic, the excitement of the moment now tinged with fear. If Bruce found out—when Bruce found out—he’d be pissed. Jason couldn’t afford to mess this up, not on his first night out.

But Dick just laughed, the sound carefree and crackling with adrenaline through the comms. “Relax, little bird! I’ve got this!” His voice was light, completely unfazed by the risk.

Jason’s heart sank. Dick had nothing to lose. Not like Jason. Jason had to show that he could stick to the rules. But it was still Dicks bike, so Jason shut his mouth while the bike sliced through the streets. Dick was weaving it in and out of alleys like they were nothing and it made Jason’s gut twist with exitment and wariness alike. Every corner they took, every screech of the tires against the pavement, Jason’s grip tightened on the seat, his mind already imagining the conversation that would come if they got back with even the slightest scratch on the bike. Bruce would have questions. And he wasn’t ready for those.

Before Jason could yell at Dick again, Bruce’s voice cut through the comms, firm and cold as ice. “Nightwing. Stop the stunts. Now.”

Jason’s breath caught, and the weight of Bruce’s words hung over him like a cloud. They were in trouble. He felt his chest tighten with anxiety, his pulse thudding in his throat. The last thing he wanted was to give Bruce a reason to regret bringing him. He wasn’t Robin yet—not really. He was just some kid playing at it, hoping he wouldn’t screw it all up. And now, with Dick pulling stunts, it felt like everything was spiraling.

“Nightwing, please,” Jason muttered under his breath, after the next curve Dick drifted, leaning closer to the older boys back. “You’re gonna get us both in trouble…”

Dick glanced back, his grin still broad beneath the helmet, like this was just any other night, no stakes, no pressure. “Jay, trust me. Bruce isn’t gonna get mad. Not at you.” His voice was light, casual, like they were out for a joyride, not barreling through the streets of Gotham on the verge of breaking all of Batman’s carefully laid-out rules.

But Jason didn’t trust that. How could he? His stomach churned, that familiar knot of anxiety tightening the farther they rode. Dick might’ve been able to laugh it off, but Jason couldn’t shake the feeling—the certainty—that he was going to get punished for this. Not maybe. Definitely.

Adults didn’t let things slide. They had rules, and rules existed to be followed. When you didn’t—when you slipped up—they made sure you understood just how badly you’d messed up. Jason knew that better than most. No one had ever just let him off.

He hadn’t learned things the easy way. It had been beaten into him. Kids didn’t just get away with breaking the rules. Kids needed to be punished. Otherwise, they wouldn’t learn. That’s what the streets had taught him—what adults had drilled into him every time he messed up. So Dick’s laid-back tone? It didn’t ease Jason’s nerves; it only made them worse. He shouldn’t be so calm about this.

Jason tightened his grip on the seat, fingers digging into the leather as the bike sped through Gotham’s dark streets. The sound of the engine roared in his ears, but it couldn’t drown out the pounding of his heart, the rising panic in his chest.

The bike slowed, just slightly, coasting onto a quieter street, the screech of the tires softening as they moved out of the chaos of the city. But Jason’s pulse didn’t ease. His gaze darted around the darkened alleys, expecting Bruce to descend at any moment, disappointment etched into his face, the reprimand waiting on his tongue.

Then, the comm crackled, Bruce’s voice coming through softer, quieter—almost… careful.

“Nightwing. Robin.”

Jason’s breath hitched at the sound of his name. Bruce had never said it like that before, and for a second, just a second, it threw him. The knot in his stomach pulled tighter as he braced for the punishment that had to be coming. He’d earned it.

But Bruce didn’t sound angry. He didn’t sound anything like the adults Jason had known. There was no harsh edge in his tone, no disappointment laced with frustration. Instead, Bruce’s voice was calm. “You are not in trouble Just… be careful. If you want to mess around a little, that’s fine. But don’t push it.”

Jason’s mind reeled. Not in trouble? That didn’t make any sense. Bruce had to be mad. Jason had broken the rules—or let Dick break them, and in his head, that was just as bad. Why wasn’t Bruce laying into them? Why wasn’t there some kind of consequence?

He wasn’t used to this. To… softness. To an adult saying they weren’t angry when Jason had done something wrong. Jason’s gut told him that punishment was necessary, that he deserved it for messing up. How else was he supposed to learn? If he wasn’t put back in line now, how could he be trusted next time?

Dick shot him another grin, completely unbothered. “See? I told you. Bruce trusts you, Jay. He’s not mad.”

But Jason couldn’t quite believe that. Dick was too easy-going about all of this, like it didn’t matter. But it did matter. Jason knew what happened when you didn’t follow the rules—it never ended well. Kids had to get punished, or they wouldn’t learn. That’s how the world worked. Dick just didn’t get it.

Bruce’s words still buzzed in his ear, that strange calm lingering like an echo. Jason squeezed his eyes shut for a second, trying to push back the surge of panic in his chest. He didn’t know how to deal with this—an adult who wasn’t punishing him when he deserved it. It left him off-balance, unsure. And that uncertainty was scarier than any punishment Bruce could have given.

But he’d been let off, apparently, for once and he was out with them on the back or Nightswings motorcycle. He was supposed to enjoy this. He’d been so exited. He wanted this.

“Now, let’s see what else this city has to offer,” Dick said, kicking the bike into motion again. They sped through the streets, Gotham unusually quiet. But for Jason, it didn’t matter—everything felt new and alive, even the silence.

They passed the towering skyline, the lights of the city casting long shadows as they zipped through the narrows and along the docks. Jason’s eyes darted to every corner, soaking it all in. He spotted a few shady figures lurking in the alleyways, but as soon as they heard the roar of the Batcycles, they disappeared into the shadows like ghosts.

Jason’s grip loosened slightly as he started to relax, the tension in his shoulders slowly ebbing away. The nervous energy gave way to a bubbling excitement. This was Gotham, his Gotham now, but from a whole new angle. Not as the scared kid on the streets dodging danger at every turn—but from this, the back of Nightwing’s bike, a part of something bigger.

Nightwing and him pulled up to a rooftop, climbing the fireescape, and Jason watched intently as Bruce took care of a minor scuffle between two rival gangs down below. It wasn’t what Jason expected—no flashy fight, no chaos. Bruce was… calm. Every movement was controlled, every word measured.

He broke them up before fists even flew, and the gang members slunk away like beaten dogs. Jason had never seen anything like it. Bruce wasn’t just some brute who muscled his way through everything. There was a method to what he did, a level of control Jason couldn’t wrap his head around. This was what it meant to wear the Bat symbol. This was something Jason hadn’t realized he needed to see.

The night stretched on, slow, but for Jason, it was anything but boring. He felt the shift, the weight of what he was stepping into. Just watching Bruce and Dick work side by side was enough to ignite something inside him—a spark of purpose, of belonging.

Two and a half hours later, Dick pulled the bike to a stop below Bruce, who had been perched on a rooftop ledge.

“Slow night,” Dick commented casually, flipping his visor up. “How about we call it? You finish up, and Robin and I grab a midnight burger?”

Bruce’s voice cut through the comms, dry and unamused. “It’s almost 2 a.m.”

“Then a two-o’clock burger,” Dick replied, flashing his usual grin. “Come on, B, don’t be a spoilsport.”

There was a long pause, and Jason held his breath, waiting for Bruce to shut it down, to remind them they were out here for work, not fun. But instead, Bruce sighed softly. “Go, boys. Have fun.”

Jason’s heart skipped. Go? Just like that? No punishment for earlier? No lecture? Just… burgers?

As Dick revved the engine again, Jason’s mind spun. He couldn’t believe it—after everything, after breaking rules and pushing limits, they were just being sent off to grab a burger? No consequences?

He clung a little tighter to Dick’s sides as they sped off again, the wind in his face doing little to calm the confusion swirling inside him. He kept waiting for something, anything, to go wrong—for Bruce to call them back, to change his mind and lecture Jason for letting Dick get out of hand. That’s what he was used to. There had to be consequences.

But there weren’t. Jason stared at the city lights passing by, the feeling of being trusted settling in like a foreign weight in his chest. He didn’t quite know what to do with it. It made no sense to him.

It was just a burger, just a late-night stop. But it felt like something more—it felt like freedom.

***

They pulled up to a 24-hour burger joint tucked away in a quieter corner of Gotham, the neon sign flickering a dull glow against the otherwise dark street. Jason slipped off the bike, his legs a little stiff from the ride. He followed Dick inside, the scent of greasy food immediately filling his nostrils. His stomach growled, but guilt gnawed at him harder.

He didn’t need a burger. He’d already had plenty that night—dinner, dessert, popcorn at the manor while they watched a movie earlier. It was more than enough. And now… now Dick was treating him to more?

Jason hung back as Dick approached the counter, scanning the menu overhead with an easy grin. “Two cheeseburger meals. Large fries, extra pickles on mine. Oh, and two chocolate milkshakes.”

Jason shifted awkwardly, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. “You don’t have to get me anything,” he mumbled, voice low, barely loud enough to be heard over the hum of the kitchen.

Dick glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow. “What? You’re not hungry?”

“No, I just… I already ate,” Jason said, feeling his face warm. “I had dinner, and dessert, and… you know, popcorn and soda. I’m good.”

“Just like I had,” Dick countered.

“It’s different,” Jason mumbled. And it was. Dick was all grown up and he was Bruces real kid and was that even Bruces money he was paying with?

Dick didn’t even blink. “Dude, it’s burgers and milkshakes. You never really say no to that.” He turned back to the cashier without missing a beat. “Yep, two meals. Thanks.”

Jason felt a wave of discomfort settle in. He wasn’t used to this—someone just… paying for him, not caring if he’d already eaten. In his old life, food wasn’t just something you got whenever you felt like it. You took what you could, when you could, and you didn’t ask for more.

He stepped up to the counter reluctantly as Dick slapped some bills down. His throat tightened as the cashier handed over two trays piled high with burgers, fries, and thick shakes.

“You really didn’t have to—” Jason started, but Dick cut him off with a grin, sliding one tray over.

“Stop. I wanted to. You’re not gonna make me eat alone, are you?” Dick raised an eyebrow, like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world for Jason to even try to refuse.

Jason hesitated, but eventually sighed, taking the tray. It wasn’t that he didn’t want the food—he did. Dinner was hours ago and they hadn’t even finished it. And being on the back of the motorcycle, being out at night watching Batman from the rooftops of the alleys, was making him damn hungry.

He just didn’t know how to handle it when it was given so freely. So… easily. He followed Dick to a booth, sliding into the seat across from him.

Dick wasted no time digging in, taking a massive bite of his burger with a satisfied groan. “Man, this is so much better than the cave’s protein bars, huh?”

Jason picked up his burger slowly, staring at it for a second before taking a small bite. The guilt tugged at him again—he didn’t need this. He was just taking more because he could. He should have said no.

But then Dick was smiling across from him, his mouth half-full of fries. “You good, Robin?”

Jason nodded, chewing a little faster to clear his throat. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Dick chuckled. “Good. Very good.”

Jason took another small bite, trying to focus on the food rather than the swarm of thoughts swirling around in his head. Every time Dick smiled at him, a warmth bloomed in his chest, but it was quickly followed by that ever-present sense of unease. He hadn’t had carefree moments like this before, not really—there was always a cost, always a price to pay later.

As Dick polished off his burger and reached for his shake, Jason hesitated, eyes flicking down to his tray. The thought had been gnawing at him all night, and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out, quiet and hesitant.

“How often do you, uh… come back to the manor?”

Dick glanced up, blinking in surprise. Then, with a playful smirk, he leaned back in his seat. “What, you miss me already, little bro?” His tone was light, clearly teasing, but Jason’s stomach clenched at the joke.

He shifted uncomfortably, his voice small. “I just meant… you’re probably busy, right? With college and everything…” He trailed off, staring down at the remaining fries. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. Maybe Dick didn’t want to come back soon, and Jason had just made it weird.

Dick’s smile softened as he leaned forward again, his voice losing the teasing edge. “Hey, I’ll be around, okay? I’ll probably head out in a day or two, but I’ll be back. A lot. And I’ll be over tomorrow for sure. We can spend the whole day playing video games or whatever you want.”

Jason’s fingers tightened around his milkshake, a familiar knot forming in his chest. Whole day? That sounded… fun. But it also made him anxious. That much time just goofing off? He couldn’t. He had to be useful, had to train, had to help Alfred with something—anything—or Bruce might decide he wasn’t worth keeping around.

“I dunno if we should…” Jason mumbled, biting his lip. “I mean, Batman probably wants me to do some training or something. I can’t just… play games all day.”

Dick’s eyes softened with understanding, and he leaned in a little. “Robin, you can relax, have fun. Trust me, Batman isn’t gonna be mad because you took a day off to play video games. I did that all the time.”

Jason swallowed hard, shaking his head slightly. “But you’re different,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re his real kid.”

Dick blinked, startled, and then sighed softly. “Little bird, I’m not his ‘real kid.’ I was a ward, just like you. Bruce took me in, same as you.” He paused, watching Jason’s expression carefully. “Look, when I was your age, I spent entire weekends at the manor doing nothing but playing video games, eating junk food, and goofing off. B was never mad. He never expected me to be perfect or working all the time. I’m telling you, he’s not like that.”

But Jason’s mind refused to accept it. Dick wasn’t the same. Dick had been wanted, chosen. He’d been there first, and Bruce probably liked having him around, probably didn’t worry about whether Dick was pulling his weight. Jason? Jason had been alley trash, just some kid Bruce picked up off the street. He wasn’t… he wasn’t wanted. Not like Dick.

Jason didn’t respond, his fingers tracing patterns in the condensation of his milkshake cup. The words felt too heavy in his throat, like he couldn’t spit them out without choking on them.

Dick sighed and reached across the table, gently nudging Jason’s shoulder. “Listen to me, alright? B cares about you. I care about you. You don’t have to be perfect, or useful, or any of that crap. You just have to be you. And we’ll figure the rest out as we go.”

Jason’s grip on the cup tightened, but the knot in his chest loosened, just a fraction. He still didn’t fully believe Dick—not yet—but something about the way he said it, with so much conviction, made Jason want to believe it.

He nodded, just a small movement, and Dick’s smile returned, warmer this time, with a hint of relief. “Good. Now, finish those fries before I do,” Dick teased.

Jason picked up a fry, staring at it for a second before taking a slow bite. He wasn’t really hungry anymore, but something about Dick’s easy, laid-back attitude made it hard to stay stuck in his own head.

Across the table, Dick slurped at his milkshake, still watching Jason. “B wants us to train, so that we are safe when we are out. But he’s all about rest and recuberate too.”

“I mess up a lot.” Jason muttered, his voice low. “That’s why I need to train more. I’m not good yet or anything.”

And when Jason messed up, he knew it’d be different. Bruce wouldn’t let it slide like he might for Dick.

But Dick shook his head, leaning back in his seat with a half-smile. “Trust me, I messed up plenty when I was your age. I got benched more times than I could count. Bruce was mad, yeah, but it wasn’t because I messed up—it was because he didn’t want me to get hurt. That’s what he worries about the most.”

Jason frowned, his fingers tapping lightly against the cup. “Still feels different. You’re… I dunno, better at this whole thing.”

Dick chuckled softly, shaking his head again. “I’m not better. I’ve just been at it longer. You’ll get there, don’t worry, kid.”

“Yeah,” Jason mumbled, not really convinced but too tired to push back. His mind kept circling back to how Dick fit into all this—how he belonged. And Jason? He wasn’t sure.

Dick leaned forward, grabbing another fry with a grin. “Look, how about this? Tomorrow, we’ll play some video games. No training, no patrol, no expectations. Just you, me, and a controller. And if Bruce gives you a hard time, I’ll handle it. Deal?”

Jason hesitated. No one had ever stood up for him before. No one had ever said they’d take the fall so he didn’t have to. It was nice.

After a beat, he nodded, the smallest hint of a smile creeping in. “Deal.”

Dick smiled, stealing a fry from Jason’s tray. “Good. Now eat up, little bird. We’ve got a long day of gaming ahead of us.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 19

The smell of fresh coffee and something faintly sweet wafted up from the kitchen as Jason padded down the stairs, rubbing the last of sleep from his eyes.

His muscles had that faint, satisfying ache from riding on the back of the motorcycle all night. It wasn’t the kind of pain that bothered him, more like a reminder of the night before—a night spent with Bruce and Dick, a glimpse into a life he still wasn’t sure he fit into but one he so desperatly wanted.

As he reached the kitchen, Jason paused at the doorway. Dick was already there, seated at the island, elbows propped up on the counter as he shoveled spoonfuls of brightly colored cereal into his mouth. When he spotted Jason, his grin stretched wide, mid-chew.

“Morning, little bird,” Dick mumbled around a mouthful of food, barely swallowing before he tapped the stool beside him. “C’mon, best breakfast food right here. I’ll get you a bowl.”

Across the room, Alfred stood by the counter, slicing fruit with precise movements. He turned toward Jason with a soft smile, his tone warm but ever-proper. “Good morning, Master Jason. Perhaps you’d prefer something a bit more balanced—fried eggs, buttered toast, and a bowl of fresh fruit?”

Jason blinked, lingering by the door. His stomach fluttered with a mix of hesitation and uncertainty. He’d eaten plenty sugar last night —popcorn, soda, dessert.

The offer of eggs and toast sounded healthier, like what he should be eating, especially if Alfred was the one suggesting it. He didn’t want to upset him or come off like he wasn’t grateful.

But… then there was Dick, grinning like a kid, clearly having fun, and Jason didn’t want to miss out on that either.

“I don’t wanna be a bother…” Jason mumbled, shifting from foot to foot, unsure what to do.

Alfred, ever composed, offered a gentle shake of his head. “You are never a bother, Master Jason. Not in the slightest.” His tone carried that perfect mix of patience and reassurance, as if there was no scenario where Jason could ever be a burden in his eyes. Jason never ever had that before. Not even with mom, because Jason was a burden a lot. She couldn’t even work without him tagging along, because dad sure as hell couldn’t be bothered to watch him while she was at the diner working her shift.

But before Jason could even respond, Dick was already up from his seat, opening the cupboard and grabbing another bowl. “Cereal it is! Trust me, you’re gonna love it. Today’s all about fun, remember? No training, no expectations—just junk food and  video games.” He shot Alfred a teasing glance as he placed the bowl in front of Jason.

Alfred gave a small, fond sigh, shaking his head. “Might I suggest a touch of yogurt with granola and fruit, Master Jason? A bit of balance never goes amiss.” His eyes flickered toward Jason with understanding, offering him a gentle out if he wanted it.

But Dick waved a hand dismissively. “No way, Alfred. This is the official Dick and Jason day. We’re eating all the junk we want, playing video games till our thumbs fall off, and goofing around like there’s no tomorrow.” He plopped the colorful bowl of cereal in front of Jason and winked. “You’re gonna love it.”

Jason looked at the bowl, the bright loops bobbing in the milk, and then glanced at Alfred. There it was again—that tug inside him, like he had to make the right choice, be the good kid. Alfred had been nothing but kind to him, and Jason didn’t want to seem like he was being disrespectful. But Dick… Dick didn’t care about that stuff. Dick made everything feel easier, he was cool about Jason being here, in his childhood home, taking up space that wasn’t his. Space that belonged to Dick so much more.

Alfred, noticing Jason’s inner struggle, gave a small, fond sigh. “As Master Dick so exuberantly insists, perhaps a day of indulgence is warranted.” His eyes twinkled with amusement as he moved to the fridge. “However, I shall insist on some juice. A gentleman must have his vitamins.” He poured them both a glass of orange juice, setting it beside their bowls with a soft clink.

Jason’s lips quirked into a small smile. He slid onto the stool next to Dick, who immediately nudged him with his elbow. “See? No worries, little bird. Just fun today. Now dig in!”

Jason reached for his spoon, his hand still a little unsure, as he took his first bite of cereal. It was sweet and crunchy. It had been months since Jason last had cereal.

Jason took another bite, letting the sugary crunch linger on his tongue. The sweetness was intense, but he loved it.

Dick, meanwhile, was already halfway through his bowl, his feet swinging lazily under the island as he scarfed down his cereal with the enthusiasm of someone who lived for these moments. “Told you it’s the best, right?” he said through a mouthful, grinning wide.

Jason nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah… it’s pretty good,” he admitted.

Alfred, ever the picture of grace, returned to the counter, tidying up while watching the two boys with a faint, fond smile. “I trust the two of you won’t consume the entirety of Master Dick’s rather questionable cereal collection before noon?”

Dick, swallowing his last spoonful, gave an exaggerated shrug. “No promises, Alfie. This is a special day, after all.”

Jason glanced over at Alfred, almost instinctively seeking approval. “Is that okay?” he asked, voice soft, still unsure if this was really allowed.

Alfred’s expression softened, and he gave a gentle nod. “Of course, Master Jason. Today is meant to be enjoyed.” He set the juice jug back in the fridge, wiping his hands on a cloth. “And I daresay, everyone is entitled to a day of indulgence every now and then, even if it means subjecting oneself to a rather excessive amount of sugar.”

Dick laughed, pushing his empty bowl aside. “See, Alfred gets it.”

Jason let himself relax, just a little, taking another bite of his cereal and washing it down with a sip of orange juice. He wasn’t used to this—to being part of something light and easy, where the rules were meant to be bent and no one got angry for it.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Jason asked, finally easing into the moment.

Dick grinned. “Video games, obviously. We’ve got a whole day to burn.” He leaned in, as if sharing a secret. “Then we’re ordering pizza for lunch. And later—ice cream. Double scoops.”

Jason’s grin grew just a little bit wider, his fingers tightening around his glass of orange juice. He’d never had a day that sounded anything like this. A whole day to just have fun. Jason’s smile grew a bit wider this time, and he leaned forward, his voice gaining a little more confidence. “Awesome.”

Dick laughed, ruffling Jason’s hair as he hopped down from his stool. “That’s the spirit, little bird. Let’s go—game time!”

Jason slid off his own stool, feeling lighter than he had in a long while. He followed Dick, each step easing that tight knot in his chest.

When they reached the den, Dick waved a hand toward the shelves, packed with colorful game cases stacked in neat rows. He gestured like a game-show host revealing a grand prize. “Alright, little bird,” he said, grin wide. “Take your pick. What’s calling to you?”

Jason’s eyes flitted over the titles. Mario Kart, Pokemon, FIFA, and even Assassin’s Creed. Some of the covers looked familiar from store windows, but he’d never actually played any of them.

Dick tapped each case, his voice enthusiastic. “We’ve got Mario Kart—classic. FIFA, if you’re in the mood for soccer. Pokemon if you want something fun and kinda adventurous.” He held up one more case with a smirk. “Or… if we’re being bold, there’s Assassin’s Creed. Just don’t tell Alfred I offered that one.”

Dick caught his gaze lingering a bit longer on Pokemon , then on FIFA, but Jason’s face remained a bit unreadable, a hint of tension creeping in.

Sensing his hesitation, Dick spoke up, a reassuring smile on his face. “No pressure. I can help you figure it out if you want.”

Jason bit his lip, his hands slipping into his pockets. He wasn’t used to choosing like this. He glanced from Mario Kart to Pokemon and then back to FIFA, feeling that tightening sense of unfamiliarity in his chest. “I… I don’t know. They all look good. I don’t wanna pick wrong.”

Dick’s grin softened as he reached for the FIFA case. “Alright, then how about we start with some soccer? That one’s easy to jump into. You just pass, shoot, and try to score.”

Jason looked up, searching Dick’s face, a small sense of relief easing the tightness in his chest. “Yeah… okay. Soccer sounds good.”

“Awesome.” Dick popped the game into the console and handed the controller to Jason, patting the spot on the couch beside him. “You gotta pick your team and we’ll start slow. We’ll skip the tutorial, I’ll walk you through it.”

Jason took the controller, fingers curling around it with care, almost afraid he’d break it.

As the loading screen flickered to life, a surge of pulsing music filled the room, making everything feel bigger, more exciting. Jason’s gaze darted over the team list, unsure where to begin, but Dick pointed him to some stronger teams, leaning over with a grin. “Here’s a tip: pretty much every country is better at soccer than the U.S., so you can’t really go wrong. I usually go with FC Barcelona—they’re solid. But you can basically pick any team above 80.”

Jason’s eyes landed on Manchester United, drawn to their red jerseys and a solid score of 83. “Manchester United, then,” he murmured, glancing at Dick to see if he’d chosen well.

“Good choice,” Dick said, nodding with approval. “Looks like you’re ready to hit the field.”

As the game began, the colors on screen were vivid and alive, players darting smoothly across the field. Jason’s grip on the controller tightened, his movements tentative at first. But as he managed a pass downfield, he felt a small flicker of pride—just as Dick let out a cheer.

“Nice pass!” Dick laughed, nudging him lightly. “You’re a natural. Keep this up, and you might give me a run for my money.”

Jason felt his face flush, his small smile growing a bit wider with each pass and kick.

His movements becoming a bit bolder as he got the hang of it. For each pass, every near-miss, Dick was right there, encouraging him and calling out tips. Jason’s laughter bubbling up unexpectedly at the little victories he managed.

They played for over an hour, Jason growing more comfortable with each goal he scored, his confidence building. It felt… good. Better than good.

But then the door creaked open, and Bruce stepped inside, holding a mug of coffee. Jason instantly stiffened, his fingers freezing on the controller. His mind raced, old instincts urging him to set the controller down and sit up straight, to be ready for… well, he didn’t even know what.

Bruce’s gaze moved over the room, taking in the two of them on the couch, the game paused on screen, and Jason’s slightly hunched shoulders. His expression softened as he looked from Dick’s relaxed posture to Jason’s tension.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Bruce said with a gentle nod. “I was just curious what you two were up to.”

Dick leaned back, stretching his arms along the back of the couch, clearly at ease. “Oh, we’re playing FIFA. And just so you know, Jason’s absolutely crushing it.”

Bruce’s gaze rested on Jason, who was still holding the controller as though it might vanish if he didn’t.

Bruce nodded, his gaze settling on Jason. “Good,” he said gently. “I’m glad you’re having a good time.”

But Jason’s wariness hadn’t fully faded. He did get almost two hours of sugary cereal and fun games. He knew he shouldn’t push his luck. So he met Bruce’s eyes hesitantly. “You… sure there’s nothing you need? I can… I don’t want to be in the way.”

For a heartbeat, Bruce seemed to consider his words, and a flicker of something Jason didn’t understand passed across his face. But then Bruce stepped further into the room, lowering himself into one of the armchairs so he was at Jason’s eye level. His gaze was steady, a rare warmth flickering there.

“You’re not in the way, Jason,” he said quietly, but firmly. “You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”

Jason held his gaze, searching for any sign of impatience or annoyance. But there was nothing there. He glanced over at Dick, who nudged him with a reassuring grin.

Dick’s voice broke the moment, bright and easy. “See? Even Bruce thinks it’s a chill day. You’re off the hook, little bird.”

Bruce straightened, glancing at Dick with a slight smirk. “Not every day, but… I think today, yes. Enjoy yourselves. I have a bit of work to do. I’ll check in with you boys later.”

With a last nod, Bruce turned and left the room, leaving a quiet behind him that felt almost sacred.

Jason stayed quiet, his fingers absently picking at the controller. He still half-expected Bruce to change his mind, to come back and tell him it was time to work or prove himself in some way. But Dick gave him another nudge.

“Hey, you good?” Dick asked, his voice gentle.

Jason took a shaky breath, nodding. “Yeah. I just… wasn’t sure, you know? Thought maybe he’d… want something.”

Dick’s expression softened, his usual playful grin fading to something understanding. He shifted on the couch, angling himself to face Jason more fully. “Hey, I get it. But you don’t have to be on edge here. No one’s waiting to drop chores or rules on you. Not like that.”

“They haven’t really given me rules,” he murmured. He looked down at the controller in his lap, his fingers idly pressing the buttons without really meaning to. “But… I don’t really know where the line to fucking up is. And I just—” He shrugged, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Fuck. It feels like if I get too comfortable, something’s gonna go wrong.”

Dick’s gaze softened further, but instead of responding with sympathy, he tried for humor, hoping it would lighten things. “Well, if you’re worried about lines, maybe start with not cussing like that in front of Alfred,” he teased, grinning.

Jason’s shoulders stiffened, and he glanced up quickly, uncertainty flickering in his expression. His face closed off just slightly, as if that one comment reminded him he’d broken some unspoken rule.

Dick immediately caught the change. His grin faded, and he leaned back, letting out a small sigh.

He nudged Jason with his shoulder, light and casual. “It’s just me, little bird. Just us. You don’t have to tiptoe, okay? If you want to swear, swear. If you want to eat cereal for every meal today, I’ll personally make sure Alfred keeps the milk stocked.”

Jason glanced up, his eyes catching Dick’s, searching for any hint of disappointment or frustration. But all he saw was a steady, open expression, waiting for Jason to take the lead.

“Okay,” he said quietly, a small flicker of trust rising up in him. He looked back at the screen and tapped the controller buttons with a little more certainty. “Thanks, Dick.”

Dick flashed him a grin, then tapped the screen, selecting their next match. “Anytime. Now, Captain Manchester United, what do you say we get back to scoring some goals? Think you can take me?”

Jason felt himself warming to the challenge, a tiny flicker of excitement sparking in his chest as he got back into the game the earlier tension melting as Jason grew more comfortable, his moves getting bolder again.

They played with an easy rhythm, trading playful jabs and bursts of laughter. Jason’s passes became sharper, and he even managed a few sneaky goals that earned approving shouts from Dick.

He even stole the ball from Dick’s character once, managing a smooth pass downfield, and kicked it right into the goal. Dick cheered, giving him a high-five.

“You’re crushing it,” Dick laughed, not holding back his praise. “Told you, you’d be a pro in no time.”

An hour passed in a blur of goals, cheers, and moments where Dick laughed so hard he practically toppled off the couch.

In between rounds, Dick reached over for a sip of his soda, glancing sideways at Jason with a warm smile. “See? This is what off days are for, Jay.”

Jason hesitated, but something in Dick’s voice, in the calm weight of his presence, made him believe it, just a little. He gave a small nod, and Dick’s smile grew—warm, pleased, but not pushing. With an easy motion. He gave Jason a playful nudge and handed him his own soda.

As Jason took a sip, he found himself wondering if this was what it was like to have an older brother. Someone to lean on. Someone to trust.

After a moment, he spoke up, his voice hesitant. “Dick… uh, next week is Christmas.”

Dick glanced over, raising his brows with an easy smile. “Sure is. You excited?”

Jason shifted, looking down at his soda, swirling it in his hands. “I mean… I guess. But, do you think… they want me there for it?”

Dick’s face softened. “What do you mean? Where else would you be?”

Jason’s fingers tightened around the can, his voice barely more than a murmur. “In my room. I mean… the guest room. The one I’m allowed to stay in.” He paused, eyes darting up to meet Dick’s before he looked down again. “Do you think I’ll have to stay up there all day?”

Dick’s smile faded. “Why would you, Jay?”

Jason’s voice grew quieter, and he looked at his hands. “Last year, with my foster family… they sent me up for Christmas. Their kids didn’t like me, and they wanted it to be… just family, I guess.” He paused, taking a shaky breath. “But the mom was still nice. She brought me dinner. And some chocolates.” He tried to sound casual, like it hadn’t hurt, but he couldn’t quite keep his voice steady.

Dick felt a pang, an ache that tightened his chest as he looked at the boy in front of him. He kept his voice gentle, steady. “Jay, it’s not gonna be like that here.”

Jason’s eyes flickered up, uncertain, his fingers still clutching the soda can. “Will you be here?”

Dick’s response was immediate. “Absolutely. Right there with you, kid.”

Jason swallowed, and his voice was even smaller. “You’re sure I can be downstairs?”

Dick leaned forward, his hand resting lightly on Jason’s shoulder. “One hundred percent, Jay.”

Jason’s shoulders eased, just a little, but the doubt lingered in his gaze, that hesitation Dick had come to recognize.

Dick glanced away for a second, collecting his thoughts, then turned back with a quiet, steadying calm. “Listen, Jay… I’m not saying I know what you’re going through. But when I first came to Bruce’s, my first Christmas, I didn’t think they’d do anything, either. I figured Bruce would ignore it. Everyone said he hated Christmas—it reminded him of his parents.” Dick’s gaze softened with the memory, his words careful. “But when my teacher told him I was sad about it, Bruce listened. Bruce and Alfred got a tree, just for me. Alfred made cookies, and we watched a Christmas movie together. They did the whole thing… even though I know it hurt Bruce.”

Jason blinked, watching Dick’s face closely, searching for any hint that this was a lie or just something he was making up to make Jason feel better. But he found only the steady warmth in Dick’s eyes, that open honesty that felt so foreign to him. After a moment, he gave a slight nod.

“So… it’s okay if I’m here?”

Dick gave his shoulder a soft squeeze. “Yes, Jay. A hundred times yes.”

Jason looked down, feeling a knot in his chest begin to loosen. The way Dick said it—a hundred times yes—nobody ever tried to reassure him so much. It didn’t matter to people if Jason was feeling safe. It had only mattered to mom and only so long until her drugs got in the way.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, unsure what to say next, but relieved just to be sitting there, with Dick nearby.

Dick gave him a moment, then nudged him with a smile. “Hey, since we’ve got Christmas settled… it’s high time you write that letter to Santa. You’re overdue.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking in disbelief. “Santa? Really?”

“Oh, definitely,” Dick replied, his grin widening. “Writing to Santa is a must if you want to get all those presents.”

Jason gave a scoff, but there was a hint of a smile beneath it. “Haven’t believed in Santa since I was, like, six. Saw a Santa on the street lighting up a cigarette in front of a pawn shop. The illusion shattered pretty quick.”

Dick chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, fair. But you know, the Santa here doesn’t smoke, and he gets the good stuff. So, spill—what do you want?”

The question hit Jason unexpectedly, and he looked down, fiddling with the edge of his shirt. What would he wish for? He didn’t know. He hadn’t thought about wanting things like that in a long time. As long as he could remember, Christmas had never been about gifts for him. His last foster family had given him a few chocolates and the promise of repercussion should he dare to come down and ruin their real kids christmas, and his own parents…well, they’d tried when they could, but the memories were hazy, and most ended with them too tired, too broke, or too something to make it right.

“I… don’t need anything,” he mumbled, almost defensive. “I already have more than I ever did.” He paused, then added, almost like he was confessing, “Bruce even got me a Lego set yesterday.”

Dick’s eyebrows shot up, genuinely surprised. “A Lego set, huh? Nice! So he’s already getting into the spirit.”

“It’s a yellow McLaren and it’s awesome!”Jason couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. The set was still in the box, sitting right next to the picture frame on his desk—the one Bruce had given him for the picture of mom. He hadn’t put it in the frame yet, but he’d do it. And he’d build the lego car. He knew that much. Just needed a quiet night, one where he didn’t feel like the pieces might slip through his fingers and scatter.

Dick leaned back, crossing his arms as he grinned. “So you got your first official Wayne Christmas present. Well, that’s just the beginning, little man.”

Jason blinked, his expression caught between surprise and uncertainty. “I don’t… I don’t need more than that.”

“Come on, there’s gotta be something,” Dick prompted with a grin, jostling him. “Nothing’s too big for Santa Wayne.”

Jason shook his head, and for a second, he almost smiled. But he wasn’t a kid who made lists for Santa. He hadn’t done that since he was six. He stopped believing in fairytales long before Santa lit up his cig on the corner of Fourth in front of the pawn shop.

“No, I mean it,” he insisted. “I really don’t need anything.”

Just being here, with Dick, Bruce, and Alfred around was more than enough—more than he’d expected or even dared to hope for. A Christmas with them, with a dinner, maybe a movie or cookies, or even both, that was more than he could ask for. More than last Christmas, more than the last dozen, probably.

Of course, he’d wanted things before. He was still a kid, and there were always little things. For years, he’d wanted a bike of his own. He’d taught himself to ride on a neighbor ones, whenever he could sneak a few tries between their rides. And he’d always loved the books his mom would bring him sometimes from the thrift store—dog-eared, missing pages, but new to him. He used to dream about getting a real RC car, a hand-me-down Lego set. Little things he’d watch other kids get, things he’d learned not to ask for after his mom would sigh and say they couldn’t.

Living here, with a billionaire, didn’t change that. Bruce wasn’t obligated to buy him toys, and Jason knew his place. No need to make a list, or to think about things he couldn’t really want. No fairytales for kids like him.

Dick nudged Jason’s shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Alright, tough guy, enough with the deep conversations. You ready to get back to losing against me?”

Jason wished he had the guts for something snarky to fire back, but instead, he just smirked, grabbing his controller and settling back into his seat.

The game unfolded in a comfortable rhythm. They traded laughs, shouts, and the occasional taunt whenever one of them scored. The room filled with the sound of button-clicks, in-game cheers, and the soft thud of the couch each time they shifted around. The atmosphere here was warm, unpressured, just the sound of the game and Dick’s dramatic groans whenever Jason managed to pull ahead.

As Jason was about to land the final blow for his first win, a soft knock sounded at the door, and Bruce stepped in, hands tucked casually into his pockets of his dark slacks. There was a quiet warmth in his eyes that made him look almost at ease.

“Hey, boys,” Bruce greeted, his voice gentle, with just the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. He glanced between them, and for a moment, his gaze lingered on Jason. “Alfred mentioned you two were talking about pizza for lunch. Did you plan to order in, or what do you think about going out?”

Jason blinked, surprised first by the question itself and then even more by the tone Bruce used. There was no expectation, no pressure—just an honest offer, like he really wanted to know. Bruce had been nothing but kind since Jason arrived, and still, something about his warmth felt almost surreal, as if kindness was something Jason wasn’t sure he had the right to accept.

Dick grinned and elbowed him. “What do you say, Jay? Pizza out sounds like a pretty solid plan, don’t you think?”

Jason’s eyes flicked between them, caught off guard by how their faces both held the same waiting expression, the same patience. Like they genuinely wanted his input, like his opinion actually mattered here. It was something so foreign that his first instinct was to retreat, to shrug and let them decide. For years, he’d learned that it was easier that way—not to expect, not to hope, not to put himself in a place where disappointment could sting.

He hesitated, feeling the uncertainty stir in his chest, that voice whispering he didn’t really belong, that he was a guest in this house, a temporary part of something bigger. They’d had lives long before he came along, and they’d have them after he was gone. He didn’t know why they were acting like his answer mattered.

But as he stood there, Bruce’s steady, patient look held his. Dick’s grin hadn’t faded, and neither of them looked away, as if waiting for him to make up his mind, wasn‘t bothering them.

“Uh… yeah. Sounds good,” he finally said, his voice barely above a murmur. He tried to keep it casual, like it wasn’t anything more than answering a simple question, but there was a flutter of warmth in his chest.

For a second, he thought he saw Bruce’s eyes soften just a bit more, and Dick gave his shoulder a friendly nudge.

“Great. Get your coats, and we’ll head out,” Bruce said.

Chapter Text

The ride to the pizza place was… a lot cooler than Jason had expected. Bruce had taken out the Aston Martin, and the engine’s low purr made Jason sit up a little straighter in the backseat, his eyes tracing every detail of the dashboard as if committing it all to memory.

He kept quiet, though. No need to go on about how incredible it was—especially since it was probably just another car to Bruce. But when they hit a straight stretch, Bruce glanced over, catching Jason’s eager stare before he quickly looked away.

Dick must have noticed too, because he grinned and leaned over from the passenger seat. “Nice ride, huh, Jay?”

Jason shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Yeah… it’s great.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, giving a slight nod. “You know, a couple of days ago, Jason was helping Alfred with maintenance in the garage. Got a real eye for it.”

Jason’s cheeks flushed, a hint of pride mingling with his embarrassment. He hadn’t really expected Bruce to tell stuff like that to Dick. The fact that he remembered was… well, it was nice. Like it mattered.

The compliment hung in the air, and Jason didn’t quite know what to do with it. He was used to people noticing him when he did something wrong, not when he actually helped. But Bruce’s words settled over him like a small, steady warmth, and for a moment, he let himself feel it. He didn’t have to say anything back; Dick was already chatting away about a time Alfred had caught him trying to change a tire and had insisted on a full demonstration of “proper technique.”

When they parked, Bruce reached into the backseat, pulling out a couple of baseball caps and sunglasses. “Here—if we want to stay under the radar,” he said, handing them out. Jason took his with a serious expression. As they got out, Dick nudged Bruce, eyeing the hat.

Dick snorted, flipping his own cap backward. “Yeah, real subtle. Nothing says ‘totally normal family’ like a billionaire in a baseball cap.” He shot Jason a grin, and Jason couldn’t help but grin back as he slipped on the hat, trying to get used to the strange normalcy of it.

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Just trying to keep our lunch a little less… eventful.”

Inside, the pizza place was all noise and warmth, with the smell of melted cheese and tomato sauce filling the air. Jason’s stomach gave a quiet rumble, and he felt a wave of embarrassment. He didn’t even think they’d heard it, but he was so used to hiding things like that, even the quietest reaction felt like it was being broadcast.

They picked a booth near the back, and when the server came around, Bruce ordered water. When Dick ordered an iced tea, Jason found himself second-guessing, feeling the familiar twinge of guilt. Bruce got a water, so he opted for that too, just to be safe. He was still just trying to get used to the idea that they’d actually brought him here in the first place.

Bruce scanned the menu, giving him a reassuring look. “Order whatever you like, Jason,” he said, his voice calm and easy.

Dick didn’t hesitate, going for a loaded meatlover with extra cheese. Jason’s mind raced. He knew what he liked, but he also knew what was cheap. He kept his voice low as he asked for a basic one with tomato sauce and cheese.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Come on, that’s all you’re getting? Just cheese and sauce?”

Jason shifted uncomfortably. “It’s… fine,” he muttered. It wasn’t like he needed anything else. He didn’t want to be any more of a burden. If he could have gotten away with not ordering anything, he would have, maybe claiming he wasn’t hungry, and then he’d eat something cheap back at the manor, maybe a toast or some left over cereal. Something that they had alread there either way.

Dick wasn’t one to let things slide so easily, though. He leaned in, nudging Jason with his elbow and giving him an encouraging grin. „Come on, Jay. Get something you actually want.“

Jason’s face warmed, and he felt the quiet sting of embarrassment. He wished he could shrink down, make himself smaller so he’d just blend into the background. “I like cheese pizza,” he insisted, a bit stronger this time, hoping they’d just let it go.

Bruce leaned in, his voice smooth and gentle. “How about some paprika? Or maybe spinach? Vegetables are good for you,” he suggested. “And they’re tasty too.”

Jason met his gaze, feeling the gentle nudge in Bruce’s tone. He sounded like it was a perfectly normal suggestion, something simple to consider. He did want to get stronger, to prove that he could handle Robin’s training someday—Bruce would want him to eat healthy, wouldn’t he? And if it would make Bruce happy…

But still. He tried not to wrinkle his nose as the idea of spinach crossed his mind, something green and wilted, like the green mold that grew on bread. Bread that Jason fished out of the bins. Bread that he ate because the hunger was stronger than anything. Stronger than disgust.

“Maybe just paprika?” he said finally, voice tentative. He’d eat the spinach. He’d eaten worse. Way worse. But pizza was a rare treat, and he wanted to enjoy it.

Dick groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes as he leaned back. “Oh, come on, Bruce, don’t ruin pizza with your health trip.”

But Bruce, in classic fashion, ignored Dick entirely, his gaze still fixed on Jason with calm encouragement. “It could be any vegetable you like, Jason. There are a lot of good options. Just pick what sounds good to you.”

Jason shifted, glancing away to the menu as he processed Bruce’s words. He’d learned long ago that there was a difference between what he liked and what he should ask for. Here, though, Bruce made it sound like what he wanted actually mattered.

Dick groaned, letting his head fall back dramatically. “Come on, Bruce, don‘t make him order veggies on pizza” he said, rolling his eyes before giving Jason a grin. “If you’re gonna need to play spoilsport, then Jason and I are gonna share a salad on the side. Your treat, B.”

At the mention of a salad, Jason’s stomach tightened a little. He could practically feel the cost of each thing they would order stacking up. The thought of them spending even more—especially on something like salad just because of him—made his heart thud. It wasn’t worth it, he wanted to say. But before he could speak, his mind scrambled for a solution, something that would sound reasonable.

“I… I like pepperoni pizza,” he blurted, almost too quickly, as if rushing to solve it all. “Could I try it with paprika? I like paprika. I really do,” he added, almost desperately, looking between Bruce and Dick.

He added it with a touch of desperation, hoping that maybe it’d smooth over the fuss he felt he was causing.

Dick raised an eyebrow, grinning as he shot Jason a sideways look. “Or, you could ditch the paprika altogether,” he said, a teasing glint in his eye. “Come on, Jay, it’s pizza—it doesn’t have to be healthy, right, B?”

Jason’s cheeks warmed slightly as he glanced down at the menu, wishing he could somehow undo the attention he’d just drawn to himself. But then Bruce’s voice cut in, gentle but sure, almost like he was steering them out of choppy water. “How about this,” Bruce suggested, looking over at him with a calm, almost reassuring gaze. “You go for the pepperoni without paprika, and I’ll order a veggie pizza. You can have a slice, and see what you like best.”

Jason nodded, relieved but still a little caught off guard when Bruce glanced back at the waiter. “And for the vegetable pizza, no spinach,” Bruce said, almost offhand.

The comment hit Jason harder than it should have. It made his stomach do a weird, fluttery thing he couldn’t quite explain. Bruce hadn’t just been listening—he’d actually considered that Jason didn’t like spinach.

The waiter jotted down their order and headed off, leaving the three of them in an odd, companionable quiet, broken only by the hum of conversations around them and the faint sound of the pizza oven crackling somewhere in the back.

Jason fidgeted in his seat, eyes flicking around the cozy pizzeria, noting the mismatched chairs and the worn but clean checkered tablecloths. The place buzzed with a low hum of chatter, forks scraping plates, the occasional clink of glasses. He glanced down at his hands, trying to shake off the feeling that he didn’t quite belong here. To him, restaurants were for special occasions, for people who didn’t worry about spending too much on a meal they could’ve had at home. But for Bruce and Dick, this was probably nothing.

True to form, Dick broke the silence, leaning back with an easy, relaxed grin, fingers drumming on the edge of the table. “Remember that time you ordered us some of those… what were they, wheatgrass smoothies?” he teased Bruce, wrinkling his nose in mock horror. “You said they’d be ‘refreshing.’ Tasted like someone dunked grass clippings in pond water.”

Bruce arched an eyebrow, keeping his expression deadpan. “You were the one who wanted to ‘try something new.’”

“Something new, not something that tasted like I was one sip away from sprouting leaves,” Dick shot back, grinning. “Besides, you only drank it because you didn‘t want to admit how awful it was.”

Jason couldn’t help the slight tug at the corner of his mouth as he listened. It was strange, watching them banter like this—easy, comfortable, like they knew every corner of each other’s personalities. For a moment, he was on the outside looking in, but there was something about it that made him want to laugh along. He didn’t, though. Just listened and absorbed every detail.

And then, suddenly, their pizzas arrived. The aroma hit him before he even saw them, rich and savory, with the slight spice of pepperoni mingling with the sharper, earthier scent of roasted veggies on Bruce’s pizza.

When the server slid the pepperoni pizza onto the table, Jason’s hands stilled, his pulse quickening. Hot pizza, fresh from the oven, cheese still bubbling, the slight grease shine on the pepperoni slices—this wasn’t anything like the cold leftovers he’d scavenged in the past.

Those had mostly been crusts, sometimes a full slice if he was lucky, and he’d always eaten them fast, in case someone caught him going through their trash before he finished. He’d almost forgotten how much he loved hot pizza.

Jason’s stomach twisted with an intense hunger he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was not hunger pain. That he was used to. It was something else. He really really wanted to dig into this pizza.

Still he hesitated, and then his stomach gave him away with a loud, embarrassing growl. Heat crept up his neck, but he reached for a slice, sinking his teeth in and nearly melting with relief as the warm cheese stretched and the sauce hit his taste buds.

For a moment, he forgot everything else, devouring that first slice almost too fast. The heat, the softness of the crust, the way the cheese and sauce mingled—it was almost overwhelming in the best way.

But then Bruce took a slice from his veggie pizza, loaded with mushrooms, onions, olives, and colorful peppers, and set it gently on Jason’s plate. Jason stared down at it, the sheer amount of toppings a little overwhelming. He wasn’t picky—he’d eat almost anything if it was edible, but vegetables? Fresh ones, like these? He hadn’t had many before coming to stay with Bruce and Alfred. He never had some on pizza. Dad was no fan of veggies and on the rare occassion they got pizza when Jason was a little kid, it was always dad selecting the toppings.

Jason picked up the slice, feeling Dick’s and Bruce’s eyes on him as he took a cautious bite. The flavors were a mix of unfamiliar and surprising—the peppers were a little sweet, the onions had a satisfying crunch, and the olives added a faint saltiness he hadn’t expected to enjoy. He chewed slowly, letting the flavors settle.

“So?” Bruce asked, his tone casual, but Jason caught the faint spark of interest in his eyes, like he genuinely wanted to know.

Jason swallowed, the words slipping out almost shyly. “It’s… good,” he admitted, surprising himself. “Better than spinach, anyway.”

Dick laughed, his voice filling the small space, while Bruce’s mouth curved just slightly, amusement and approval blending in a way that was oddly warm.

“So, we’re officially anti-spinach?” Dick grinned, his gaze playful, but the comment made Jason stiffen, a small, defensive flare rising in him. He didn’t want them to think he was picky or spoiled, especially after so long of getting by with whatever he could find.

“No, I’d eat it,” he said quickly, struggling to explain without giving too much away. “It just… kind of reminds me of mold.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, and he regretted it instantly, glancing away.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the shift in their expressions—no laughter this time, no teasing, just a sudden stillness that made his stomach drop. Dick’s easy grin softened, his eyes shadowed by something close to pity, while Bruce’s face held that same calm understanding, but with a depth that made Jason want to shrink back, to disappear.

“Jason,” Bruce’s voice was low, kind but edged with something else, something hard to face. “You don’t have to eat anything that doesn’t feel good to you, okay?”

Jason’s cheeks burned as he looked down, regretting the slip about mold. He wasn’t trying to get pity, just… to explain. He’d thought maybe it’d help them understand why he wasn’t crazy about spinach. But now Bruce and Dick had gone quiet, the easy smiles from earlier faded into something different.

He fidgeted under the silence, clearing his throat. “It’s just… spinach is green, you know?” His voice wavered as he tried to find the words, to somehow make it sound less strange. “It’s just… in my head.”

Dick was the first to break the silence, his voice a little softer, with a note of something Jason hadn’t expected to hear. “Mold?” he echoed, his gaze sharpening as though he was trying to piece something together. “You… had to eat stuff like that?”

“Dick.” Bruce’s voice was calm but firm, a quiet warning, as if he wanted to shield Jason from having to explain.

But Jason just shrugged, attempting a casual tone, though it felt thin and brittle in his own ears. “Well, yeah… I just ate what I could find. Bread, mostly. Or…” He stopped, his throat tightening, then forced the words out, almost defensively. “I was used to it.”

The silence that followed felt louder than any words, and Jason wished he could take it all back. He’d only meant to explain about the spinach, not open up a part of himself that still felt raw, like a wound never fully healed.

Dick’s face softened, his usual grin fading as he stared at Jason with an expression that made Jason want to look away. “Didn’t you… didn’t you get sick from it?” Dick’s voice was hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer, like he was afraid of what it might reveal.

Jason shrugged, the memory almost too close. “Sometimes,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He remembered it—the gnawing ache that settled deep in his stomach, the cramps that sometimes doubled him over, and the nights when he’d lie curled up in alleyways or on rooftops, willing the nausea to pass. But then there’d be other nights, when the hunger clawed at him sharper than anything else, louder than the fear of what eating might do. And when it came down to it, the hunger was always worse than the risk.

Bruce’s hand settled on his shoulder, firm and warm, grounding him. “You don’t have to worry about that,” Bruce said softly, his voice calm but with an edge that felt almost protective. “Not anymore. Never again.”

Jason blinked, the unexpected reassurance settling into him, quieting that constant tension he’d never been fully able to shake. He felt his shoulders ease, Bruce words settled something in Jason.

Dick’s usual grin returned, though softer, a faint playfulness creeping back into his gaze. “Alright, new rule,” he said, giving a small, exaggerated nod of finality. “No spinach. Anything that even looks like mold is officially banned, right?”

Jason let out a small, unguarded laugh, the tension easing as he looked up at them. It felt strange—the warmth in his chest, the way they took him seriously over something so small, so dumb.

They finished off the pizza, the easy rhythm between them falling back into place as if Jason’s admission about the mold had never happened. But even as he ate, he could feel the weight of it still lingering, hovering over him, though now softened by the warmth of their company. Jason hadn’t expected them to react like that—to take him seriously, to even offer reassurances. It was strange, in a good way, like he’d accidentally stumbled onto something safe.

His appetite stayed steady, the meal tasting better than most things he could remember, exept Chili Dogs maybe or Alfreds cooking. But he still knew when to stop, setting down his slice when only two were left, his stomach full in a way that was satisfying but just shy of uncomfortable.

He eyed the leftovers, hesitant. The old instinct kicked in—don’t waste food, especially food someone else paid for—but he didn’t want to push himself and end up feeling sick. Still, the idea of just leaving it felt… wrong.

Just a few days ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice about scavenging for food like this, grateful for anything still edible. He’d been glad enough to find half-eaten pizza in a trash bin, the cardboard box still warm enough to feel like a small luxury. It didn’t matter that the slices had gone cold; food was food.

“You full?” Bruce’s voice broke through his thoughts, steady and calm.

Jason looked up, a hint of embarrassment creeping in. “Yeah. I, uh, I’m sorry.”

Bruce just shook his head, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “No need to apologize. If Dick’s still hungry, he can have it. Or we can wrap it up for later, take it home.”

Jason shifted in his seat, oddly touched by Bruce’s understanding. Bruce wasn’t treating him like he was broken or fragile. He just got it. Bruce Wayne, billionaire extraordinaire, got why tossing out food hurt in a way most people wouldn’t even think about.

“Whatever Dick wants,” Jason mumbled, trying to sound casual but meaning it. If Dick was still hungry, Jason didn’t want to stop him. If he wasn’t Jason was happy to eat the pizza at home instead of dinner.

Dick grinned, his eyes twinkling with his usual spark of enthusiasm. “I’m always hungry,” he said with a playful shrug, though he glanced at Jason, a hint of something more cautious in his gaze, like he didn’t want to overstep. “Still growing, you know,” he added with a chuckle. “But cold pizza’s awesome for a late-night snack. Or breakfast.”

Jason felt a strange warmth spread through him at that. Taking a breath, he gathered the courage to ask something that would make the decision so much easier. “Would we … I mean, will we do this again sometime?”

He’d meant it to sound light, but he could hear the edge of hope in his own voice, and he braced himself, not sure what he expected. It felt vulnerable, somehow, to ask for more of something he didn’t feel he deserved in the first place.

“Getting pizza?” Bruce asked and there was something warm in his eyes that settled the unease in Jason’s chest, that strange sense of safety flooding back. It was so weird—one moment he felt all wound up, nervous and unsure, and the next, one look from Bruce or Dick made him feel… comforted.

“Absolutely, yes,” Dick cut in before Bruce could answer, nodding with all the enthusiasm that seemed to come so easily to him. “We can get pizza whenever you want!”

Jason felt a small, unguarded grin tug at his lips, the weight in his chest easing a little more. “Then… you can have it,” he said, gesturing to the pizza with a bit more confidence than he’d felt before.

“Awesome,” Dick beamed, not wasting a second as he dove into the last slices.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, the last remnants of the meal disappearing quickly, before Bruce glanced between them, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

“So, what do you think?” Bruce asked, his tone casual. “Back to video games? Or maybe a walk? We could check out an arcade or see a bit of the city. Whatever you two feel like.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard by the offer. Taking them out for pizza was one thing—Bruce had to eat too, and he seemed to enjoy the pizza as much as they did—but spending even more time together, for no reason at all? Jason felt his shoulders tense, a quiet anxiety creeping in.

It didn’t make sense to him. Bruce was busy. Bruce Wayne wasn’t just some guy with spare time to kill; he ran Wayne Enterprises, and, well… there was the whole Batman thing too. Bruce had a city to keep safe, businesses to manage, important things to worry about. And yet here he was, looking at them with this calm, easy expression, like he had nothing else in the world he’d rather be doing. And maybe that was really true. Because Dick was home from college.

Jason shifted in his seat, trying to read Bruce’s expression, but it was Dick who caught his eye. Dick, sitting there as casual as ever, slouched back with a little smirk on his face. For Dick, this seemed perfectly normal. Of course Bruce would spend a day with him, taking him out for pizza and asking what he wanted to do next, like there was nothing unusual about it at all. It was like he didn’t even realize how lucky he was.

But maybe that made sense—this was just Dick’s life. Wayne wasn’t just Batman to him; he was Bruce, the guy who’d raised him. Dick had grown up knowing he belonged here. And now he wanted to waste the whole day hanging out with Jason, just playing video games and doing whatever. Because he really didn’t get how fucking lucky he was having Bruce as a dad.

For some reason, that stung a little, like a slow itch Jason couldn’t shake off. Dick, who’d been nothing but nice didn’t deserve Jasons prickliness. Dick had been here first; he was Bruce’s kid. Jason had just come along after, alley trash that basically begged Bruce to not be thrown out again, like a stray cat that happened to wander into the right house.

His stomach twisted slightly. He’d been lucky Bruce had been so kind. Had he been anyone else, Jason would have gotten the beating of a lifetime. Or worse.

So the idea of Bruce spending the day with them didn’t feel real, didn’t feel like something he deserved. But he didn’t want to ruin it for Dick.

So Jason ducked his head, forcing his voice to sound casual. “Whatever you guys want,” he said, shrugging. “I’m good with whatever.” He glanced at Dick, trying to pass off a grin.

For once, Dick didn’t seem to catch the hesitation in Jason’s voice. He just grinned, glancing at Bruce like he was humoring him. “Promised the squirt video games all day, but the arcade is the next best thing.”

Jason caught the light in Bruce’s eyes as he chuckled, and something in his chest tightened. Seing Bruce with Dick made him miss something he never had. But he stayed quiet as they left the pizzeria and walked to the arcade down the street. Bruce had his hands casually in his pockets, a slight smile on his face as he glanced between them, but Jason kept just a step behind.

When they entered the arcade, Jason’s eyes widened slightly. The neon lights reflected off dozens of machines lined up in neat rows, filling the room with flashing colors and the constant buzz of electronic music.

He’d never seen anything like it before, not from inside. Bruce strolled up to the front counter and bought a stack of coins, handing each of them a big red paper cup filled with small tokens. Jason stared at the cup Bruce gave him, the weight of it heavy in his hand.

“Alright, go have fun,” Bruce said, his smile encouraging. He placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze before stepping back to let them explore.

Dick whooped, already darting off to a cluster of machines in the corner, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he scanned the games. Jason trailed after him, trying to feel that same enthusiasm, but the cup of tokens Bruce had given him felt strange in his hand—awkward, almost heavy.

Bruce paying for food, clothes, even a few workbooks, felt practical, part of the deal they’d made when Bruce took Jason in. But tokens for arcade games, where each coin just vanished into a machine, leaving nothing but flashing lights and noise? That felt like burning money. Bruce’s money.

He glanced down at the cup, mentally counting the coins. The sign at the front had said one token was twenty-five cents, so four made a dollar. By the look of it, there had to be at least fifty tokens in his cup alone. Bruce had spent more than twenty-five bucks, easy, just for them to play a few games.

As Dick approached one of the machines, Jason hung back, gripping the cup of tokens. Dick didn’t hesitate, sliding in a coin and starting up a round, his laughter filling the air as his avatar zipped across the screen, weaving between obstacles and taking down enemies. Jason watched, his own cup of tokens still untouched in his hand.

It should’ve been simple. He knew Bruce expected him to use the tokens. But every time he thought about slipping a coin into a machine, his fingers froze. All he could think about was what that money could buy: bread, a hot drink, warm clothes from the thrift store, maybe. This felt like wasting it, and somehow he was still intrigued by the blinking lights.

“Hey, Jason!” Dick’s voice broke through his thoughts, cheerful and light. He glanced over his shoulder, flashing that easy grin of his. “This one’s got a second player slot—come on!”

Jason shifted, staring at the machine before glancing down at his cup. “Uh… I’m good,” he murmured, his voice softer than he’d intended. “I’ll… just watch for now.”

For a second, Dick looked a little thrown, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. But he let it alide, at least for now, returning his attention to the game without pressing further.

Jason tried to settle into the role of an observer, watching the screen as Dick played, his fingers itching to reach out but his grip tight on the tokens. He caught Bruce’s gaze on him once or twice, a soft look that felt both comforting and unnervingly perceptive, like he might know what Jason was thinking. Jason averted his gaze each time, keeping his focus on the screen, the flashing lights, the steady hum and blip of arcade sounds filling the room.

After a while, he felt Bruce step up beside him, his presence solid and warm. “Want to give it a try?”

Jason startled slightly, not having realized Bruce was right there. He swallowed, trying to keep his eyes on the game. “Maybe,” he mumbled, voice low, feeling a little too vulnerable. Like Bruce was looking right through him.

It felt ridiculous. What was he supposed to say? That the tokens weighed like bricks in his hand because he could practically see every meal, every single thing he could’ve bought with what was in this cup? The reminder stung, a sharp prickle of guilt and insecurity, twisting into that place where hunger and pride met, a feeling he’d grown used to, surviving on scraps.

But Bruce’s gaze remained steady, like he saw through the wall Jason was trying to put up. “Dick always loved the arcade when he was your age,” Bruce said, his tone light but inviting, almost gentle. He nodded toward Dick, who was engrossed in his game, barely noticing the world around him as he cheered himself on. “Looks like he still loves it. Might be fun if you join him.”

Jason hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He tried to force down the feeling twisting in his gut, pushing himself to meet Bruce’s gaze. “Yeah, I mean… I know.” The words felt clumsy, like they didn’t quite fit. He was trying to brush it off, but he knew Bruce could see right through him. “I just… You’re both… family, or something. You and Dick,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them, and he immediately felt the vulnerability settle heavy in his chest.

Family. The word hung between them, sounding too big. Family was supposed to mean something warm, secure, unshakable—but for him it never had. And as much as he wanted to have what Bruce and Dick had, he couldn’t help but feel like an outsider looking in, some stray who’d wandered in by mistake.

But Bruce’s expression softened, his gaze never wavering, and he reached out, resting a hand on Jason’s shoulder with a steadiness that felt almost intentional. Like Bruce wanted him to really get it. “Spending time with you is just as important to me as spending time with Dick.”

Jason swallowed, the knot in his throat tightening. Bruce didn’t say things he didn’t mean.

And yet, doubt lingered. Why should Bruce care this much? He wasn’t Bruce’s real kid, wasn’t the one who had grown up here, whose picture probably sat on Bruces desk at Wayne Enterprize or whose smile was captured in old photos tucked in some well-kept album. Dick fit here; he had a place that was his, like he belonged, even if he moved out for college. Jason felt like he’d leave no trace when he was gone, like a ghost passing through someone else’s house.

The truth was, he didn’t know if he’d ever believe it. Why would Bruce want to spend time with him?

He forced a small, awkward shrug. “Yeah… yeah, okay.” The words barely came out above a mumble. The truth was, he didn’t know if he’d ever believe it. Why would Bruce want to spend time with him?

But something in him wanted to try, just to see if it could be real. He didn’t need a dad to treat him to arcade games once he was all grown up. But if Bruce liked him well enough when Jason left in a couple of years - hopefully with a degree in his hands - he might be allowed to come visit for a cup of tea once in a bluemoon. It would be nice to have something like that.

As if sensing his hesitation, Bruce gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, his hand lingering there for just a moment before pulling back. “Alright,” he said simply, his tone easy, like Jason had all the time in the world to decide if he wanted to waste Bruces money.

For a while, they drifted through the arcade together, Bruce following Jason’s lead as he hung back, watching Dick play, the tokens still untouched in his hand. Dick was absorbed in the flashing lights and quick reflexes, and Jason let himself get lost in it, too, the mindless noise of the machines a distraction from his own thoughts.

But eventually, Dick called him over to a two-player racing game, beaming as he slid over. “Come on, Jay, we’re about to see who’s got the real skills!”

Jason hesitated, glancing down at the token in his hand. It was smooth and cool between his fingers, catching the light as if mocking him for worrying. He could feel Bruce’s steady gaze on him, calm and patient, and maybe that’s what nudged him forward. Taking a breath, he slid the token into the machine.

The screen lit up with a countdown, the electric glow illuminating his face as his avatar took its place at the starting line next to Dick’s.

“Alright, Jay,” Dick grinned, leaning in as if about to share some big secret, “don’t go easy on me, yeah? I want to see what you’ve got.”

Jason managed a smirk, though his grip on the controls was stiff, uncertain.

The game started, and for the first few seconds, he was overly cautious, making sharp turns and weaving a little too tightly around the corners. But as the race progressed, the rhythm came easier. Soon, he was weaving through traffic and skidding around curves.

“This is super cool,” Jason said as he pulled ahead for the first time after starting a second round.

Dick laughed outright, his focus unwavering. He nudged Jason’s character, their cars colliding on screen as they jockeyed for position. For a moment, Jason forgot about the coins in his cup and the cost of the fun he had.

His laughter slipped out without him meaning it to. He wasn’t even aware of Bruce watching them from a few steps away, leaning against one of the other machines, arms folded, a small smile on his face as he watched them play.

Eventually, Jason’s car spun out, and Dick shot past him, winning with a triumphant cheer. Dick was definitly not handling him with kids gloves in this game and Jason was liking that.

“Another round?” Dick’s eyes sparkled as he spoke, already reaching to load another token into the slot. Jason nodded, slipping a coin in himself, and they dove into another round. Dick won again, his cheers filling the arcade, and Jason found himself grinning despite the loss.

Afterward, Dick slid out from behind the wheel, nodding toward another game. “Let’s go check that out.” His tone was easy, casual, as if he assumed Jason would follow him over.

They moved toward the new machine, but Dick glanced down, noticing Jason’s nearly full cup of tokens. He raised an eyebrow, his expression soft but curious. “You’ve barely used any of yours, Jay. What’s up with that?”

Jason’s gaze dropped to the cup, his fingers tightening instinctively.

“I don’t know…” he mumbled, forcing his eyes away, embarrassed at the tightness in his chest. “Maybe I’ll just watch for a bit.”

For a second, Dick’s smile faded, concern creasing his brow. Then, almost like it was the most natural thing in the world, Dick nudged him lightly, a small, playful push paired with a gentle smile. “No way. Time for watching is up. You’re playing with me.”

Jason opened his mouth, searching for a reason to sit this one out, but Dick’s hand was already on his shoulder, guiding him toward the machine with a look that made it impossible to refuse. A two-player fighter game blinked before them, the screen lit up with vibrant, cartoonish characters frozen mid-punch, almost inviting them to join.

“Come on, Jay,” Dick coaxed, voice warm, like he knew Jason might need a little extra encouragement. He slid in a token, nodding toward the second player slot. “This one’s way more fun with two. Don’t leave me hanging, alright?”

Jason hesitated, his fingers brushing over the tokens again. But Dick’s easy grin didn’t waver. “Hey, it’s just us,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “We’re here to have a good time, right?”

Jason let out a quiet breath, his grip on the token loosening a bit. “Yeah,” he murmured, a small, hesitant smile tugging at his lips. “Guess so.”

He slipped the token into the machine, joining Dick in picking a character. The moment the game started, his focus zeroed in, the familiar rush of competition creeping in, though he kept his excitement mostly to himself. He was tentative with his moves, and a bit slow on the combos, but Dick didn’t mind; he just played at Jason’s pace, keeping it light with a few jokes and easygoing banter. Each time Jason scored a hit, Dick cheered him on, throwing out a playful, “See, you’ve got this!”

Jason wasn’t as bold with his comments; he’d manage a soft “Not bad, right?” here and there, though he kept his voice low, almost like he was afraid of saying too much. But with each round, he felt a little more at ease, and even caught himself laughing under his breath when his character landed a lucky shot on Dick’s.

“Pretty sure you’re better at this than you’re letting on,” he said, nudging him gently with his elbow.

Jason ducked his head, feeling his cheeks warm. “Nah, just… getting lucky, I guess,” he mumbled, a shy smile flickering on his face.

They played a few more rounds before moving on, with Dick subtly leading them from game to game. Jason used a few tokens here and there, still a bit hesitant, but Dick never pushed him too hard. He just kept things easy and fun, cracking a joke when Jason’s character stumbled or giving a quick thumbs-up whenever he landed a good move.

By the time they made their way to the old-fashioned skee-ball machine, Jason had relaxed enough to join in without overthinking. He didn’t boast or taunt like Dick did, but there was a glint in his eyes each time he scored, a small, shy smile slipping through whenever he landed a good shot.

As they finished their last game, both using up Jasons left over tokens, Dick shot him a proud smile. “See? Told you this’d be a blast.”

Jason ducked his head again, that shy smile lingering as he shrugged. “Yeah… it was pretty fun.”

As they finished their last game, both using the remainder of Jason’s tokens to continue the multiplayer games, Dick shot Jason a triumphant grin, his face flushed with excitement. “See? Told you this’d be a blast,” he said, his eyes sparkling with that easy confidence Jason found himself almost envying.

Jason ducked his head, his fingers fidgeting around the empty cup now clutched in his hands.

“Yeah… it was pretty fun,” he murmured and as they walked back through the arcade, Dick slung an arm over Jason’s shoulders. Jason stiffened for a moment, unused to the easy closeness, but something about the weight of it grounded him in a way he hadn’t expected.

Bruce leaned casually against a pinball machine near the entrance, his gaze shifting from Dick to Jason with an easy, approving smile. “Looks like you two had a good time,” he said, his voice calm and steady, carrying a quiet warmth.

Dick flashed a thumbs-up, turning to Jason with a grin. “The kid’s a quick learner,” he added, ruffling Jason’s hair in a way that was playful but gentle, as if he knew Jason might shy away if he felt threatened.

Bruce’s gaze lingered on Jason, making him shift under the attention, unsure if he should look away or try to shrug it off. Then Bruce nodded, a small, affirming gesture. “Yes, he is,” he agreed, before he straightened, his hand lifting slightly to gesture toward the exit.

“Alright, you two,” he said, his tone inviting, more like an offer than a command. “How about we take a walk? It’s getting dark, and the city’s lit up with Christmas lights.”

Jason felt a twist in his stomach at the idea. Bruce had been here with them the whole time, watching as they drifted from game to game, the bright arcade lights bouncing off the screens and echoing in the room. And while Bruce had been on his phone now and then, making calls or typing away, probably answering emails, he’d been here the whole afternoon with them.

And now he wanted to spend even more time with them?

Jason’s hand tightened around the empty token cup, his fingers tracing over the edges. The idea of taking up even more of Bruce’s time felt almost uncomfortable, like they’d already taken more than they should have. His mind spun with everything: the cost of lunch and the tokens for the games, the hours Bruce could have spent somewhere more important …

But he caught Dick’s eye, and Dick didn’t look like he worried a single bit about wasting Bruces time.

“What do you say, Jay?” Dick asked, nudging him lightly with an elbow. “Christmas lights or back home? I promised you a day full of Video games but a walk could be nice. I love christmas lights and maybe we can find a stand with some Langos at the holiday market uptown.”

Jason shrugged, casting his gaze to the floor.

“Yeah, alright,” he mumbled, glancing down as his foot kicked at a stray arcade ticket. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that this was too much, like they’d overstayed, but…he couldn’t deny the tiny, quiet part of him that wanted to see the lights, wanted to try Langos if thag make Dick so exited, wanted to soend more time with them both.

Bruce’s answer was immediate, a reassuring nod. “Sounds like a plan, boys.”

As they stepped outside, the December air was sharp but softened by the holiday lights that strung along the streets. They glowed in greens and whites and reds, casting a soft, colorful light across the sidewalks and windows, the city’s usual sharpness muted into something that felt almost…warm.

Jason found himself walking a little closer to Dick as they strolled, his eyes drifting to the lights as they passed shop windows decorated with scenes of winter forests and small holiday villages. Bruce pointed out a particularly intricate display—a set of moving figures, each one dressed in Victorian-era clothing as they danced in an endless loop.

Jason glanced up at Bruce, catching his eye, and Bruce offered him a small, warm smile. “You good, Jay? Not too cold?”

Jason shook his head. “I’m good,” he murmured. He was bundled up in his thick parka and the read beanie covered his ears. And he figured if he even hinted he was chilly, Bruce would probably be the first to suggest ducking into the nearest warm cafe or getting a hot drink. But right now, he didn’t want to change anything about this. Walking through the streets, knowing therr was a warm house to come back to, was pretty neat.

They continued down the bustling street, the holiday lights casting a soft glow across the sidewalks. Before long, Bruce slowed his steps, stopping near a small stand on the corner where the scent of chocolate and cinnamon filled the air. Moments later, he handed them each a cup of hot chocolate topped with a generous swirl of marshmallow fluff, dusted with rainbow sprinkles that looked slightly out of place against Bruce’s composed, familiar figure. It wasn’t quite the “Bruce Wayne” image that most would expect, but for Jason, that made it even better. The warmth of the cup spread through his hands, the sweetness of the marshmallow melting into the chocolate with each sip, and he couldn’t help but smile into his cup.

Bruce took a sip of his own drink, expression calm but subtly pleased. And then Dick spotted something he’d been searching for, exclaiming as he made his way over to a nearby vendor.

A few moments later, he came back triumphantly holding a “langos”—a fried flatbread topped with sour cream, grated cheese, and a sprinkle of spring onions. The warm, savory smell filled the air as he broke off a piece and offered it to Jason. Jason took a small bite, savoring the crispy outside and the melting cheese on top.

“Pretty good, right?” Dick asked, his eyes bright as Jason gave a nod. Jason was still full from the pizza at lunch, but he appreciated the gesture, the way Dick seemed to want him to experience every part of the evening, from the games to the food to the lights. Maybe that was what it felt like to have an older brother.

As they walked, Dick caught sight of a row of trees that lined the park nearby, each one wrapped in a canopy of soft blue and white lights. He tugged Jason over, weaving them through the trees until they were standing right underneath the hanging lights. The colors blended together, swaying slightly in the breeze, each light catching in the air like snowflakes frozen mid-fall.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Dick’s voice was a mix of awe and playfulness, his gaze fixed on the lights above them. “Almost like Gotham’s got its own stars.”

Jason looked up, his breath caught for a moment as he took in the view. The lights cast a gentle glow over everything, painting shadows and colors across the snow-dusted ground and the trees. He glanced back at Dick, who was watching him with a quiet kind of pride, like he wanted to share every bit of the night with him. Jason felt something settle in his chest. He really wanted Dick to be his brother.

“Yeah,” he murmured, unable to help a small smile. It was corny, maybe, and it didn’t quite fit into Gotham’s usual dark but he couldn’t help it—there was something about this moment that he wanted to hold onto forever.

Chapter Text

Back home, Alfred had dinner ready—a plate of grilled salmon beside a salad that looked like it was straight out of one of those fancy cooking shows. Jason eyed it, unsure. The salad was a strange mix of textures and colors he wasn’t used to, nothing like the simple greens and canned veggies they had at school.

This one had all those leafy greens he couldn’t name, black olives that he’d tried just earlier on Bruce’s pizza, and these thick slices of something bright red. It was a strange mix—bits of white cheese, soft and crumbly, a few nuts scattered on top, and everything drizzled with a honey-sweet sauce.

When Alfred mentioned the word “beetroot,” Jason nodded like he’d heard of it before, though he hadn’t, his fork hovering cautiously over the red pieces of veggie. He’d never eaten a salad like this. Still, he cut off a piece of salmon and took a bite, savoring the smoky flavor.

Then he braved a forkful of the salad, snagging a bit of everything, including a slice of that red stuff, which he was starting to feel a bit curious about.

To his surprise, it tasted… good. The salad was a mix of sharp, earthy, and sweet flavors, the sauce balancing out the tanginess of the olives and the slightly weird, but actually pretty nice, beetroot.

Alfred, who’d been watching him with a patient smile, leaned in a bit, as if to share a secret. “Enjoying it, Master Jason?”

Jason glanced up, his fork poised over another bite. “Yeah. Never really had salad like this before. S’kinda fancy.”

Alfred’s eyes twinkled with a hint of amusement, his usually composed expression softening slightly. “I’m pleased to hear it, Master Jason. I must admit, beetroot was a bit of an acquired taste for me as well, the first time I had it.” He paused, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. “But as with many things, one learns to appreciate it in time.”

Jason gave a half-grin, comforted by that. “Guess I get that.” He speared another bit of the red slices, chewing thoughtfully. “Kinda thought it’d be all… weird or somethin’. But it’s not.”

Alfred’s gaze softened, and he gestured toward the plate with a touch of pride. “Ah, but that’s the mark of a good salad, Master Jason. Fresh ingredients, and of course, the right dressing. This particular one’s a honey vinaigrette. It brings out the best in the beetroot and the goat’s cheese.” He smiled a little wider, leaning back, his gaze flicking knowingly to Bruce across the table. “Though Master Bruce, I must say, does not share quite the same appreciation for goat’s cheese.”

Jason just now noticed that Bruce’s salad looked almost the same as his—except no white bits of goat cheese scattered through. Jason’s eyes darted over to Dick’s plate, too; it was drowning in the dressing, way more than Jason’s, but had no olives. He couldn’t help but wonder if Alfred fixed them up special for everyone. Maybe if there was something he didn’t like, Alfred would fix it different for him, too. Like the way Bruce had promised him no spinach, ever, if he didn’t want it.

“I like the cheese, actually,” Jason mumbled, taking another bite and liking the way it tasted sharp and creamy against the sweet honey.

Alfred raised a brow, looking pleased. “Would you care for a bit more of it, then, Master Jason?”

Jason paused, thinking about the pizza they’d had for lunch, stacked with gooey cheese and everything. “Nah, s’okay. We had all that pizza at lunch, y’know? Was a lotta cheese then.” He ducked his head slightly, feeling like he’d said too much. “But maybe next time?”

Alfred inclined his head with a gracious nod. “But of course, Master Jason.”

***

After they’d finished eating, they all drifted over to the den. Bruce settled into one of the big armchairs, barely giving them a glance before he started tapping at something on his tablet, all steady and focused. Jason squinted over at him, wondering why he’d stick around if he had to work. But, of course, he didn’t say anything. This was Bruce’s house, after all; he could work wherever he wanted, and Jason wasn’t about to test his luck by asking questions that might get him in trouble.

Dick was already at the TV, fiddling with the Nintendo Switch, that usual goofy grin of his stretching wider as he looked back at Jason. “Alright, kid,” he said, tossing a controller with a little flair. “Think you’re ready for a real challenge?”

Jason caught it, feeling a grin sneak across his face as he plopped onto the couch. “What are we playing?” he asked, eyeing the screen as a colorful menu popped up with bright, upbeat music.

“Mario Kart,” Dick replied with a wink. “You’re gonna love it!”

The game loaded up and as they got to the character select screen, Jason was hit with way more choices than he’d expected. There were all kinds of little guys to pick from—some human-looking characters, a princess in a pink dress, a green bubbly dinosaur, a couple of monkeys, and loads of turtles.

Jason’s eyes stopped on one of the turtles, a big spiky one with horns and flames around him, named Bowser. The guy was massive, sitting in a huge, tank-like kart that looked like it could crush the others. He had this cool, mean look with a spiked shell and fangs that made him seem like a real fighter, not just some goofy character. Jason liked the look of him right away.

“Awesome,” Jason muttered under his breath, locking in his choice. Bowser looked like the kind of guy who wouldn’t take any crap from anybody, with his big spiked shell and a snarl that made it clear he meant business. Jason stared at the screen a second longer, wishing, just for a second, that he’d had someone tough like Bowser in his corner. Someone who’d step in, keep people from pushing him around.

As the race started, Dick’s character—some weird, chubby guy in a red hat who apparently was “Mario himself”—was already zooming past him, but not before Dick cranked the volume up, filling the room with loud engines and music that was way too cheerful for a high-stakes race.

Jason’s stomach knotted up on instinct. The noise was loud—too loud. It’d gotten him in trouble more times than he could count, and there was Bruce, just a few feet away, busy on his tablet. Jason threw a quick, nervous glance his way, watching, half-expecting a scowl or for Bruce to stand up and tell them to knock it off.

But Bruce didn’t even look over. Didn’t blink, didn’t sigh, nothing. He just stayed right where he was, scrolling and typing like the noise wasn’t even there. And Dick? He didn’t seem to care at all, leaning forward in his seat, mashing buttons and yelling when he nearly slid off the track. It was wild, seeing how he didn’t care about the noise or even about Bruce being there, acting like it was totally fine to just hang out and be loud and, well, have fun.

Back in any of the places Jason had lived, noise like this in the same room as an adult would’ve been an automatic problem. And if they were trying to work or relax? That was just asking for it. The second anyone made this kind of racket, it’d be “get out,” “keep it down,” or worse.

But here, there wasn’t any anger brewing, no storm about to hit. So Jason eased his grip on the controller, his shoulders dropping as he settled into the couch. He focused on the race, feeling the rush as he dodged obstacles and swung around tight turns.

Dick kept up a steady stream of chatter and taunts, giving each track his own weird commentary that made Jason snicker, like calling out, “Here comes the Koopa King!” whenever Jason got close, or laughing loud when he managed to knock Dick’s Mario out of the way.

Jason didn’t realize he was smiling—really smiling—until he heard himself laugh, loud enough that it almost startled him. He half-expected the moment to sour, like laughter was somehow too much. But then Dick’s Mario went spinning off the track again, and Jason just couldn’t hold it back.

And every now and then, between races, Jason would glance over at Bruce. Just to see if he’d had enough, if he was about to tell them to pack it up. But instead, Bruce would look up, offering a small, approving nod or a soft, almost invisible smile. His face was calm, a steady presence that felt… safe, somehow. Jason couldn’t quite wrap his head around it.

At home with his dad, being loud in the living room was a one-way ticket to getting yelled at, or worse, getting booted out for the night. And here he was, not only allowed to be here but even encouraged, like he belonged in the room just as much as anybody else.

Eventually, the last race of their third Grand Prix ended with Dick letting out a loud whoop, declaring himself the winner even though Jason had snagged a few good places too, having gotten all the praise from Dick throughout the game for that.

Jason set his controller down, feeling surprisingly at ease.

Dick, with his usual wide grin, glanced at Bruce and then turned back to Jason. “Alright, little dude,” he said, leaning in with a conspiratorial tone, “I think I’ve got just the right movie for a car nerd like you.”

Jason looked at him, a bit curious, as Dick scrolled through the Disney streaming app on the TV. “Ever heard of Cars ?” Dick asked, stopping on a brightly colored title picture with a big red race car.

Jason blinked. “Uh, nope.”

Dick laughed, giving Jason a playful nudge. “Oh, you’re in for a treat, kid. It’s got talking cars, racing, all that good stuff.”

Jason’s gaze flicked over to Bruce. He wasn’t totally sure if a kids’ movie was Bruce’s thing, and he half-expected him to wave them off, maybe go back to his work or to finally kick them out of the room. But Bruce, settled into one of the armchairs, just nodded, looking almost… interested. Like he was actually okay with it.

Jason still felt a little uncertain; part of him wondered if Bruce would get annoyed partway through, maybe even walk out himself. Because he was just nice like that. But Bruce just looked at him, offering a small, reassuring smile.

Dick, meanwhile, had his own priorities and headed off to the kitchen, mumbling about snacks. Jason watched him disappear, a little mystified. The idea of just walking up to the pantry and grabbing something whenever he wanted felt almost unreal. In every place he’d ever been, snacks were like gold—if you had them, you hid them, and you sure didn’t just wander up and grab them in front of everyone.

Dick came back a few minutes later, arms loaded with popcorn, M&Ms, chocolate covered pretzels, and a couple of sodas, which he set down with a flourish.

“Alright, got us the essentials,” he declared, flopping down beside Jason with a grin.

The movie started, and Jason got lost in the bright, noisy world of Radiator Springs, where cars had faces and voices and went on grand adventures. Dick kept up a steady stream of commentary, mostly funny little asides that made Jason snicker, and he kept throwing an arm around Jason’s shoulders like they’d been brothers forever.

Jason had been shy about the snacks but Dick had made it so easy—just reaching over with a smile, tossing the bag of M&Ms onto the couch beside him without hesitation, after Jason had admitted that those were maybe his favorite  sweets, especially those crispy ones that Dick gotten from the pantry. Jason munched on them happily, while the movie played.

Every now and then, Dick would nudge him, or point out some funny detail in the movie, and Jason couldn’t help but feel… well, kind of safe. Like he didn’t have to keep his guard up all the time.

At one point, Jason found himself glancing at Bruce again. But instead of getting irritated or annoyed by the childrens movie playing on screen, Bruce looked as relaxed as ever, watching the movie alongside them with a small, patient smile. Every once in a while, he’d even chuckle at something, like he actually enjoyed being here. Jason tried to tell himself not to think too hard about it—just to enjoy it, maybe, and not wait for it to be ruined somehow.

The movie wore on, and Jason’s eyes grew heavy, his head lolling against the back of the couch. He heard Dicks laughter and felt the warmth radiating from him sitting close and Bruce’s quiet presence nearby, calm and steady. The room grew softer, quieter somehow, as he started to drift off.

Chapter Text

As Jason drifted off, his breathing softening to a slow, steady rhythm, Bruce felt a quiet sense of relief settle in his chest. Watching Jason fall asleep on the couch—here, in the manor, surrounded by Dick and him—was something Bruce hadn’t expected to see so soon, if ever.

After all Jason had been through, Bruce had thought that maybe this place, and the people in it, might feel like too much for him. He’d thought Jason would keep his guard up for much longer, wary and watchful, like an animal still half-expecting to be hurt. But here he was, relaxed and safe enough to surrender to sleep.

Jason’s breathing steadied, a soft rhythm that Bruce found himself listening to. There was something undeniably vulnerable about a child at rest, something that tugged at him in ways he hadn’t expected before he took in Dick all those years ago. It felt like the old, weathered walls of the manor had a way of embracing him, silently vowing to keep him safe, and Bruce couldn’t help but hope Jason would sense it too.

The day had been a hopeful one, Bruce realized. From the moment they’d stepped out into the cold, after the arcades, Jason had been at ease in ways that had surprised Bruce more than once. It hadn’t been obvious, exactly; Jason still wore the remnants of old defenses, his quick glances over at Bruce and that faint hesitation before accepting gestures of kindness. But each of those moments felt like small victories—like cracks in the walls Jason had built to protect himself.

And it hadn’t only been Jason making an effort. Bruce’s gaze shifted to Dick, who was watching the screen, quiet for the moment, but still every bit as present and open as he’d been all evening. Watching them, Bruce could see how much of Jason’s ease came from Dick himself.

Dick, who never faltered in his acceptance, who nudged and teased Jason like he’d known him all his life, like he’d always been his brother. Bruce knew how deeply that must resonate with Jason—someone who’d grown up with so little of this, with so little certainty that he was welcome, that he belonged.

Bruce had seen it in the way Jason allowed Dick’s nudges, even leaning into them at times, laughing and meeting Dick’s lighthearted jabs with grins and competitive taunts. Jason had been watching Dick closely, too, like he was learning something new and vital from him—the way Dick inhabited the manor so naturally, with a kind of comfort that had seemed contagious.

Dick had even taken the initiative to turn the volume up on the game earlier, making the room bubble with sounds of laughter and revving engines, an atmosphere that would’ve made Jason nervous in any other setting. And each time Jason glanced at him, Bruce could tell he was waiting, half-expecting some reaction—maybe an order to quiet down, a disapproving look or worse.

Jason had learned young to equate loudness with volatility, unpredictability, punishment; sounds of joy, even when they were his own, had always come with risk.

Jason was still, beneath his brave exterior, a boy who had been starved, beaten and hurt in ways Bruce was only beginning to understand. Someone who had learned too soon and too harshly that everything could turn dangerous in a heartbeat. But in the manor tonight, there’d been none of that. Only Bruce’s silent assurance that both boys were safe here.

It was good. Better than Bruce had hoped for. And it was Dick who had made it so, with that openhearted patience of his, the warmth that came as naturally to him as breathing. Watching him with Jason tonight, Bruce could see it more clearly than ever—that mix of fierce loyalty and unbreakable kindness that was pure Dick.

There was something about Dick’s unwavering presence, his unreserved acceptance, that made it so simple for Jason to let go, just a little. Even when Dick nudged Jason’s shoulder or laughed out loud, Jason didn’t tense or pull away. Instead, he allowed it, leaned into it in a way that felt fragile and hopeful, his guarded expressions slipping away.

Bruce knew, deep down, that it was his own mother’s heart and his father’s courage that had allowed him to save Dick all those years ago. His mother’s kindness—her boundless empathy, the way she saw the good in the world even in its darkest corners—was what had urged him to pull a grieving boy from the wreckage of a life shattered too soon.

And his father’s courage, the strength to stand firm in the face of tragedy and loss, had steeled him for the responsibility that came with such a choice. Together, their legacy had lived on in him, pushing him to open his door to a boy who’d lost everything, just as he once had.

But it was Dick himself who had opened Bruce’s heart in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Dick had stepped into his life with a fierceness and resilience that defied his age, a raw and unflinching loyalty that challenged Bruce at every turn. He’d brought light and laughter into the manor’s silent halls, pushing back against the shadows Bruce had allowed to take root.

Over time, it was Dick who’d shown him that family was more than blood, that love—true, honest love—could be something he didn’t just protect, but give freely. It was Dick’s irrepressible spirit, his ability to forgive and to accept, that chipped away at the walls Bruce had built so carefully around himself.

In Dick’s presence, Bruce had started to believe that maybe his life could be more than his mission, that he could allow himself to care, to trust, even if it meant risking pain.

And when Jason had come into his orbit—scarred, mistrustful, angry—Bruce felt that same pull to open his home again, to take in a child who needed him just as much as Dick had all those years ago. But this time, the decision was different. It was softened, not just by his parents’ memory, but by everything Dick had taught him about resilience, family, and love.

Bruce realized now, as he watched the two boys on the couch, how much of his choice to bring Jason into his life had been inspired by Dick’s influence. In some way, Bruce felt he was honoring not only his parents’ legacy, but Dick’s as well—taking a risk on Jason because he’d seen what love and acceptance could do to a child.

Dick’s presence tonight, the easy warmth he’d shared with Jason, had only reinforced Bruce’s decision. For the first time in a long while, he felt a quiet sense of hope.

Looking at his eldest, Bruce felt a rare warmth settle over him, a steady pride he didn’t often allow himself to indulge. He leaned back, his voice soft but carrying a depth of gratitude. “You’re really good with him, chum,” he murmured, meaning every word. It was as much a thank you as they were an acknowledgment of Dick’s impact on their small, patchwork family.

Dick looked over, his face softening in a way that made him look younger, almost vulnerable. “Thanks, Bruce,” he replied quietly, his gaze drifting back to Jason, who slept peacefully, his face softened in slumber.

“He’s a good kid. Just… hasn’t had many chances to be one,” Dick said.

Bruce nodded, his gaze lingering on Jason, curled up on the couch, looking so much younger in sleep. Jason was barefoot, his face softened, unguarded. His head was tucked against the armrest, rising and falling with quiet huffs of breath, while the dim light from the screen cast gentle shadows across his features.

This was a side of Jason that Bruce hadn’t yet grown accustomed to seeing. Jason falling asleep in open spaces was a sign of a trust Bruce hadn’t dared to hope for—not with a kid as bruised and wary as Jason.

And for him to be asleep, his guard completely down, while Dick crunched on popcorn beside him, the murmur of the movie in the background? It spoke volumes.

As he watched, Bruce couldn’t help but think back to the first night Jason had been under his roof. The kid had been a tangle of wiry limbs, eyes darting, alert even in stillness. He still was far too thin, his collarbones jutting out under the too-loose shirt he wore, and his cheeks hollow from too many skipped meals.

That edge, that instinct to always be on his best behavior, hadn’t faded. Jason was always ready to jump up and offer a hand, helpful and polite to a fault, as though he believed his place here was conditional on him being of some use.

It struck Bruce as both sad and remarkable; the kid who had tried to jack the Batmobile’s tires had more grit than half the people Bruce had known. And yet, here he was, quietly grateful, going out of his way to be polite and unobtrusive, as though he feared the wrong move might cost him this fragile sense of belonging.

Alfred, too, had taken to Jason in a way Bruce hadn’t anticipated. Bruce knew Alfred well enough to recognize when he was fond of someone. There was something about the boy’s street-hardened smarts, the sharpness of his mind despite his lack of formal education, that intrigued Alfred.

Jason might have been born into a rough part of Gotham, but there was no missing the quickness of his wit, the way he caught onto things others might overlook. It was clear that life in Crime Alley had taught him survival skills that went beyond street smarts; there was a practical intelligence there, a resilience that only grew sharper under Alfred’s gentle guidance.

The movie ended, and as the credits rolled, Dick switched the channel to some lighthearted home renovation show, the kind of mindless entertainment that required little attention but filled the room with familiar, comfortable sounds.

Bruce glanced back down at Jason, thinking about how this ordinary evening—movies, popcorn, quiet conversation—might be one of the first he’d ever had. His gaze softened, a rare and quiet affection settling over him.

Suddenly, Jason shifted. Bruce barely had a chance to reach out when Jason’s blue eyes flew open, wide and startled. His body tensed instantly, limbs curling toward his center in a defensive motion that spoke of far too many nights spent in uncertain spaces. It was instinct, deeply ingrained and unthinking, his small body coiling as though expecting a blow. Bruce’s hand, hovering in midair, hesitated, careful not to come any closer. He knew that look—had seen it in others who’d lived through terror and trauma for too long.

“It’s alright, Jason,” he said softly, his voice steady, calm. “You’re safe. Just nodded off, that’s all.”

Jason’s wide eyes blinked, his surroundings gradually coming into focus. For a moment, his gaze darted between Bruce and Dick, a flash of vulnerability slipping through the cracks in his defenses before he buried it again. His shoulders remained tense, his body coiled and ready, but Bruce kept his voice low, soothing, as he repeated, “It’s alright, Jason. You’re here, with us.”

Dick leaned over and offered a reassuring smile, his voice soft. “You missed the end of the movie, but I’d say that’s the best reason to watch it again sometime,” he joked lightly, aiming to ease the tension that had tightened Jason’s frame. The words seemed to ground him, a flicker of understanding breaking through Jason’s daze. He finally exhaled, a slow, cautious breath that seemed to release some of the coiled tension.

“Didn’t mean to,” Jason mumbled, a hint of embarrassment coloring his tone. He pulled his feet up onto the couch, arms around his legs, his chin resting on bony knees, the instinctual need for protection still lingering in his posture. But he didn’t move away. Instead, he seemed to settle in, if only a little, blinking away the fog of sleep with a sharp exhale.

Bruce leaned back in the armchair, giving Jason all the space, watching as he smoothed his hair back in an unconscious gesture of self-composure.

“It’s alright,” Bruce assured him, the words gentle.

Bruce’s mind wandered back to his first night with Jason, the way he had hovered, unsure of the strange surroundings, every muscle wound tight, his eyes darting like a trapped animal’s. Jason had been guarded, vigilant, like he couldn’t quite trust that the ground wouldn’t be pulled out from under him.

Still now, Bruce witnessed countless signs of Jason’s struggle to adapt. He flinched at unexpected noises, his body tensing every so often. And food—food was surely a topic. The first meal, back at the diner Jason had eaten quickly, shoveling down his fries like he thought they might be taken from him if he didn’t finish in time.

The realization had broken something in Bruce, a quiet ache that had settled in his chest and refused to leave.

Bruce’s gaze settled back on Jason, watching the tension slowly melt from his frame, as the boy looked to the television, the renovation show still running. He noticed the way Jason’s fingers relaxed, a stark contrast to the way he’d clenched his fist the first night. The one that Jason had slept downstairs in the cave. Bruce wondered how well Jason slept now, up in his room in the manor. He hadn’t yet heard the kid scream or cry, no audible sign of nightmares but Bruce wouldn’t be suprised if Jason had learnt how to keep quiet.

The renovation show continued on screen letting the soft murmurs of the hosts and the gentle hum of the TV fill the room. Jason’s eyelids grew heavy again, and Bruce noticed him stifling a yawn.

Dick glanced over, his eyes dancing with amusement. “You can crash here if you want, you know. I’ve done it countless of times, falling asleep in here after movie night” he teased, nudging Jason’s arm lightly.

Jason gave a small huff, trying to look unbothered. “Nah, I’m good. Not that tired anyway,” he muttered, though his voice was thick with the unmistakable edge of sleep.

“Sure you’re not,” Dick said with a smirk, but he left it alone, turning his attention back to the screen. The hosts had just revealed an open-concept living room with walls torn down to create a spacious flow. “What do you think of this one, Jay? Looks like they did a pretty good job, huh?”

Jason tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched the massive house on the screen, his gaze almost dissecting each empty room. “It’s… alright, I guess,” he muttered, his tone softening despite his initial indifference. A hint of real interest broke through, though he quickly masked it. “But… who needs that much space? It just looks kinda… empty.”

Bruce chuckled, leaning back, sensing more in Jason’s words than just the obvious critique. “Maybe it’s about having room for activities?” he suggested, wondering how Jason felt about the manor. He knew it could feel equally daunting, filled with rooms no one ever entered, spaces left almost frozen in time.

Dick threw his head back with an infectious laugh. “More room for roller-skating inside, maybe?” he teased, grinning. “That’s how you really make use of a place like that.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, shifting his gaze from Dick to the screen and back again. “Pretty sure that’s a fast track to breaking something expensive,” he said dryly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was a small comment, but Bruce recognized the underlying practicality—Jason’s instinct to avoid unnecessary risk, honed from a different life, a life where mistakes had real consequences. Consequences Jason hadn’t been able to just laugh off or shrug away.

“Aw, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it,” Dick said, nudging Jason playfully. “When I was about your age, I set up a whole obstacle course in the manor once. Alfred nearly gave me my first ever house arrest when he saw the scuff marks on the floors.”

Jason’s reaction was immediate, eyes widening in a mix of disbelief and something that almost looked like alarm. “You did that here? ” He stared at Dick, a shadow of genuine confusion crossing his face.

Bruce caught the flicker of disbelief and worry in Jason’s expression, sensing the unspoken history in his reaction. He glanced at Dick, a small, knowing smile crossing his face as he tried to keep the mood light. “It wasn’t just the scuff marks,” he interjected dryly. “He almost shattered the murano glass vase. Alfred was… not amused.”

Dick just shrugged, unfazed, a carefree grin on his face. “Totally worth it. And anyway, I didn’t even get in that much trouble,” he said with a wink in Bruce’s direction. “Bruce let it slide.”

Jason’s eyes darted between the two, looking stunned. “You… you really didn’t get in trouble for that?” His voice dropped, hesitating over each word. It was clear he wasn’t just curious—he was genuinely perplexed. He hadn’t expected that someone would be let off so lightly for causing what he’d call ‘big trouble.’

Bruce watched him closely, catching the layer of hesitation that said so much more. Jason had grown up in a world where even small mistakes could lead to punishment. He was used to a firm hand—sometimes too firm, sometimes a lot worse.

The unspoken memory lingered in his stance, the way he shifted ever so slightly, as though expecting the memory to materialize. Bruce knew that Jason had likely faced harsh consequences for much less, for innocent slips that had been met with fury instead of patience.

Dick, sensing Jason’s surprise, grinned. “Well, Bruce wasn’t happy, that’s for sure. But yeah, he just made me help clean up. No big deal.”

Jason hesitated, his mouth opening to respond, but he closed it again, almost as if he was recalculating how much he should say.

For a long moment, Jason was quiet. Then, in a tone softer than Bruce had ever heard from him, he muttered, “One time… I accidentally broke the handle off a door back at the group home.” He paused, picking at his fingernails, his gaze distant. “It was just a little old broom closet, but I didn’t even realize I’d done it until the next day.”

Jason’s voice held a quiet resignation, a trace of shame that made Bruce’s chest tighten. “It was this big fuss, you know? When they found out it was broken… they lined us all up. I didn’t even get a chance to explain, when some other kid told them I’d been in there last.” His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper, and he fixed his gaze on his hands, which had balled into fists on his knees.

Dick’s expression had softened, and he glanced over at Bruce with a look of quiet understanding. “So… what happened?” he asked gently, leaning closer.

Jason hesitated, his eyes flicking toward the door as though checking for a way out, but something about the room’s quiet—Bruce’s calm presence, Dick’s unassuming question—seemed to give him courage. He let out a long, shaky breath.

Jason’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it was steady, each word weighed down by something far heavier than his age. “They beat me with one of the broomsticks.” He kept his gaze low, eyes fixed on his hands, which were balled into fists so tight his knuckles had gone white.

“They thought I’d done it on purpose… like I was trying to mess things up. And maybe it was stupid, but… I couldn’t figure out why. I knew I messed up, but…” He trailed off, and in the silence that followed, Bruce could hear every unsaid word, the unspoken bewilderment and frustration of a child who had been punished far too harshly for something he hadn’t intended.

“After that I was on sweeping duty for the whole week. Made sure I knew what’d happen if I ‘messed up’ again.”

He shrugged like it was nothing, but Bruce saw the way his shoulders curled inward, as though even recounting the memory made him brace for impact. Jason wasn’t used to sympathy—wasn’t used to people seeing past the surface of a “troublemaker.” The weary acceptance in his posture was something no kid his age should have learned, and yet it seemed etched into every inch of him.

Dick’s expression shifted, his easy smile fading as he absorbed what Jason had shared. For a moment, his mouth opened as if to respond, but he stopped himself, his gaze flickering with shock, tempered quickly by an attempt to keep his reaction in check. The faintest hint of anger sparked in his eyes—anger at a world that would make Jason believe that a broken door handle could mean that much trouble.

Bruce’s chest tightened, and he steadied his voice, careful to keep his tone soft, understanding. “You didn’t deserve that, Jason.” He paused, choosing his words with care, wanting them to settle into the spaces where Jason’s doubt had taken root. “Breaking something by accident… does not deserve a punishment that harsh.”

Jason lifted his eyes just briefly, searching Bruces face, but there was a hesitance in the way he pulled back, like he was still waiting for some kind of catch, like he wasn’t sure he should believe what he was hearing.

“Wasn’t the first time,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Anything goes wrong, they just… They hit us a whole lot.” Jason shifted slightly, pulling his knees closer, and for a moment, the quiet of the room settled around them. “Keeps us in line.”

Bruce felt a tightness in his chest he hadn’t prepared for. Jason’s words were heavy with a resignation no eleven-year-old should know, a survival skill taught by hands meant to protect, but that had only ever left him bruised.

Bruce leaned forward, his elbows rested on his knees, his voice low, the kind of calm that tried to make up for the past Jason had endured. “It will not be like that here.”

Jason shot him a wary look, as though trying to gauge whether he meant it, whether he could trust it. Bruce could see the uncertainty, the years of expectation for the worst.

Dick shifted in his seat, his gaze still fixed on Jason, eyes narrowing as he tried to process the weight of what he’d just heard. “Jason… was it always like that there?” His tone was careful but edged with disbelief, the kind that said he was only just beginning to realize how much he didn’t know. “The beatings and how they disciplined you kids?”

Jason gave a small shrug, his expression guarded, as though the question didn’t need an answer. “Pretty much, yeah.” He kept his gaze low, his fingers working over each other, picking absently at his nails.

“Sometimes they’d just line us all up, pick the kid that looked like he’d deserved it or shit.” His voice had a strange distance to it, like he was talking about someone else’s life, but the quiet fury in his eyes made it clear just how deeply it had scarred him. “And if you’d already caused ‘trouble,’ they’d figure you definitly deserved it.”

Dick’s face grew taut, a mixture of shock and anger flashing across his features as he tried to understand the brutal indifference of a place that would treat Jason that way.

He leaned forward, his voice soft but insistent, unwilling to let this memory slip away without understanding. “Wait—so they just ... This is so fucked up.” Dick drove his hand through his hair. “I mean, they’d really just… hit you over nothing?”

Jason let out a shaky sigh, his fingers stilling as he spoke. “Yeah, sometimes. They’d just make you stand there, tell you it was your fault, that you were ‘bad,’ that you’d… you’d earned it somehow.” His voice dropped lower, the words thick with a quiet resentment.

Dick looked away, his jaw clenched. He was quiet for a moment, his eyes shifting as if he needed to steady himself against the brutal reality Jason had grown up with. His voice was barely more than a murmur, as though even saying it out loud felt wrong. “That’s not discipline, Jason. That’s…” He stopped himself, hands curling into fists, his anger raw, but he forced himself to swallow it back, glancing over at Bruce with a helpless, angry look, searching for guidance.

Bruce’s heart ached watching Jason as he huddled into himself, bracing like he was waiting for something—judgment, dismissal, some punishment he couldn’t predict. It was in these moments that Bruce saw the true weight of the boy’s life before the manor, the years of mistrust and survival carved into him as deeply as any scar. Despite Jason’s rough edges, his stubborn resilience, Bruce felt a fierce desire to shield him from the world that had hurt him so needlessly.

Dick’s voice broke through the heavy silence, wavering with a mixture of disbelief and barely-contained outrage. “Why didn’t you… why didn’t you tell your social worker, Jay?” His words stumbled, raw and full of the kind of helpless anger that didn’t know where to go.

Jason’s hands tightened into small, trembling fists, his fingers clenching against each other as if to hold onto something solid, something real. His gaze dropped to his lap, but his eyes were miles away.

Jason shoulders were curling inward, small and uncertain in a way that made Bruce’s chest ache. Jason looked as though every word he’d shared had drained something from him, leaving him deflated. Bruce knew that pushing him now would only force Jason further away from them, back into that guarded silence he wore like armor.

“Can I…” Jason’s voice was barely a whisper, vulnerable in a way that bruised something inside Bruce. “Can I go to my room?”

Bruce caught the flash of something in Jason’s eyes, the telltale glint of unshed tears that he was trying desperately to hide, and he felt a wave of compassion so fierce he could hardly stand it.

Bruce nodded, his own voice low and soft, laden with all the gentleness he could muster. “Of course, Jay. Go on.”

Jason gave a quick, jerky nod, keeping his eyes down. His movements were stiff as he slipped out of the room. Bruce watched him go, the sound of his footsteps light and hurried, as though he couldn’t put enough distance between himself and the painful memories he’d shared.

Bruce stayed rooted to the spot, the echoes of Jasons quiet suffering lingering in the room. His gaze lingered at the doorway long after Jason disappeared, a quiet weight settling over him, a kind of anger and sadness mingled with the overwhelming urge to protect that sweet boy who had never quite known the kindness he deserved.

Dick’s voice broke through the silence, hushed and tight. “Bruce… I can’t believe… he went through all that, and he’s still just…” He shook his head, a kind of disbelief etched in his features, and Bruce could see the shock slowly giving way to an understanding that ran deep, anchoring itself in Dick’s own fierce protectiveness.

Bruce placed a hand on Dick’s shoulder, his touch gentle, fatherly, as they both sat in silence. It wasn’t often that they spoke about the things left unspoken—the shared weight of their pasts, the ghosts they each carried.

Dick looked at the empty seat right next to him, a fond, protective expression slipping across his face, softened by a deep-rooted empathy Bruce had seen him carry since he was a child himself.

“He reminds me of me, in some ways,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. “But… he’s had it harder.”

A pang shot through Bruce’s chest at the quiet revelation, a raw reminder of the path Dick’s life could have taken if Bruce hadn’t been there to pull him from the wreckage.

His hand lingered, moving from Dick’s shoulder to rest at the nape of his neck, squeezing gently. He’d been given a chance to shield Dick from that life, to offer him a home when he’d needed it most.

And now, with Jason, he felt that same drive—an unrelenting, fierce determination to protect this boy, to give him a sense of safety he’d been denied for so long.

They sat in silence, Bruce’s hand steady on Dick’s neck. He’d made a promise to care for them both, even if each of them had come to him carrying different scars, different wounds. He was grateful, fiercely so, that he had been able to gett Dick earlier, to spare him the horrors Jason had to life through.

Dick sighed, glancing over at Bruce, his voice so quiet it was almost lost beneath the TV’s murmur. “Do you think… do you think he’ll feel like this is home? Eventually?”

Bruce hesitated, the weight of the question pressing down on him. He wanted to say yes, to offer Dick a comforting certainty, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie.

“I hope so,” Bruce replied finally, his voice low, steady. “But it’ll take time. He’s been through a lot.”

There was a determination in Jason, a fierce, unyielding spark that Bruce had recognized from the moment they met.

“He’s tougher than any of us can imagine,” Bruce murmured, his voice soft with admiration and a quiet sorrow.

He could see it in the way Jason braced himself, the way he never asked for anything, never expected kindness because life had taught him not to. But Bruce knew that this toughness was forged by desperation. And he was determined that Jason would never have to feel like that again. Bruce would make sure that Jason had what he needed and that he learned how to ask for it.

“He shouldn’t have had to grow up like that,” Dick murmured, a hint of anger in his voice that Bruce understood too well. Bruce felt that anger too, a quiet, simmering frustration at the world that had failed Jason. But he knew that anger alone wouldn’t help now. What Jason needed was stability, consistency and kindness.

Dick looked back at Bruce, a determination in his eyes that Bruce had always admired. “We’ll be there for him. Every day, in every way we can.” He paused, his voice softening. “We’ll give him a reason to believe in us.”

Bruce felt a warmth spread through him, deep love for Dick but also a deep, protective feeling that he hadn’t allowed himself to recognize until now. He wanted to give Jason something real, something he could trust, something that wouldn’t vanish or shatter when he reached out for it. And he knew that, for the first time, Jason had a real shot at finding that.

“Let’s do exactly that, chum”, Bruce said.

A soft smile flickered on Dick’s face as he looked back at the door. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

Bruce nodded, feeling that weight but also a quiet sense of purpose. “And we’ll be here for him—however long it takes.”

In that moment, Bruce knew that he’d do whatever it took to give Jason a safe place to land.

Chapter Text

Jason sat on the edge of the bed, knees up against his chest, his arms wrapped around them like he was trying to make himself disappear. He stared down at his socks—new socks, thick and warm and soft, no holes or frayed edges. The kind of socks he’d never had before.

Alfred had brought them for him like it was no big deal. But to Jason, they were awesome, the way they wrapped around his feet without itching or slipping, and Alfred had gotten them in a whole pack. Eight pairs. Jason could wear a new set every day for a week and still have one left. He could hardly wrap his mind around it, that he had so many socks, all his own, all new.

Back with his mom, socks were always a mix of hand-me-downs and the few pairs they’d scrounge from a donation bin. They were often too big or too scratchy, and they’d get holes in them pretty fast, since they were thin and worn-down at the toes and the balls of his feet.

His mom had tried her best, he knew that. She’d drag their laundry to the laundromat when she could, whenever she had a spare dollar, whenever she felt strong enough to make the trip down the stairs and through the alleys with a load of clothes slung over her shoulder.

Sometimes, though, it was easier to rinse things in the sink and let them dry by the heater. But some things didn’t ever get truly clean that way, and he’d wear socks that still smelled faintly of the street or shirts that clung with old sweat and city dust. Jason had believed it was pretty normal and for the kids in the alleys it surely was.

Now, though… Jason thought about the rest of his clothes, folded neatly in his drawers, washed weekly like clockwork. Alfred had even said he’d wash them sooner if Jason needed him to, but once a week felt like getting spoiled already. Clean clothes every single day—he never even had to ask. It was strange to him, this kind of care, like someone watching out for him in a way he’d only ever imagined.

Not love exactly; he wasn’t dumb enough to think Bruce and Alfred loved him. He knew better than that. Love was something you only got once, something that could slip away too easily. Mom had loved him, he was sure of it, even though things were always kind of messy.

She’d loved him in the way she’d tousle his hair when he got a good grade, hum a lullaby on the nights she was okay or save the last spoonful of peanut butter for him, but she wasn’t around now, and he didn’t expect to find that again.

But this was different. It was like… Bruce and Alfred were taking care of him because they thought they should because they were responsible adults but also because they wanted him to be okay, maybe. Even if he wasn’t their kid, even if he was just some foster kid who argued his way into staying here with them.

But here he was, knees up, heart pounding in that tight way, twisting over everything he’d let slip to Bruce and Dick. He hadn’t meant to tell them about the group home, the broom closet incident, any of it. It was his business, not theirs.

He pressed his heel down hard into the thick duvet, bunching it under his foot. Crybaby. He could almost hear it whispered in his ear.

They probably thought he was just some kid too weak to handle a few rough times. Like he wasn’t tough enough to be here. Jason shook his head. That wasn’t what he wanted them to see.

But it was more than that, the worry that sat heavy in his chest. He didn’t want them thinking he was trouble, either.

Jason could still remember the way the workers at the group home would throw the word around, sometimes like a joke, sometimes like a warning.

Troublemaker.

Bad seed.

He’d hear it when they thought he wasn’t listening, when they were gossiping about the kids with loud voices and heavy sneers.

But he wasn’t trying to cause trouble—things just kind of… happened. Like the broom closet handle. It was already loose, and he’d only grabbed it without thinking, and it came off in his hand. And they didn’t even listen, didn’t even let him explain. He could still feel the sting of it, like no matter what he did, he’d always be … trouble.

Jason’s fingers tightened around his ankles.  Bruce had said something different, hadn’t he? Bruce had said the punishment was too harsh. Jason couldn’t quite wrap his head around that, couldn’t figure out what Bruce thought he deserved instead.

Jason frowned, his mind circling around Bruce’s words like they were some kind of puzzle he couldn’t quite put together. If the punishment was too harsh, then… what did he think Jason deserved?

Jason’s hands tightened on his knees, the fabric scrunching under his fingers as he imagined it, what Bruce might’ve done if he’d been the one deciding. Would it be a slap? He’d been slapped before for less—talking back, spilling water on the floor, even once for just asking a question.

He remembered asking if he could go outside, just to breathe some fresh air, and how fast the answer had come—a smack quick enough to blur his vision, his mouth shut before he even understood what he’d done wrong. It was just a stupid question, but it didn’t matter; in those homes you learned not to ask questions, not to ask for anything.

So Jason knew what that sting felt like, that quick jolt that reminded him not to step out of line. The heat it left behind, marking his cheek as a warning for hours after.

Or maybe Bruce would’ve locked him up instead, like they did with that other kid who’d taken extra food from the pantry. He still remembered the whispers about it, how the boy had spent the night in the broom closet, dark and cramped, all alone with the smell of cleaning supplies and his own fear. He’d come out the next morning with dark circles under his eyes, his whole body tense and shaky, like he was afraid to step out of line again.

His stomach twisted, a sick feeling he couldn’t quite shake. He could almost feel it, the heavy door shutting, the stale air pressing down. Would Bruce do that too? If he messed up, would he find some empty closet, shove him inside until he learned to behave? He tried to push the thought away, but it clung to him, cold and unwelcome, filling the quiet room around him.

He squeezed his knees tighter, the thought burrowing deeper until it made his stomach twist. The strange thing was, he didn’t really think Bruce would. Bruce hadn’t even raised his voice yet.

But he couldn’t be sure, not completely. And that tiny sliver of doubt, of not knowing, kept him in a place between fear and something almost like hope.

Jason buried his head against his knees, closing his eyes tight, his breathing coming a little faster. He didn’t know how to shake this feeling, didn’t know if he’d ever be able to stop bracing himself for what might come.

He needed to know how Bruce punished. And for what. Where was the freaking line?

But he couldn’t just ask him. Why should Bruce tell him? Why should he be honest?

Bruce wasn’t his dad; he didn’t owe him anything. Jason had to remember that, keep it right at the front of his mind so he didn’t slip.

Maybe Dick would tell him, but… Jason let out a slow breath, tightening his grip around his knees. It wouldn’t matter, even if he did ask.

Because Bruce loved Dick and Jason knew that Bruce had been super lenient with Dick. Dick said so himself. Dick broke stuff and he was noisy and he definitly asked for lots of things and Bruce hadn’t punished him for it. He hadn’t even gotten angry. Dick was real confident about it, too, like he didn’t have to think twice about where he stood with Bruce.

Jason was just some foster kid, the one who’d tried to steal Batman’s tires, for crying out loud. Bruce probably thought he was trouble right from the start. And Jason knew enough to know that kids like him didn’t get the same second chances. Bruce had to know he couldn’t be as lenient, couldn’t just let things slide the way he might with Dick.

The only reason Jason hadn’t been punished yet was because he kept his head down; he tried to behave, more than he’d ever tried anywhere before. He couldn’t loose that once in a lifetime chance; the promise of food, a roof over his head, schooling.

But now that he knew all those secrets, Jason was pretty sure Bruce wouldn’t throw him out or send him back to the group home. No, Bruce would make very sure that Jason knew how to behave. He’d punish him, if Jason messed up.

Bruce would make sure he’d stay in line. And once Jason figured out where that line was, he’d stay behind it. He could handle that. He’d learned early on how to keep his head down, to survive wherever he was put.

So what now? He needed to know where that line was and how Bruce would react if he crossed it.

Bruce was huge, and even though he’d never raised his voice or looked at Jason with anything close to anger, Jason wasn’t naive enough to think that meant he wouldn’t.

He’d been quiet, careful, keeping to himself, but that wouldn’t work forever. He had to see for himself, had to make Bruce show his hand. That was the only way he’d know what he was dealing with, the only way he’d ever be able to relax.

And yeah, it was stupid. Jason knew that—knew how easy it was to push too far, to step on the wrong nerve and end up paying for it.

He’d learned a long time ago that survival was about testing limits, finding weak spots, and figuring out how much was too much before the grown-ups in charge finally snapped.

Jason took a shaky breath, trying to summon up that spark he’d relied on so many times before, that tough, gritty feeling that made him ignore the fear. That made him act first and deal with the fallout later. He’d had to do it before, back at the group home when he knew they’d come down on him anyway. Might as well get it over with now.

He pulled his head up, staring at the wall across from him like it held answers, even though he knew it didn’t.

He just needed to find something small, something that wouldn’t make him look too bad but would push enough to see where Bruce’s patience ran out. Maybe he could “forget” to put his shoes away, leave them in the middle of the hall. Or maybe he’d “accidentally” spill some milk, or say something with just enough edge to get a reaction.

It didn’t have to be big. Just enough to rattle Bruce, make him stop and look. Because then he’d know.

***

Jason’s feet dragged as he made his way toward the dining room. He was a little late, just a little, but it would be enough to set the tone. He had to do this.

Every instinct in his body told him to walk in quietly, apologize for being late to breakfast, grab his food without making a fuss, but today he was going to push them. He had to know where the line was. What Bruce would do when Jason stepped over it.  He had to do this. But he was scared. So fucking scared.

Jason lingered in the hallway outside the dining room, taking a slow breath before he stepped inside. It was a bit later than usual, the clock on the wall a silent reminder what he was doing. The smell of bacon and pancakes hit him, and Jason had to fight the urge to run.

Bruce was already at the table, the newspaper in front of him, and Dick was there too, greeting Jason with a cheerful smile and a warm hello. Bruce wished him a good morning. Their plates were still clean, the food on the table untouched.

They were waiting for him.

Jason stepped into the room, eyes down, but he didn’t hesitate. He mumbled a “Mornin’” but nothing else, no apology for being a couple minutes late, no explanation.

He should apologize. Usually he would have. Being late was already bad enough and in most places being late to breakfast would have surely resulted in no breakfast at all. Not being sorry could easily result in no lunch or dinner either.

But today he had to swallow his sorrys and the fear of going hungry. Jason would find out where Bruce line was. He’d get to find out what it would take for Bruce to took away his promise of food. So Jason grabbed his plate and piled pancakes onto it, trying to ignore the heavy weight of Bruce’s gaze on him.

His heart thudded in his chest as he reached for the syrup. He poured it, just a little at first, and then a lot more, until the edges of the pancakes were swimming in the thick sweetness. He watched it form a sticky lake, pooling in the indentations of the pancakes. It was too much and it wasn’t even the cheap stuff of the dinners. This was the expensive kind, the one in a fine glass bottle that Alfred got from the farmers market.

Jason’s hand shook as he poured the syrup, but he didn’t dare look up. If he looked up, if he’d see the disapproval in Bruce’s eyes, he might chicken out. And that couldn’t happen.

He couldn’t … he wasn’t a little kid anymore. He wasn’t gonna act scared. He just needed to know what Bruce would do if he kept pushing. But Bruce didn’t stop him. Didn’t even say a word. Just kept reading his damn paper while he let Jason pour as much of that fucking expensive sirup as he wanted.

Jason didn’t flinch when Alfred set down the orange juice, his fingers brushing the edge of the glass as he took it without even looking up. No “thank you,” no shy smile or hesitation. He grabbed it without looking, the glass cold in his hand, and drank a big big gulp, more than half of it. It burned down his throat, sharp and bitter.

Bruce’s voice broke through the quiet, calm and even "How are you this morning, Jason?"

It was a question, that Jason should have answered politely. It was the kind of thing you said to someone, to make them feel comfortable, to make them feel safe.

But Jason wouldn’t ever feel safe until he knew where Bruces line was, until he knew what Bruce would snap for, what would get him shoved back into his room with no food.  Jason wouldn’t feel safe until he knew what Bruce gave a trashing for and how to avoid it.

He’d never felt safe. Not for one second. Not since—

Jason cut that thought off. He had to push, just a little more insolence. That was how it worked. People like Bruce didn’t let you get away with not respecting them. Bruce was the kind of guy that screamed authority, he’d surely not take long to snap.

He stuffed a forkful of pancakes into his mouth, barely chewing before answering, “fine,” in a clipped tone.

Dick looked at him. He blinked, confused, like this wasn’t the Jason he knew. But that was the point, wasn’t it?

He’d spent so long keeping his head down, keeping his mouth shut, making sure he didn’t do anything.

But he had to know. He had to figure out what Bruce would tolerate.

And what he wouldn’t.

Jason had been trying so hard

to not get in trouble, and it had worked but it wouldn’t always so Jason needed to know how to avoid the harshest punishments.

Sure, he wouldn’t be able to avoid being slapped around compleatly, he never had. Sometimes Jason spoke before thinking and he sweared an awful lot. He didn’t always listen, because he was stubborn and some rules were just plain dumb and when someone hurt the little kids at the group home Jason got so angry, he hardly could contain himself.

At least at Bruces place, he was the smallest, so there was no one to protect, only himself. And Bruce rules, until now, hadn’t been as stupid as the ones before, at foster placements and at the group home.

Maybe if Jason only needed to concentrate on keeping his mouths shut, when he couldn’t speak politly, it might work. And as soon as he knew what Bruce punished for, he’d know what else to avoid.

Jason could feel Dick’s stare burning a hole into him, but he tried to ignore it. He was waiting, watching, seeing if Bruce would react. If he’d say anything.

But Bruce was still calm, sipping his coffee and spreading melted butter onto his own pancake.

Jason shoved more food onto his plate, piling scrambled eggs on top of the pancakes, taking bacon without a second thought. He didn’t bother to be neat about it. A chunk of egg slid off his fork, landing between the serving pan and his plate. He froze for a second, the old habit creeping in—he should clean it up. He should.

Normally, he would and he’d apologize too, maybe giving a sheepish smile if he’d be sure that Bruce didn’t punish for stuff like that.

But he couldn’t be sure yet. In most homes he’d been before, they weren’t even allowed to serve themselves. Maybe so, that they wouldn’t make a mess or didn’t take more than they were allowed.

So Jason just left his mess where it fell to the table, and kept his gaze low. Focused on the rest of his breakfast, on his fork, on the food that was still hot. Still enough. His chest tightened a little, but he didn’t look up. He didn’t really get why no one had yet taken his food from him. They should have. He was a brat about everything this morning.

Dick glanced at him for a split second, his brow furrowing like he was going to ask something. But then he didn’t.

Jason just didn’t get it.

Dick was too busy stacking berries on his pancakes, fluffing them with cream like he was trying to make them look like some damn magazine cover. He didn’t even care about Jason’s mess. He just kept shoveling in food like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Jason’s heart thudded, a heavy beat in his chest. Why wasn’t Bruce saying anything? He was just sitting there, sipping his coffee, calm, his eyes flicking over the newspaper like Jason wasn’t even there. Not angry. Not annoyed. Just… nothing. Like the mess didn’t even matter.

Alfred’s eyes flickered over him and the mess he made on the table and Jason thought, that was it. Alfred was the one who upkept the manor, he’d surely reprimand Jason. But Alfred didn’t comment, just continued with his work, his expression unreadable.

Jason hated to make more work for Alfred and he hated to be such a disappointment to the nice old butler. Surely he wouldn’t be allowed to assist Alfred in the kitchen now that Alfred knew how clumsy and careless Jason was.

And Bruce still wasn’t saying anything!

The tension in the air thickened, and Jason could feel it crawling over his skin, making him itch.

He took another bite of pancakes, his hand shaking just a little as he forked more food. He watched Bruce out of the corner of his eye, but Bruce didn’t flinch.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Jason wasn’t used to calm. He was used to yelling. Used to people who punished just because they could. Not this.

And Bruce’s silence was loud in its own way. It made Jason feel like he was doing something wrong just by sitting there. Like he was supposed to know the rules already, and if he didn’t, that would be his fault.

Batman doesn‘t hurt kids, Jason thought, almost trying to convince himself. But that wasn’t enough. He needed more. He needed to know what Bruce would do when he stepped over the line. And surely, a slap didn’t really count as hurting children.

Jason’s pulse quickened, his breath shallow. He kept his head down, shoveling food into his mouth, barely tasting it. The syrup stuck to his tongue, thick and sickly sweet, his stomach churned, but he couldn’t care.

When he finished, he stood abruptly, scraping his chair against the floor. It wasn’t a loud noise, but it felt like an explosion in the silence. Neither Bruce nor Dick had finished eating, but Jason didn’t wait for them. He just stood, ignoring the weird little pang in his gut that said he should at least ask if he could leave, but fucking up on purpose was the whole point, so he didn’t.

Jason walked away from the table with his heart pounding, the strange weight of the silence pressing down on him with every step. As he climbed the stairs, he didn’t look back. His legs felt stiff, like they didn’t want to carry him, but he didn’t care. He made it to his room and slammed the door shut behind him.

Jason pulled off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, curling up into a ball, his knees drawn to his chest. His fingers dug into the fabric of his jeans, the sensation grounding him, keeping him in place.

He waited.

He told himself he wasn’t scared. He wasn’t scared of Bruce. He was just… waiting. Bruce would come soon enough, he thought. It was the way things went. The way they had to go. Jasons whole behaviour this morning, messy, disrespectful, greedy, they just couldn’t leave that alone.

But the minutes dragged on. Jason stared at the door, hearing every sound in the hallway, but nothing that came close to footsteps outside his door.

Maybe it was different here. Maybe Bruce wasn’t like them. Maybe Bruce wouldn’t hurt him. But then again, maybe he would. Jason had seen enough of how it worked to know that nothing was ever really safe.

His breath was shallow. His stomach churned with anxiety. The fear was still there, lingering in the back of his mind, but he kept pushing it down, telling himself it was fine. He could handle whatever Bruce threw at him. He just needed to wait a little longer.

He squeezed his eyes shut, biting down on his lip to keep from making a noise, from letting the tension get the best of him.

Finally, he heard it—footsteps, slow and deliberate, coming from the stairs, and then stopping right outside his door. His stomach twisted. He could feel the air thickening, his chest tight with every passing second.

The door didn’t open.

Jason held his breath, the seconds stretching out. What was going to happen now? Would Bruce come in? Would he say something? Would he just stand there, silent, assessing? Jason’s heart pounded faster now, the tension unbearable, but there was no sound. No movement. Just that heavy, suffocating silence.

It stretched on. And on.

The door never opened.

Chapter Text

Jason sat on his bed, the blanket crumpled under him, knees still drawn to his chest.

The silence outside his door was louder than shouting, louder than footsteps stomping toward him. It sat heavy in the air, pressing against his chest, making it hard to breathe. His gaze flicked toward the door, willing it to open, daring it to swing wide so Bruce could come in and get it over with.

But the door stayed shut.

His heartbeat, which had been racing since he climbed the stairs hours ago, had slowed but hadn’t entirely calmed.

It made no sense. Jason had done everything wrong this morning. Everything. He’d made a mess, acted like a brat, ignored Alfred, and walked away from the table without asking. That was supposed to be enough. That was always enough. A slap, a shove, or even just being yelled at—he knew how to handle that.

But Bruce? Nothing. Not a single word, not a knock on the door. Just radio-silence.

Jasons hands balled into fists, digging into his thighs.

Maybe Bruce was waiting for him to slip up again. Maybe he wanted to see how far Jason would go before he did something. Maybe he wanted proof that Jason couldn’t follow the rules, that he was just some dumb, troublemaking kid who didn’t deserve to be here.

Or maybe Bruce was just waiting for lunch to deal with him. Letting Jason stew in his own thoughts until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Jason pressed his lips together, the thought tightening his chest. He pushed himself off the bed, his socked feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. He stood there for a moment, his hand hovering over the door handle, hesitating. It was a bad idea. He knew that. But it was worse to sit here, waiting, wondering.

Jason fingers dragged through his hair as he made up his mind. Fine. He’d go down. It was lunchtime anyway, and he wasn’t going to wait around like some scared kid. If Bruce hadn’t done anything yet, Jason would make him. He’d push harder, make a scene if he had to.

With a sharp inhale, he yanked the door open and slipped into the hallway.

The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that made the floors seem louder under his feet as he padded down the stairs. His heart thumped hard in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears.

When he walked by the kitchen, the smell of something savory hit him. Jason’s stomach growled despite himself. He hadn’t realized how much of his breakfast he’d just forced down without tasting it. And he was hungry again, his body growing used to being fed three times a day.

That was bad.

He’d never really been used to regular meals. To have them withdraw food would certainly feel worse the more he grew accustomed to eating at all meals.

The table was set simply, just two places. Dick wasn’t there, but Bruce was. He sat in his usual seat at the head, newspaper folded neatly beside him, a mug of coffee in hand.

Jason lingered in the doorway, his fingers curling into fists. His chest felt tight again, and his pulse picked up. Do something. Push harder.

He walked over to the table, deliberately dragging the chair out with a screech that made Bruce glance up. Jason sat, his jaw tight.

“Good afternoon, Master Jason,” Alfred greeted him, setting a bowl of soup on the table. His tone was warm, as though the morning hadn’t happened. Like Jason hadn’t tested every unspoken rule in the house. “Lunch is a light chicken and rice soup. There’s bread as well.”

Jason didn’t answer, just shrugged his shoulders. He avoided Alfred’s gaze, focusing instead on the steam rising from the bowl.

Bruce looked up, meeting Jason’s eyes for a moment before taking a sip of coffee. It had looked like he wanted to say something and didn’t. Huh, strange.

Jason grabbed a slice of bread and tore into it roughly, crumbs scattering onto the table. He didn’t bother to be neat, didn’t look up to see if anyone cared. He just ate like he had something to prove.

Alfred placed a glass of water beside him, but Jason didn’t thank him. He took a long sip, the glass cool against his hand, grounding him somehow, even if he’d never liked the cold.

Jason clenched his teeth. Why wasn’t Bruce reacting? He wanted to snap, to yell at him.

Do something! But he couldn’t.

Instead, Jason shoved his spoon into the soup and took a big, scalding bite. It burned his tongue, but he didn’t care. He kept his gaze locked on Bruce, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“What, you’re not gonna say anything?” His voice came out sharper than he meant, but he didn’t care.

Bruce set his coffee down, his gaze steady on Jason. “Do you want me to say something?”

Jason’s hand froze around his spoon. He looked up sharply, his jaw tightening. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected Bruce to say, but it wasn’t that.

“I don’t care,” Jason said, too quickly. His hands fidgeted in his lap. “Just thought you’d, I don’t know… say something about breakfast.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t respond right away. He set his coffee down and leaned back in his chair, regarding Jason with that calm, unreadable expression.

“Do you think I should?”

Jason’s chest tightened further. “I made a mess. I was rude.”

Bruce’s expression didn’t change. “Do you feel bad about it?”

Jason froze. The question hit him like a punch to the gut. Did he? Maybe. He hated making more work for Alfred, hated the way Dick had looked at him, like he didn’t understand what was going on. But he didn’t say any of that.

“I don’t know,” Jason said finally, his voice quieter now.

Bruce nodded, like that was an acceptable answer. “Clean up your plate when you’re done,” he said simply, picking up his coffee again.

Jason stared at him, his stomach churning. That was it? No punishment, no yelling? Just… an order to clean up after himself?as if he wasn’t usually doing that either way.

His hands tightened into fists under the table. If Bruce wasn’t going to react to that, then Jason would just have to try harder.

“I’m done,” he said, even though his bowl was still half full. He stood, glaring at Bruce, waiting for a response. But Bruce just looked at him, as if waiting for Jasons next move.

And Jason just stormed out of the room, not cleaning up after himself. He didn’t have a plan yet, but he’d think of something. Something that Bruce couldn’t ignore. And then he’d finally know where the line was.

***

Jason slouched on the library floor, his knees pulled up tight to his chest, a book open but unread in his lap. The air smelled faintly of lemon polish and old paper, the kind of smell that should’ve been comforting. But it wasn’t. Not now. Not when everything inside him felt wound too tight, like a spring ready to snap.

The bookshelves loomed over him, packed solid with neat rows of spines in every color. Alfred had dusted the shelves earlier, Jason realized. The old man always made sure everything was immaculate.

Jason had thought about wrecking the books earlier—yanking one off the shelf, ripping out its pages, tossing it to the ground just to see what would happen. But even thinking about it felt wrong.

These book were valuable—some probably irreplaceable. Bruce’s collection wasn’t just for show; it was curated, meticulous. Breaking one of these would surely get a reaction.

And as much as Jason wanted to find out what the consequences were in this house, he really hoped he wouldn’t loose the privilege of using the library while at it.

His fingers twitched against the cover, itching for something else to do, something that’d force Bruce to come out of that stupid study and do something already.

He’d thought about being a jerk to Alfred, more than he’d already been. Maybe yell at him a little, seeing if that would crack Bruce. He seemed more than fond of his old butler. But no. Alfred didn’t deserve that. Jason swallowed hard, his fingers clenching tighter around the book.

Alfred was nice. Jason didn’t want to yell at Alfred. He might have tried it with Dick. Be a pain in the ass, annoy the fuck out of the older teenager who was maybe a little bit like an older brother that Jason had always wished for. But Dick was gone for the day, off to meet with some friends or something, he’d heard Bruce and Alfred talk about it briefly.

A creak from the hallway caught his attention. Jason’s head jerked up, but it was just the house settling. Still, it made his pulse spike.

He stood, shoving the book back on the shelf, right were it belonged. Bruce wouldn’t probably even notice if Jason put them on the wrong row, so it’d be totally useless to destroy the order in this amazing library.

What else could he do? Steal something? Something obvious, something Bruce couldn’t miss? Maybe. But Jason didn’t want to be thrown out. He didn’t want to leave—he just wanted to know where the line was. What would it take for Bruce to stop holding back and show him what kind of punishment he’d earned?

Jason’s fingers tapped against his knee as he thought harder.

And then, all of a sudden, he remembered Dicks story about almost breaking that horrible expensive vase while rollerskating through the manor. There had been no consequences but Dick was Bruces kid and Alfred and Bruce really loved him and he’d only almost broke that vase.

Making a decision, Jasons hands dug into the pockets of his jeans as he wandered out into the hall. There was a vase there, perched on a small table near the study door, filled with fresh flowers. Tall and shiny, all curvy glass and weird angles that glinted in the light from the window.

Bruce would definitely hear it shatter. He’d come storming out, and then it’d finally be done.

His feet padded softly against the wooden floor as he crossed the hall. The vase sat there, gleaming in the dim light. Murano glass, Dick had called it. Fancy and expensive. Delicate. He hesitated, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

All he had to do was knock it over.

Jason’s heart thumped loudly in his chest as he reached out, his fingers brushing against the cool, smooth surface of the vase.

Just do it.

His hand hovered there, trembling. His breath caught in his throat. But even as he stood there, the weight of what he was about to do settled heavily on his shoulders.

He wasn’t sure if it was guilt, or fear, or something else entirely. But for a long moment, Jason just stood there, staring at the vase.

Bruce would hear it. He’d come out of his study, his eyes cold and his voice low. He’d punish Jason—finally—and Jason would know. He’d know.

Jason’s fingers curled into a fist. His chest felt tight, like it was hard to breathe, and he couldn’t tell if it was nerves or something worse.

For a second, he thought about stopping. Just turning around and going back to the library like nothing had happened. But then what? Sit there until he lost his mind? No.

He gave the vase a sharp shove.

It tipped slowly at first, the flowers swaying as if they were trying to hold it steady. Then gravity took over, and the vase toppled. It hit the floor with a sound so loud it seemed to echo, the glass shattering into a million tiny pieces. Water splashed across the hardwood, and the flowers landed in a sad, crumpled heap.

Jason stood frozen, his breath caught in his chest. The house seemed even quieter now, like it was holding its breath, too.

He waited, his eyes fixed on the study door just a few feet away. Any second now. Bruce had to have heard it. He’d come out, and it’d finally be over.

Jason’s fists tightened, his heart thundering in his ears as he waited for the fallout.

Chapter Text

Jason’s throat felt tight, and he bit the inside of his cheek, tasting copper. His legs jittered, as if they could shake loose the nervous energy crawling under his skin. His breath came in short, shallow bursts, chest tight and burning. He was so stupid.

He’d run. Of course, he’d run. What else was he supposed to do?

He hadn’t even meant to, not at first. But as soon as Bruce had stepped out of the study and into the hall, Jason’s feet moved on their own.

The man’s eyes had landed on him—steady, and impossible to read—and Jason’s stomach flipped like it was full of wet cement. Jasons pulse thudding in his ears louder than Bruce’s voice could’ve been, had he said anything at all.

The vase had shattered in an explosion of porcelain and glittering fragments, a sound that still echoed in Jason’s head. He could still hear the crackling noise of it breaking apart, sharp and final, like a judge’s gavel slamming down on the verdict.

Bruce didn’t say anything when he saw him. Didn’t shout. Didn’t even move.

That was the worst part.

Jason had bolted down the hall, his breath hitching in his chest, his pulse thundering in his ears so loud it drowned out his own thoughts. The smooth wooden floors, polished to a shine by Alfred’s relentless upkeep, offered no traction, and his socks slipped against the surface as he scrambled to get away.

He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down when he clipped his shoulder against the wall rounding the corner. The pain shot down his arm, sharp and hot, but Jason barely registered it. He was too busy staying upright, his mind racing with what Bruce was going to do.

He made it to his room in a blur, slamming the door shut behind him, the force rattling the hinges. His back hit the door as he slid to the floor, his knees drawn tight to his chest. He sat there for a long time, staring at the gap under the door, waiting for the shadow of Bruce’s feet to appear.

But the hall stayed quiet, unnervingly so, and Jason’s chest ached from how hard his heart was hammering.

Any second now, Bruce would come. Jason squeezed his arms around his knees, digging his nails into his calves through the fabric of his jeans. The waiting was the worst part—always the worst part.

What would it be this time? A beating? Would Bruce use his belt? Or his bare fists?

Or maybe Bruce really didn’t hurt kids and he’d just lock him into this room. At least Jason had water from the sink in the adjoining bathroom. A small mercy but a good enough reason for Bruce to leave him here for days.

No food, no human contact.

He’d take it, whatever it was. That was the deal. Do something wrong, pay for it. That’s how things worked.

Or would Bruce throw him out? Secrets be damned, who would even believe a stupid alley kid talking about how Brucie Wayne was Batman. No one. So nothing at all was hindering Bruce from tossing him out like stray paper.

His eyes darted to the old backpack in the corner of the room, the one he’d kept tucked away since he’d first arrived at the manor. He hadn’t needed it until now.

He dragged it to the bed and started packing. Not much—just the things that had been his before.

Before Bruce. Before the manor. Before all of this.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew better than to take anything that wasn’t his. Anything that wasn’t earned.

The picture of his mom came first. He pulled it from the frame Bruce had given him, the one with the fancy edges that made the whole thing look fancy and nice.

Next was the fox. Small, brown, with one of its ears half chewed off from years of being carried around like a lifeline. He stuffed it in the bag.

Then came the clothes: the ones he’d arrived with, worn and faded, nothing like the new stuff Alfred had bought him. He’d loved those clothes—warm and soft and smelling faintly of cedar and laundry deterngant.

But instead of nice wool sweaters and sturdy jeans, he packed his old hoodie, stretched thin at the elbows. Two thin shirts. Jeans, full of holes and frayed edges.

The blanket came last. Thin, scratchy, full of holes, but it had been his for as long as he could remember. He crammed it into the bag, zipping it up with trembling hands.

Jason hesitated at the socks. He hadn’t had warm ones like this before. Or the red beanie, either, the one Bruce had gotten for him. He stuffed them in the bag anyway, his stomach twisting. Maybe they wouldn’t notice.

But when he sat back on the bed, staring at the bag in his lap, he froze. He didn’t have any food. He didn’t have money.

He gripped the bag tighter, the fabric rough under his fingers. He’d been so stupid. Of course, he didn’t have money. Of course, he didn’t have food.

His chest tightened, his breath quickening as his thoughts spiraled, each one worse than the last.

Jason curled up on the bed, clutching the bag to his chest like it could shield him from the world outside. He stayed like that as the hours dragged on, the light outside his window fading into the dark. His stomach growled, low and sharp, but he didn’t dare go downstairs.

The knock on the door came late. Quiet. Careful.

“Jason?”

Bruce’s voice was soft, not angry like Jason expected. That made it worse.

Jason didn’t move. He squeezed his eyes shut, burrowing deeper into the blanket. If he stayed quiet, maybe Bruce would think he was asleep. Maybe Bruce would leave.

The silence stretched out, long and heavy. Jason didn’t breathe, his pulse hammering so loud in his ears he thought Bruce might hear it through the door.

Finally, there were footsteps, retreating down the hall.

Jason opened his eyes, staring at the door. His chest ached from holding his breath, but he didn’t dare move. Bruce was gone.

***

Jason stayed tucked under the blanket long after the house had gone quiet. The faint hum of the house settling around him was like a distant murmur, muffled by the heavy weight of the blanket that pressed against his skin.

The darkness felt thicker now, as if it was closing in, folding him tighter into itself. He clutched the bag to his chest like a lifeline, his fingers digging into the fabric, almost desperate.

His muscles ached from tension, from lying so still, his bones feeling too heavy in the quiet dark. But the ache in his stomach was the worst, sharp and twisting, a constant reminder of everything that had gone wrong today.

He hadn't eaten much at lunch and had skipped dinner, his stomach too tied up in knots.

What if Bruce was really really mad?

Bruce hadn’t done anything after Jason ran to his room, no loud footsteps, no angry shouting. And he hadn’t sounded too mad when he asked his name through the closed door earlier tonight after dinner when Jason was hiding on his bed. Maybe Bruce wasn’t too mad, maybe it was all salvable but Jason couldn’t be sure.

By the time midnight slipped past, Jason’s stomach was gnawing at him, the hunger sharp and bitter in the quiet. He pressed a hand over the painful tightness in his belly, trying to silence it. But the hunger was relentless, a constant reminder that he hadn’t eaten enough. It made him feel sick, the hunger too familiar to what he’d felt all his life.

His breath hitched as his stomach cramped again, the pain stabbing deep. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore it, but the fear came right alongside it.

He knew what was coming. By now, he was almost sure Bruce would send him away tomorrow. Maybe not outright, not with harsh words or anything, but it would be the same. A hand on his shoulder, maybe, or just a cold nod, followed by Alfred getting in the car to drive him back to the alleys.

Jason wondered if Alfred would be kind to him one last time—maybe prepare him a sandwich for on the way, something to fill the ache in his gut, or maybe just a few dollars to buy something from a corner store.

If Bruce was as nice as he’d seemed, maybe he would allow him that last kindness. But Jason didn’t know. Bruce was so… strange.

So … what if they tossed him out at the gate instead? What if, after all this, they decided they’d given him enough? Jason shivered at the thought. He had no way to get back to the city. And here, where the streets had names instead of numbers and where the next house was kilometers away Jason had no way to get food or money or shelter.

And Bruce and Alfred might even search his bag, make sure he didn’t take anything with him. They wouldn’t trust him. Why should they?

He’d been rude to Alfred, messy at breakfast, careless with that stupid vase. He hadn’t meant to mess everything up. He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. He’d just been stupid, needing to find out where the line was instead of keeping his head down. He should have known that he’d cross that line all to soon.

People like Bruce and Alfred, they always had a way of seeing the mess inside him, the part he couldn’t hide, no matter how hard he tried.

Jason pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, curling into himself. His skin felt tight, too cold and too hot at the same time.

He should go downstairs, sneak something from the kitchen—maybe a musli bar, or just a single can of something. He could hide it in his bag.

But what if Bruce or Alfred caught him? What if they found out? Would they take his whole bag and send him away without? Without the picture of mom, without his plushy and without his blanket?

No, they wouldn’t do that. They were kind. Maybe they’d even look the other way and let him keep the single can of food, because to them a dollar was actually worth nothing.

And the hunger gnawed at him, sharper with every passing minute, every second that he lay there. He could almost taste the eggs and the pancakes from the morning, a memory that felt so far away now. Why had he needed to be so stupid and mess up the single good thing that ever happened to him?

Jason squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe through the pain in his stomach. He hated this feeling, hated that gnawing emptiness.

He sat up slowly, the blanket sliding off his shoulders, the cold air raising goosebumps on his skin. He glanced at the door, half-expecting Bruce to burst through it despite the silence that had settled over the manor hours ago. But nothing happened. No footsteps, no voices. Just the stillness of the house at night.

Maybe Bruce was out on patrol. Jason hoped so. And Alfred? Alfred was probably in the Cave, busy being Agent A, or already asleep upstairs. Jason bit his lip, nerves twisting in his stomach alongside the hunger. If he was quiet—really quiet—he could make it to the kitchen, grab something small, and be back before anyone noticed.

Sliding off the bed, Jason grabbed his bag and slung it over one shoulder. His socked feet barely made a sound on the wooden floor as he crept to the door. He pressed his ear against it, holding his breath. Silence.

Jason eased the door open, wincing at the faint creak of the hinges, and slipped into the hall. He moved quickly but cautiously, his steps light and deliberate. The manor felt different at night—bigger, emptier, and filled with shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly.

When he reached the kitchen, Jason hesitated just outside the doorway, peeking around the corner. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the moonlight spilling through the large windows. Empty.

Relief flooded through him as he stepped inside, heading straight for the counter where the fruit bowl usually sat. His eyes adjusted to the dim light, and he spotted it—a single apple resting at the bottom of the bowl. He snatched it up, his fingers closing tightly around the smooth skin.

He needed to find just a bit more. A muesli bar. Bread. Something.

Jason’s gaze darted around the kitchen, searching for anything he could grab quickly. He spotted the breadbox on the counter and reached for it, heart pounding.

“What are you doing up?”

Jason froze.

The voice came from the far side of the kitchen, low and calm but unmistakable. Jason turned slowly, the apple still clutched in his hand, his heart sinking when he saw Bruce standing by the door.

He wasn’t in his usual patrol gear, though his hair was damp and his face looked freshly washed. His sleeves were rolled up, and his hands were empty. He must’ve just come back.

Jason’s mind raced. He should’ve listened harder, moved faster, something.

His chest felt tight, his stomach a twisting knot of fear and embarrassment and anger at himself for being so stupid.

Bruce didn’t move closer, just stood there watching him. His face was unreadable, as always, but his voice was soft when he spoke again. “Are you hungry?”

Jason clenched the apple tighter, his jaw working as he struggled to come up with an answer. His instincts screamed at him to lie, to say he wasn’t doing anything, that he didn’t need anything. But his stomach betrayed him, letting out a loud, humiliating growl in the quiet room.

Jason’s face burned, and he ducked his head, biting the inside of his cheek. “I wasn’t… I just…” His voice cracked, and he hated himself for it.

Bruce didn’t interrupt, didn’t fill the silence. He just waited, his steady presence both frustrating and strangely grounding.

Finally, Jason’s shoulders sagged. “I’ll put it back … I’m sorry” he muttered, his voice barely audible, but not able yet to let go of the apple.

That was it.

Now Bruce knew he was stealing from them. No time like the present to throw him out on his ass. And it was Jasons own damn fault for fucking up so phenomenally in less than 24 hours.

Bruce’s gaze softened, and he nodded toward the counter. “Sit down,” he said, his tone still calm. “I’ll make you something.”

Jason blinked, his grip on the apple loosening. “I’m fine. I can—”

“Sit,” Bruce repeated, firmer this time, but not unkind.

Jason hesitated, torn between bolting and doing as he was told. Finally, he shuffled to the counter, setting his bag down on the floor and the apple on the counter, before sliding onto one of the stools. He kept his head down, his fingers twisting nervously in his lap.

Bruce moved around the kitchen with quiet efficiency, pulling out bread, peanut butter, and a jar of jam. Jason’s stomach growled again, louder this time, and Bruce glanced over his shoulder with a faint smile. “Sounds like you could use more than just an apple.”

Jason didn’t answer, his face burning, but he didn’t argue either. He watched as Bruce made the sandwich, cutting it neatly in half before setting the plate in front of him.

“Eat,” Bruce said simply, leaning against the counter across from him.

Jason hesitated, his fingers hovering over the sandwich. “You’re not… mad?” he asked cautiously, his voice small.

Bruce shook his head. “No. But I’d prefer it if you told me or Alfred when you need something in the middle of the night.”

Jason stared at him, searching for any sign of a trap, but Bruce’s expression remained steady. Finally, Jason picked up the sandwich, taking a tentative bite. It tasted even better than he’d expected, the bread soft and the jam sweet.

Jason’s fingers fidgeted with the crust of his sandwich, pulling it apart into tiny pieces as Bruce leaned against the counter, watching him with an unreadable expression. The kitchen was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the old manor settling. Jason wasn’t sure if the silence felt comforting or suffocating. Maybe both.

“So…” Bruce started, his voice even but tentative, as if testing the waters. “Want to tell me what happened earlier?”

Jason stiffened, the piece of crust he was shredding slipping from his fingers. “What? uh …” he muttered, not sure what to say. He was keeping his eyes down, staring at the crumbs he’d made on the counter. Another mess. And this time he wasn’t even doing it on purpose.

Bruce tilted his head slightly, and Jason could feel the weight of his gaze, calm but steady. “You ran off when I came out of the study,” Bruce said. “Looked like you were in a hurry.”

Jason’s chest tightened. He clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists in his lap. “I didn’t—” His voice cracked, and he bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to, once again, taste copper. “I didn’t mean to knock it over,” he lied.

Bruce’s brow furrowed. “The vase?”

Jason nodded miserably, his head sinking lower. “I just—my stupid elbow—” He broke off, his voice trembling with frustration and guilt. He shouldn’t lie but maybe Bruce was really giving him another chance, another kindness. Jason wouldn’t fuck it up again on purpose.

Bruce crossed his arms, leaning slightly forward. “Jason, it’s just a vase.”

Jason’s head shot up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Just a vase?” he echoed. “It’s not just a vase! It’s fancy, and old, and expensive, and Alfred probably cleaned it a million times, and now it’s broken ‘cause I was being stupid!”

And that was the truth! He‘d been so so stupid.

Jason bit his lip hard, his chest heaving as he tried to keep the tears stinging at the corners of his eyes from falling.

Bruce didn’t react right away. He stayed where he was, watching Jason with a calm, steady expression that somehow made Jason feel even worse. Finally, Bruce spoke, his voice low and measured.

“Things break, Jason,” he said. “That vase has been in this house for years. You think it’s the first one that’s been knocked over?”

Jason blinked, his breath hitching. “But—”

“But nothing,” Bruce interrupted gently. “Accidents happen. What matters is how we handle them.” He paused, letting his words settle before adding, “And running away doesn’t solve anything.”

Jason flinched at that, his shoulders curling inward. “I thought you were gonna hit me. Or kick me out,” he admitted in a small voice.

“I would never do that to you,” Bruce said, his voice low but firm, cutting through Jason’s spiraling thoughts like a blade.

Jason blinked, his grip on the counter tightening until his knuckles whitened. His gaze flicked to the floor before snapping back up, eyes sharp. "So what then?" he shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“How do you punish? Ground me or what?”

Bruce crossed his arms, leaning slightly forward to meet Jason’s gaze. “If it was something really bad, I might,” he said evenly. “Yes.”

Jason stared at him, his chest rising and falling as he tried to process the words.

“That’s it?” Jason asked, his voice quiet now, almost disbelieving.

“That’s it,” Bruce confirmed.

Jason’s throat tightened, and he glanced away, his cheeks burning with a mix of shame and confusion. “Why?” he muttered under his breath.

Bruce tilted his head slightly, his tone softening. “Because I’m not here to hurt you, Jason. I’m here to help you. To keep you safe.”

Jason scoffed, but it came out weaker than he wanted. He didn’t know what to say, so he just dropped his head and muttered, “Doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense right now,” Bruce said. “But I mean it. Every word.“

Jason shifted uncomfortably, his fingers fiddling with the edge of his shirt. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for—maybe for Bruce to change his mind, to suddenly snap and start yelling—but nothing happened.

But instead Bruce’s expression softened. He pushed off the counter and walked over, stopping just a foot away from Jason. “I don’t punish for accidents,” he said. “If I was upset, we’d talk about it. But this? You don’t have to hide away and miss dinner because of something like this.”

Jason looked up at him, his throat tight. “But what about Alfred?”

Bruce crouched slightly so he was eye level with Jason. “Alfred cares more about you than a vase,” he said firmly. “And I’ll talk to him if you’re worried. But trust me—he’s not going to be angry.”

Jason swallowed hard, the knot in his chest loosening just a little. He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping back to the counter.

Bruce stayed where he was, crouched just in front of Jason, waiting. His steady presence wasn’t pushy, but it didn’t waver either. Jason could feel his heartbeat begin to slow, the tension in his chest easing ever so slightly.

“You’re sure?” Jason finally whispered, his voice cracking.

“Yes, lad. I’m sure,” Bruce said softly, the warmth in his tone as steady as his presence.

Jason hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek. “I’m sorry I was so rude to Alfred today.”

Bruce’s expression didn’t change. “You can tell him tomorrow,” he said gently. “But don’t worry too much. We all have bad days sometimes.”

Jason let out a shaky breath and nodded, still not looking up. He wanted to believe it, but the doubt lingered, faint and persistent, like a shadow he couldn’t quite shake.

Bruce straightened slowly, giving Jason space without stepping too far away. “Finish your sandwich,” he said, his tone lighter now. “You need something in your stomach before bed.”

Jason hesitated for a moment, then picked up the sandwich again. The knot in his chest loosened a little more as he took another bite, the simple act grounding him in the quiet kitchen.

When Jason finished his food, he stared at the empty plate for a moment, fingers still restless against the counter’s edge. His gaze flickered up to Bruce, hesitant, and he fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, unsure.

He slid off the stool, the plate in hand, and took a few steps toward the sink. His eyes caught the open dishwasher, the hum of the kitchen's quiet settling around them. He paused, plate hovering in midair, and glanced back at Bruce, a wordless question in his expression.

“Go ahead,” Bruce said, nodding toward the dishwasher so Jason placed the dish inside carefully, shutting the door with deliberate precision.

Bruce watched from his spot by the counter, his posture relaxed. “Ready to head upstairs?”

Jason blinked, glancing over his shoulder, before he softly nodded.

“Let me walk you up, lad.”

Jason hesitated just a second but didn’t argue. He grabbed his bag from the floor and slung it over his shoulder, the familiar weight grounding him.

Bruce stepped aside, giving him space to move. Together, they left the kitchen, the quiet of the manor wrapping around them like a soft blanket.

As they climbed the stairs, Jason’s steps slowed slightly, his mind still racing. But when they reached his room, Bruce paused, resting a hand briefly on the doorframe.

“Goodnight, Jason,” Bruce said, his voice calm and steady.

Jason hesitated before nodding. “Goodnight,” he murmured, slipping into the room and shutting the door softly behind him.

And for the first time that night, Jason felt a small, cautious sense of peace begin to settle in his chest.

Chapter Text

The Batcave hummed with quiet activity, the sounds of computers working away blending with the soft drip of water echoing from somewhere in the shadows. Jason shifted on the edge of the training mat, his sneakers scuffing lightly against the surface as he bounced on the balls of his feet. He wasn’t quite jittery, but he wasn’t still either.

Bruce was at the terminal, his back to Jason, the soft blue glow of the monitor lighting the edges of his face. He was adjusting something—probably timing or routines—but Jason didn’t ask. His chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths, his muscles tight and warm from the morning’s warm-up. Sweat clung to the back of his neck, dampening the edge of his t-shirt, but he tried not to fidget with it.

His legs already ached faintly, and the band-aid on his left knee tugged uncomfortably, but Jason ignored it. It wasn’t a big deal.

Training was the kind of thing you didn’t say no to, anyway. Not that Bruce had been mean about it—he hadn’t even raised his voice when he’d asked Jason after breakfast if he felt up to it. But something in Jason’s chest had tightened at the thought of saying no. You didn’t waste chances like this.

Breakfast had gone okay, though Jason wasn’t sure if “okay” was good enough. He’d been careful not to drop any crumbs, had cleared his own plate before Alfred even asked, and had kept quiet while Bruce read something on his tablet. He knew how to behave to make it easy to have him around.

And when Alfred had come over to ask if he wanted more toast, Jason had blurted out an apology instead. It had come out all wrong—his voice cracking and stumbling, his words tumbling into each other—but Alfred didn’t seem mad. If anything, Alfred had looked almost… sad. He’d patted Jason on the shoulder, his hand warm and steady, and said softly, “There’s nothing to forgive, Master Jason. Truly.”

Still, Jason’s stomach had twisted up tight afterward, like maybe Alfred was just being polite. That was why he couldn’t screw up now. Not here, not when this was the best place he’d ever been at.

“Jason,” Bruce’s voice broke through his thoughts, low and steady, “you ready?”

Jason straightened immediately, his back snapping straight like he’d been caught slouching in class. “Yeah,” he said quickly, nodding so hard his hair flopped into his eyes. He pushed it back hastily, his hand trembling just a little.

Bruce turned, studying him for a moment. His eyes weren’t hard, exactly, but they felt sharp—like he could see things Jason didn’t want him to notice. After a beat, Bruce gestured toward the mat. “Let’s start simple. Stances and footwork.”

Jason swallowed the tightness in his throat and stepped onto the mat, forcing his legs to steady. He planted his feet like Bruce had shown him a couple days ago trying to remember the exact way Bruce had demonstrated. His feet felt clumsy, his balance a little off, but he ignored that too.

Bruce circled him, quiet except for the soft tread of his boots. “Wider,” he said, and Jason shuffled his feet apart. “Not that much. Good. Now shift your weight. Relax your shoulders.”

Jason did his best to follow, his arms trembling slightly as he moved through the steps Bruce called out. He felt the tension in his muscles like a live wire under his skin, his heart pounding in his ears. He wasn’t sure if Bruce could hear it too—it felt loud enough.

“Stop locking your knees,” Bruce said, and Jason adjusted again, biting the inside of his cheek.

Training went like that for a while—slow, deliberate, with Bruce correcting his stance here and there. It was fine. It was good, actually. But the longer it went on, the more Jason felt the pressure building. His foot slipped during a pivot, and Bruce had to stop him to fix it. Then he stumbled during a block, his arms flailing awkwardly.

“Focus,” Bruce said, his voice calm but firm. “You’re rushing. Start again.”

Jason nodded, his throat dry. He went back to the beginning, forcing himself to move slower, more carefully. But the harder he tried, the heavier everything felt—his legs, his arms, even his lungs. He couldn’t keep his breathing steady, and the knot in his chest was back, twisting tighter and tighter.

When he landed wrong after a jump and felt a sharp pain shoot up his ankle, he barely bit back a gasp. He staggered, catching himself before he fell, and quickly shifted his weight to hide the limp.

Bruce stepped forward immediately, his brow furrowing. “Jason, stop.”

“I’m fine,” Jason said quickly, his voice rising as he waved Bruce off. “I can do it. I just—I’ll get it this time. I promise.”

Bruce crouched slightly, bringing himself level with Jason’s gaze. “Stop,” he said again, his tone steady and unmoving.

Jason froze, his chest heaving. His eyes darted to the floor, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I didn’t mean to mess up,” he whispered. “I swear I didn’t mean to.”

Bruce’s expression softened, and he let out a quiet sigh. “Jason, you didn’t mess up. But you’re pushing yourself too hard.”

“I’m not,” Jason argued, but it came out weak. His ankle throbbed where he’d twisted it, and his whole body felt too heavy.

Bruce’s gaze dropped to Jason’s foot. “You’re hurt.”

Jason’s stomach sank, and he took a half-step back. “It’s nothing,” he said quickly.

Bruce didn’t move closer, but his voice stayed firm. “Sit down. Let me look at it.”

For a moment, Jason didn’t move. He felt the weight of Bruce’s eyes on him, steady and calm but unrelenting. Finally, his shoulders slumped, and he sat down on the edge of the mat, his legs stretched out awkwardly in front of him.

Bruce crouched next to him, inspecting his ankle with careful hands. Jason kept his eyes fixed on a crack in the floor, his throat tight.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” Bruce said after a moment, his voice quiet but certain.

Jason blinked, his hands twisting in his lap. He hated that Bruce noticed that Jason hurt himself like a complete idiot but how should Jason have hid an injury right in front of someone with a mind like Bruces.

Jason watched as Bruce grabbed a wrap and an ice pack from the nearby cabinet.

“Take your shoe off,” Bruce said, his voice even.

Jason did as he was told, wincing when the movement pulled at the sore spot. His sock was damp and it was smelly. Jason curled his foot inwards instinctively to hide it.

Bruce didn’t comment. He just knelt in front of Jason, his movements calm and precise, and started wrapping the ankle. His hands were steady, not too tight, not too loose, like he’d done this a hundred times before.

Jason bit his lip, looking anywhere but Bruce’s face. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as he muttered, “I’m sorry. For messing up.”

Bruce’s hands paused for just a second before continuing. “You didn’t mess up,” he said, his tone firm but kind.

“I did,” Jason insisted, his voice small but determined. “I wasn’t careful, and I—”

“You’re learning,” Bruce interrupted, his eyes lifting to meet Jason’s. “That’s the whole point of training.“

Jason’s face flushed, and he ducked his head.

Bruce let out a soft huff, almost a laugh, as he secured the end of the wrap. “I’ve made more mistakes than I can count, Jason. It’s how I’ve learned to be better. And it’s how you’ll learn too.”

Jason frowned, skeptical, but he didn’t argue. The ice pack came next, wrapped gently against his ankle with a band of fabric to keep it in place. It was cold, but not in a bad way—more soothing than shocking.

Bruce stood, brushing his hands off before looking down at Jason. “Take ten minutes to rest,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Then we’ll reassess.”

Jason blinked up at him. “We’re… still training?”

“If you feel up to it,” Bruce said, his face unreadable but his voice careful. “And if you listen to your body this time.”

Jason’s lips parted, a quiet “oh” slipping out before he nodded. “Okay.”

Bruce turned back toward the terminal, giving Jason some space. Jason sat there for a moment, his ankle throbbing dully.

He flexed his fingers, tapping out a rhythm against his thigh as his mind churned.

Bruce was hard to figure out. He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t frustrated. He was still all nice, even when Jason was super useless and acting like a little baby that couldn’t even push past his limit.

He glanced over at Bruce, who was typing something into the massive Batcomputer, his back straight, his movements deliberate. Bruce didn’t seem annoyed. He didn’t even look like he was paying much attention to Jason at all, which somehow felt even stranger.

Jason’s throat tightened, and he stared down at the mat under him. He didn’t want to screw this up. Bruce had given him a chance, taken him in, trusted him enough to train him. The thought made his chest feel heavy, like a weight pressing down.

“Jason,” Bruce’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, calm but firm.

Jason snapped his head up, his heart skipping a beat. “Yeah?”

Bruce turned, his expression neutral but not cold. “How’s the ankle?”

Jason shifted his foot slightly, testing the soreness. “Better,” he said, even though it still hurt.

Bruce’s brow lifted, and Jason quickly added, “A little. Not, like, all the way better. But it’s fine. I can keep going.”

“Kid sound’s just like you, B.”

Jason’s eyes darted to the garage entrance as Dick strode in, motorbike helmet tucked under his arm. He was grinning, his hair a little windswept, and Jason felt some of the tension in his chest ease.

“Hey, Jaybird,” Dick said, his tone easy and affectionate as he walked over. His gaze flicked to Jason’s ankle, then to Bruce, one eyebrow quirked. “What’s going on? Did you overdo it?”

Jason fidgeted, looking down. “Twisted it.”

Dick crouched down, his grin softening into something gentler. “Twisted it, huh? That doesn’t sound fun. You okay?”

Jason shrugged, feeling a little awkward. “Yeah. Bruce wrapped it. I’m fine.”

“Good,” Dick said, ruffling Jason’s hair lightly. “But you’ve gotta take it easy, little guy. No sense in making it worse.”

Jason blinked up at him, unsure how to respond to the kindness but feeling a warm flicker of gratitude anyway. “I wasn’t trying to get hurt,” he muttered.

“I know,” Dick said, standing up again. He turned to Bruce, his hands on his hips.

“So, what now? You gonna keep training or take a break?”

Jason hesitated, his gaze flicking to Bruce. “I… I can keep going”

Bruce shook his head. “Jason’s taking a break. I was going to assess whether he could continue after some rest.”

Dick clapped his hands together. “Hold up. I’ve got an idea.” He turned back to Bruce, his grin widening. “How about we put on a show for the kid? A little one-on-one. Batman versus Nightwing. Old-school style.”

Jason’s eyes widened. “What?”

Bruce’s expression didn’t change, but Jason caught the subtle shift in his posture—the way his shoulders stiffened just a fraction.

“Dick—” Bruce started.

“Oh, come on,” Dick cut him off. “It’s perfect. Jason gets a break, but he still gets to learn something. And we get to remind him just how cool we are.” He glanced at Jason, winking. “What do you say, little wing? You want to see me kick Batman’s butt?”

Jason stared at him, caught between disbelief and curiosity. “You think you can beat him?”

Dick laughed, loud and carefree. “Obviously. I’ve been holding back for years. It’s time to show him who’s boss.”

Bruce let out a long-suffering sigh. “This isn’t necessary.”

“Necessary? No,” Dick said, already moving toward the mat. “Fun? Absolutely.”

Jason couldn’t help it. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Bruce glanced at Jason, his gaze softening just slightly, before turning back to Dick. “Fine,” he said, his voice low and even. “But don’t complain when you lose.”

Dick grinned. “Bring it, old man.”

Jason shuffled back to the edge of the mat, his ankle still aching but momentarily forgotten. This was going to be amazing!

Watching Dick and Bruce spar? That was something he didn’t know he needed to see until now.

Dick rolled his shoulders, loosening up as he stepped onto the mat. “Alright, B, let’s give the kid a show. No holding back just because you’re ancient.”

Bruce’s gaze remained steady, his expression calm and unreadable as always. “You might want to save the jokes, Dick. You’ll need all your focus.”

Jason grinned at the banter. Dick crouched slightly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Don’t worry, Jaybird,” he said, glancing at Jason. “I’ll go easy on him.”

Bruce gave a faint huff, a rare sign of amusement, before stepping onto the mat. “Are you done stalling?”

“Stalling?” Dick said, feigning shock. “I’m just building up suspense. Showmanship, Bruce. You should try it sometime.”

Bruce’s response was a quick lunge, forcing Dick to sidestep, barely dodging.

Jason’s eyes widened. “Whoa, that was fast.”

“Stay sharp, Jay,” Dick called, spinning around to face Bruce again. “Rule number one: don’t blink. Rule number two: always—”

Bruce’s fist shot out, and Dick twisted to block it, his words cut off by the clash of their movements. The sound of their hits was sharp and precise, their footwork impossibly smooth.

Jason’s heart raced as he watched. This wasn’t just sparring—it was like watching a dance. Every move Dick made, Bruce countered effortlessly, and vice versa. Jason would never be this good!

Dick darted in, aiming low, but Bruce anticipated it, pivoting just in time to block. “Still predictable,” Bruce murmured.

Dick laughed, even as he flipped backward to create space. “Predictable? Or nostalgic?” He lunged again, this time feinting high before dropping low.

Bruce shifted, blocking him with an arm and spinning to counter. Dick grunted as their arms locked for a moment, then broke away with a cheeky grin. “See, Jay? That’s called adapting.”

Jason nodded, hanging on every word and movement. “Yeah, but… Bruce still hasn’t even broken a sweat,” he said without meaning too.

“Ouch!” Dick said, pretending to be wounded. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

Jason shrugged. “Just saying.”

Bruce, ever calm, gave a small nod of approval at Jason’s observation. “Good eye.”

They continued, the spar escalating as both fighters picked up speed and now both Bruce and Dick were indeed sweating.

Jason could barely keep track of their movements, but he didn’t care. He was grinning now, his earlier insecurities melting away.

Jason was completely enthralled, though his heart pounded in time with the sharp, rapid strikes of fists and the echo of heavy footfalls.

Bruce and Dick moved like two forces of nature—perfectly attuned to one another, their bodies shifting fluidly in response to each faint, strike, and counter. Jason’s earlier thought returned with a vengeance: He’ll never be this good. Never.

The way Dick grinned through the sweat dripping down his face and the way Bruce’s expression never wavered—focused and unyielding—were two sides of the same impossible coin.

Then it happened.

Dick feinted a high kick, pivoting at the last second to sweep Bruce’s legs out from under him. Bruce went down, his back hitting the mat with a loud thud.

Jason’s eyes widened, his jaw dropping. “Whoa!”

Dick stood over Bruce, hands on his hips, grinning like a kid who just won his first carnival game. “And that’s how it’s done. Admit it, B—I’m not so predictable anymore.”

Bruce’s gaze shifted up to meet Dick’s. For a moment, Jason thought Bruce might actually admit defeat.

But then Bruce moved, quick as lightning.

He grabbed Dick’s arm, using the younger man’s weight against him, and flipped him clean over. Dick landed on his back with a stunned grunt. Before he could recover, Bruce shifted, pinning Dick to the mat with one arm pressed firmly across his chest and the other hand braced against his shoulder.

Jason couldn’t help himself; he burst out laughing.

“Lesson one,” Bruce said, his tone calm and steady despite the slight sheen of sweat on his face. “Never assume the fight is over until it is.”

Dick groaned, squinting up at Bruce with mock irritation. “You just can’t let me have this, can you?”

Bruce’s lips twitched—a faint but undeniable smile. “You left an opening.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dick muttered, shaking his head. “Next time, I’ll make sure you don’t get back up.”

Bruce released him, standing and offering Dick a hand. Jason expected Dick to brush it off, maybe crack another joke, but instead, Dick grabbed Bruce’s hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet.

“You alright?” Bruce asked, his voice softer now.

Dick rolled his shoulder, wincing slightly. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Bruce’s hand lingered for just a moment on Dick’s shoulder, his expression unreadable but somehow… gentle. “Your move was new. It’s fast and effective.”

Dick grinned, his earlier frustration melting away. “Was that… a compliment?”

“Don’t push it.”

Jason watched the exchange, his grin fading into something more uncertain. He didn’t know what to make of it—two grown men who’d just spent the last ten minutes trying to flatten each other now standing there like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like there was no tension, no lingering anger.

For a moment, Jason’s chest tightened. He remembered fights that didn’t end like this, back when he’d been on the streets. Fights were ugly and raw, leaving people broken or bleeding. And no one ever asked if the other guy was okay after.

But this? This was different.

Bruce turned, his gaze landing on Jason. “What did you learn?”

Jason blinked, startled by the question. “Uh…”

His heart jumped into his throat. The words were simple, but the weight behind them felt immense. Bruce’s expression was steady, unreadable as always, and Dick’s usual grin seemed less reassuring now. Their eyes were on him, waiting for his answer, and Jason’s chest tightened.

What would they do if he didn’t have one? If he said something stupid? If he said nothing at all?

Jason drew in a shaky breath, his pulse pounding in his ears. For a moment, the room around him blurred, replaced by the harsh echoes of fists hitting flesh. The jagged memory of a street fight he’d witnessed came rushing back once more: big men, bigger than him, fists raised and unrelenting, they barked at him to stay out of their way.

His dad, fist raised and trembling, teetering on the edge of hitting Jason square in the jaw. The goons who had pummeled his dad—nearly killing him while Jason watched helplessly. And his mom, her dealer close behind, fists slamming down as he shouted at him to get lost.

This is different, he tried to remind himself, but the panic was already bubbling up, sharp and hot in his chest. He clenched his fists, his mind racing for something to say, anything to stop the silence stretching too long.

“Jay?” Dick’s voice broke through the haze, soft and steady. Not teasing, not mocking.

Jason blinked, his vision clearing. Dick wasn’t standing over him. He wasn’t angry. He was crouching now, eye-level with Jason, his grin replaced by something quieter. “It’s okay, little wing. No pressure. Just say what’s on your mind.”

Jason swallowed hard, the knot in his chest loosening just a little. He looked between Dick and Bruce, who’d also taken a step back, giving Jason space. Bruce’s posture was relaxed, his arms crossed, but his face wasn’t hard—it was open, patient.

“I, uh…” Jason started, hesitating. His hand drifted to the back of his neck as he looked down, searching for the right words. “I guess… I noticed how you both kept moving. You didn’t stop, like, ever. And you kept watching each other the whole time—always looking for the next move.”

Bruce gave a slight nod, and Jason felt a flicker of relief that he wasn’t completely off base.

Jason rushed to continue, finding a rhythm. “And you didn’t waste energy. You didn’t go all-in unless you were sure you’d land the hit. And, uh, when Dick fell”—he glanced at Dick apologetically—“you didn’t, like, keep hitting him. You stopped. You made sure he was okay.”

Bruce’s expression softened at Jason’s words. He uncrossed his arms, his hands resting loosely at his sides.

“Of course I stopped,” Bruce said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Sparring isn’t about hurting each other. It’s about learning. Pushing limits without crossing the line.” He glanced at Dick, his voice lowering just slightly. “And I would never—as long as I can help it—leave one of my kids hurt, especially not during training.”

Dick let out a soft laugh, the kind without any bite. “Yeah, Jason. Bruce always makes sure we’re okay—sometimes too much.” He turned to Bruce with a playful grin. “Remember that time I broke my wrist when I was, like, thirteen? You didn’t let me do anything for a week. You were convinced I’d make it worse.”

Bruce didn’t react to the teasing. Instead, his gaze remained steady on Jason. “Because it’s my responsibility to make sure you’re well. All of you.” His tone wasn’t harsh or scolding; it was quiet and firm, like he needed Jason to believe it.

Jason blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process what Bruce had said. “Oh,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Dick said, crouching next to Jason again with an exaggerated grin. “Big guy’s not as scary as he looks, huh?” He bumped Jason’s shoulder lightly. “He’s practically a mother hen sometimes. Trust me, I’d know.”

Jason glanced between them, feeling oddly small in the moment—not because they were towering over him, but because this was so unfamiliar.

Bruce’s tone softened further, his expression less stern and more… human. “Sparring isn’t about breaking someone down. It’s about building them up. That’s why we stop. That’s why we make sure everyone’s okay afterward.” He held Jason’s gaze. “Always.”

Dick nodded, leaning back on his heels. “It’s like, Sparring 101. Rule number one: don’t actually hurt your partner. Rule number two: if you do, you stop everything and fix it. Pretty simple, right?”

Jason hesitated, then nodded slowly. He rubbed the back of his neck again, avoiding their eyes. “Yeah. I guess I’m just… not used to that.”

The words were out before he could stop them, and the air grew heavier for a moment. Dick’s grin faded slightly, replaced by quiet understanding. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I get that.”

Bruce didn’t press, didn’t push for more. He only gave Jason another small nod, his voice calm and steady. “You will be.”

Jason’s throat tightened, but this time it wasn’t panic. It was something warmer, quieter. He nodded again, not trusting himself to say more.

Dick reached over and gave him a light nudge, ruffling Jason’s hair lightly, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Not bad, little wing. You’re sharp.” He grinned again, teasing this time. “Though next time, try rooting for me, huh?”

Jason managed a small smile, his chest loosening further. “Maybe.”

Bruce’s lips quirked, just slightly. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a smile nonetheless. “You did well today. You were paying good attention.”

Jason blinked, surprised. “I was?”

Bruce nodded, his voice steady and sure. “Yes.”

Then, after a brief pause, Bruce’s gaze shifted to Dick. “Take care of his ankle. I’ll clean up here.”

“Got it,” Dick said, grinning again. He reached out, offering Jason his arm to help him up. “Up you go, little guy.”

Jason hesitated for a moment before taking it, letting Dick steady him as he got to his feet. “You good?” Dick asked, his voice gentle but firm, like he already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” Jason muttered, wincing as he tested his weight on the bad ankle. He could stand, but barely. His voice dropped further. “Shouldn’t I help clean up?”

Bruce, who had bent down to retrieve a pair of gloves from the mat, straightened and turned toward him. His expression was calm, unreadable as always, but Jason thought he caught a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “It’s fine, Jason. You go up and rest.”

Jason frowned, his gaze darting between Bruce and the scattered training gear. He didn’t like the idea of Bruce picking up after him. It felt wrong, like he was adding to Bruce’s burden when he was supposed to be taking some of it away. “But—”

Bruce’s voice cut through, not sharp but final. “It’s fine.” He bent again, already gathering the scattered equipment with practiced efficiency.

Dick nudged him lightly. “Come on, Jaybird. Don’t argue with the big guy. Let’s find you some more ice for that ankle. Maybe a cookie, too.”

Jason hesitated again, glancing at Bruce, who had already turned his attention back to cleaning. Finally, Jason let Dick guide him toward the stairs.

“I can carry you if you want,” Dick teased as they walked.

Jason snorted. “I’m not a baby.”

“No,” Dick agreed, grinning. “But you are limping like one.”

Jason rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “A cookie sounds good,” he muttered, the admission feeling oddly vulnerable.

“Then a cookie it is,” Dick said, his tone as bright as ever.

As they neared the stairs, Jason glanced back over his shoulder. Bruce was still on the mat, methodically gathering up the remaining gear.

Jason still didn’t understand everything he’d just seen today, but one thing was clear: this wasn’t violence. Bruce and Dick might be huge and Jason was sure that they could kill with their fists alone but that wasn’t what they were about.

This wasn’t about hurting. Bruce wanted him safe. And maybe Jason could trust that.

Chapter Text

Jason sat cross-legged in the corner of the library, his ankle stretched out in front of him, sock bunched up awkwardly around his heel. It didn’t hurt much anymore—just a dull ache that he could mostly ignore. He turned a page in journey to the center of the earth , his fingers smudging the edge, where the paper had softened over years of use. It was old, the kind of book that smelled well-loved.

His mind wandered, though, as he stared at the words. He’d been thinking a lot since breakfast. Bruce had told him to take it easy again today—no training, no exercises. Jason had nodded. But he’d rather have trained, just a bit. He needed to get better. If he wasn’t getting better, he wasn’t useful, and if he wasn’t useful… he’d be a burden and not an asset. Jason wanted Bruce to not regret taking Jason in.

He swallowed hard, letting out a slow sigh as his thumb traced the edge of the page

The room was quiet, except for the faint tick of a clock somewhere on the far wall. His workbook sat upstairs, math problems half-finished in his careful scrawl. He’d spent most of yesterday swapping between those and YouTube videos about offshore wind hubs and old railway routes.

YouTube was incredible. Jason still couldn’t get over how much was crammed into YouTube—every question he’d ever had just waiting for someone to explain it. And more. He hadn’t even known there were so many things to learn about.

The library door creaked open, and Jason glanced up. Dick strolled in, sunlight from the tall windows catching something in his hair. Jason blinked. Glitter. Actual glitter, catching the light like tiny stars scattered through Dick’s dark hair. It looked ridiculus but somehow, it made perfect sense.

Dick flashed him a grin, bright and full of mischief, as he set a big box on the table near Jason. “Let’s decorate for Christmas, little guy.”

Jason stared, his thumb freezing on the edge of the page. His gaze darted to the box, where bits of shiny tinsel and something red poked out. Christmas? He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when Dick walked in, but this definitely wasn’t it.

Jason blinked at him. “Decorate for Christmas?”

Christmas had never been a thing, not really. He thought back to the years with his mom, when the closest they got to celebrating was watching grainy holiday specials on their old TV, the kind where the sound crackled if you turned it up too loud.

There wasn’t any special dinner—just mac and cheese from a box. If they were lucky and had a little extra, maybe there’d be some cheap cookies, the to sweet kind that crumbled too easily. No tree, no presents, no family to visit. Christmas came and went like any other day.

“Yeah!” Dick’s voice was bright enough to fill the entire room as he crouched by the box and started digging through it. “It’s time to make this place look like a proper Christmas mansion.”

Jason watched as Dick pulled out handfuls of decorations—strings of lights, glittering ornaments, and thick red and green candles spilling out in shiny heaps. It was like a little treasure box full of christmas spirit and tinsel.

Jason stayed on the floor a moment longer before standing carefully, testing his ankle. It still felt stiff from sitting too long, but it was fine enough to walk on. He flexed it absentmindedly as he looked at the mess of decorations. “Why?”

Dick straightened, a garland draped over one shoulder like a fancy scarf. His grin softened, the edges less teasing now. “Because it’s fun,” he said simply. Then, after a pause, he added, “And because this place could use some cheer.”

Jason crossed his arms, his gaze falling to the tinsel pooling near Dick’s feet. He thought about what Dick had told him before—that Bruce wasn’t exactly big on Christmas after his parents died. “Won’t Bruce be angry?”

“Nah.” Dick waved a hand like the idea was ridiculous, though Jason wasn’t sure it was. “Don’t worry. Bruce knows you can’t just not decorate when you’ve got a kid in the house for Christmas.” He smirked, tossing the garland over his other shoulder. “Besides, we don’t go overboard or anything. Just the family rooms—you’ll see.”

Jason frowned, the gears in his head turning. They didn’t need to decorate for him. He wasn’t the kind of kid who expected all this stuff. He wouldn’t have cared if there wasn’t a tree or any gifts or shiny lights wrapped around everything. He would be happy just eating cookies and maybe watching a Christmas movie with Dick—or Alfred, or Bruce, if they felt like it. Dinner was already fancier than anything he’d ever had back home. That was enough. More than enough.

He wasn’t spoiled. He didn’t need all this to feel like Christmas. He never had.

But Dick’s grin widened, all hopeful and bright, the kind of grin that felt impossible to say no to. It made something twist in Jason’s chest, a mix of guilt and warmth, and before he could overthink it, the word slipped out: “Okay, I guess.”

“Awesome!” Dick said, his voice like a burst of sunshine as he reached over and ruffled Jason’s hair. Jason ducked a little, but he didn’t really mind. Not much, anyway. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”

Jason trailed after him into the hallway, still feeling a little unsure, when they almost ran straight into Bruce.

Jason froze.

Bruce was coming up the stairs, and in his arms was the biggest Christmas tree Jason had ever seen, its dark green branches spreading out like a cloud. Bruce’s face was calm—his usual unreadable expression—but Jason caught a flicker of effort in the tight line of his jaw and the subtle shift of his shoulders as he adjusted his grip on the trunk.

“You’re… carrying a tree,” Jason said, his voice flat. It was the only thing that made sense to say because what else do you say when Batman is hauling a Christmas tree through the house?

Bruce paused mid-step, glancing at him. “It’s for the den,” he said simply, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Jason turned to Dick, searching for some kind of explanation. But Dick just beamed, his grin wide enough to rival the lights in the box they’d left behind. “Told you he’s got some Christmas spirit,” Dick said, practically bouncing on his heels.

Bruce didn’t respond. He just adjusted his hold on the tree again and continued up the stairs, his footsteps slow and deliberate, as if carrying an entire tree was something he did every day.

Jason watched him go, his brain still catching up with the sight of Bruce Wayne and a giant Christmas tree. The man hadn’t seemed like the kind of person to bother with trees or lights or anything like that, and yet here he was, dragging half a forest into the manor.

When Jason turned back to Dick, he realized the grin on Dick’s face had snuck onto his own without him noticing.

“Let’s get the rest of the stuff there,” Dick said, nodding to 5 more boxes full of christmas stuff, but already heading for the den like a whirlwind of tinsel and enthusiasm. He shot Jason a quick look over his shoulder. “The tree’s just the start.”

Jason hesitated just a moment but he grabbed another of the boxes before following, his steps a little quicker, a little lighter than they’d been all day. Maybe decorating for Christmas wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Jason followed Dick into the den, his curiosity pulling at him like a string. The room felt warm already, even without any decorations—big windows letting in the dull winter light, a crackling fireplace that made the shadows dance.

Dick had plopped the box of decorations on the floor by the couch and was already sorting through it, pulling out garlands, lights, and ornaments with the energy of someone who lived for this kind of thing.

Jason put the box in his hands down ans crouched beside ut, while the sound of Bruce adjusting the Christmas tree filled the room. The smell of pine was everywhere—sharp, clean, and fresh, like the forest had somehow crept inside. It made Jason think of winters he’d seen in movies but never really lived.

The room felt warm, not just from the crackling fire in the hearth but from something quieter, harder to name. Jason glanced at Bruce, who was securing the tree into its stand, his movements careful but certain. He hadn’t said much since they’d all come in, but he didn’t seem annoyed or distant. He looked… focused. Like this mattered to him, even if he didn’t say it outright.

Jason fingers were brushing over a tangle of silver tinsel. He felt like he should ask permission or maybe just wait for Dick to hand him something, but then his eyes caught on something further down—a glimmer of glass under a red and green scarf. Carefully, he pulled it free.

It was a snow globe.

The glass felt cold and smooth in his hands, and inside was a little Christmas village nestled under a flurry of snow. There was a tiny church with a steeple, a toy shop, and a line of houses with glowing yellow windows painted so delicately that Jason couldn’t stop staring. The whole thing looked alive, like if he tilted it just right, he’d see the tiny figures inside walking down the streets.

Dick noticed and paused, leaning over with a grin. “Cool, huh?”

Jason didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned the small key at the base, and the globe came to life. Snow swirled gently inside, and soft, tinkling music floated out—Silent Night. Jason blinked, startled, the sound tugging at something deep in his chest.

“It’s really nice,” he said quietly, almost to himself. He didn’t know they made things like this. It felt fancy, but also like it had been around for years. He couldn’t imagine something this delicate lasting in the world he came from.

Dick gave him a nudge. “You can put it wherever you want. It’ll look great on the mantle.”

Jason nodded, but he didn’t move yet. He just held the globe in his lap, watching the snow settle again as the music faded out.

When he finally set it aside, his fingers brushed against something else—a red velvet stocking with white trim. It was thick, soft, and when he turned it over, he saw “Dick” embroidered on the top in gold thread.

“You’ve got a stocking?” Jason asked, glancing up at him.

“Yup! Alfred insists we hang them every year,” Dick said, pulling out another garland. “There’s one for Bruce, too. And Alfred, obviously.”

Jason nodded slowly, turning the stocking in his hands. It wasn’t surprising, not really. He’d seen stockings in Christmas movies before, usually filled with candy and little presents. Families did that for their kids. That was the whole point, wasn’t it?

There wasn’t one with his name, of course not, but that was fine. Jason had never had a stocking before. It wasn’t something he thought about much. Still, the idea of it—of someone taking the time to make something like this for a kid—felt… kind of nice.

“Bruce got really lucky,” Jason said softly, hoping that Bruce setting up the tree on the other side of the room wouldn’t hear him before setting the stocking down.

“Huh?” Dick looked over his shoulder, mid-garland-toss.

Jason shrugged. “That he got you, I mean. You’re pretty lucky too, though. You know, having someone like him after…” He trailed off, his fingers brushing the edge of the box.

Dick’s grin softened, his eyes flicking over to the snow globe. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I guess we both got lucky in different ways.”

Jason didn’t say anything else. Instead, he reached into the box again, pulling out a string of lights. They felt heavy and a little tangled, but manageable.

“Where do these go?” he asked.

Dick’s grin returned, brighter than ever. “Anywhere you want, little guy. Let’s make this place shine.”

Jason turned the string of lights over in his hands, feeling the cool plastic of the bulbs and the faint roughness of the wire. They were colorful—red, green, blue, and yellow—and reminded him of the city at night.

Bruce had finished setting up the tree by then, straightening it so it stood perfectly upright in the corner of the den. The branches stretched out like arms reaching into the room, their pine scent mixing with the faint smell of wood smoke from the fireplace. He stepped back and gave it a thoughtful look, tilting his head slightly.

“What do you think?” Bruce asked. His voice was calm, but there was something lighter in it, something that wasn’t there most of the time.

Jason blinked, realizing Bruce was asking him . “Uh, it’s good. I mean, it’s really nice. Smells cool too.”

Bruce nodded, his lips twitching at the corners like he wanted to smile but wasn’t quite used to it. “That’s the point. A real tree always makes a difference.”

Jason watched him for a second longer, then glanced at Dick, who was rummaging through another box and humming something under his breath. The atmosphere felt strange but not in a bad way—just unfamiliar. Like being handed something you didn’t expect and weren’t sure what to do with.

He turned back to the lights, carefully untangling them as Dick straightened up with an armful of tinsel. “Okay, here’s the plan,” Dick said, his grin returning in full force. “Lights first, then garlands, then the ornaments. But Jason gets first pick of where to hang stuff, because, y’know, rookie privileges.”

Jason rolled his eyes, but he felt the corners of his mouth twitching. “Rookie privileges aren’t a thing.”

“They are now.”

Jason shook his head but let himself smile a little as he followed Dick over to the tree. Together, they draped the string of lights around it, Jason’s fingers brushing against the cool, prickly needles as he adjusted the placement. Dick hummed more loudly now—something vaguely familiar but off-tune—and Jason found himself liking it a lot!

At one point, Bruce stepped in, holding out a second strand of lights. “These will even out the top,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact but gentle.

Jason took them without a word, nodding, and climbed onto the step stool Dick dragged over from the corner. As he worked, he caught Bruce’s eye for a brief moment. It wasn’t much—just a glance—but there was something steady in the way Bruce looked at him, like he was checking to make sure Jason was okay without asking outright.

When Jason climbed back down, the room looked different. The lights were glowing faintly, the fire was still crackling, and the tree stood tall and proud, waiting for the next layer of decoration.

Dick clapped his hands together. “Alright, next up—tinsel! Go wild, Jay. The shinier, the better.”

Jason reached for the tinsel but paused when something small caught his eye at the bottom of the box. He bent down and pulled out a little ornament—just a tiny wooden sled painted bright red, with tiny runners that gleamed like real metal.

“Where’d this come from?” he asked, holding it up.

Bruce glanced over from where he was untangling another string of lights. “It was mine when I was a kid. My parents gave it to me.”

Jason froze, the ornament feeling suddenly heavier in his hand. He looked at Bruce, afraid to have fucked up the nice afternoon with dredging up painful memories. But Bruce didn’t seem upset, just… thoughtful. Like he was remembering something far away.

Dick leaned in, smiling as he tilted his head toward Jason. “That’s a good one. Front and center, I say.”

Jason nodded slowly and moved to the tree, carefully hanging the sled where it could be seen. The little red ornament swung slightly on its hook, catching the soft glow of the string lights. As he stepped back, he caught Bruce watching him again, his face unreadable.

“Looks good,” Bruce said, his voice low and steady.

Jason blinked, unsure what to say. He settled for a small nod and turned his attention back to the tree.

By the time they finished decorating, the room had transformed. The tree shimmered, its lights blinking softly like little winks of color, and the garlands draped across the mantle glittered faintly in the firelight. The snow globe Jason had found earlier sat proudly in the center of the mantle. Below it, three stockings hung in a neat row: “Bruce,” “Alfred,” and “Dick,” each embroidered name standing out in gold thread.

Jason sank onto the couch, the plush cushions swallowing him up as his ankle throbbed faintly from all the standing and moving he’d done today.

He glanced at Bruce, who was still by the tree, tilting his head as he adjusted a strand of lights near the top, almost as if he wanted it to be perfect.

Dick, on the other hand, had collapsed into an armchair with a grin so big it practically glowed. His legs dangled over the side, one arm draped dramatically over his forehead. “Well, team,” he said, his voice loud and exaggerated like some cartoon hero, “I think we’ve outdone ourselves. This is officially the best-decorated room in the entire house.”

Jason snorted, sinking deeper into the couch. “It’s the only decorated room.”

“Exactly,” Dick shot back, waggling a finger at him. “Which makes it the best. Logic, little bro.”

Jason rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue. The den did look amazing, even if he didn’t have anything to compare it to. He’d never seen a room like this, not in real life. It looked like something out of one of those Christmas movies.

Back then, the lights and decorations had seemed so far away, like they belonged to another world.

But now… now they were here, in this room, and he was a part of it. Well, a little bit at least.

Jason’s gaze wandered back to the mantle, to the row of stockings. He stared at them for a moment, his stomach doing this weird little twist that he didn’t like. He told himself it didn’t matter. He didn’t need a stocking. It was just a dumb decoration, anyway.

Still, his eyes lingered on the names stitched in gold thread, on the way each stocking hung like it had always been there.

Bruce, meanwhile, had finally stepped away from the tree. He gave it one last look before turning to the room, his hands on his hips. “Good work,” he said simply.

Jason glanced at him, half-expecting Bruce to head for the door, finally done with entertaining them kids, but he didn’t. He just stood there, his eyes flicking to the mantle, then to the tree, then to the two of them. For a second—just a second—Jason thought Bruce might say something but he didn‘t. Huh, strange.

The fire crackled, filling the quiet with soft pops and hisses. Jason felt himself relax a little more, his muscles sinking into the couch like they didn’t want to hold him up anymore. His eyes drifted back to the snow globe on the mantle, its little painted village still and perfect under the glass.

“Hey, Jay,” Dick said suddenly, breaking the silence. “Wanna help me raid the kitchen? I’m pretty sure Alfred made cookies earlier, and I saw him hide them in the pantry.”

Jason blinked, startled. He‘d rather not raid the pantry. Dick might be allowed but Alfred surely wouldn‘t want Jason stealing cookies. That was a surefire way to not get any of them at all. And Jason really wanted to eat some cookies in this room on christmas. It was almost childish how much he wanted that.

Dick was still standing there, though, waiting, one eyebrow raised in exaggerated patience. “C’mon, Jay. We’ll just sneak one—or two,” he said with a conspiratorial grin. “Alfred won’t even notice.”

Jason shook his head, sinking deeper into the couch. “Nah. You go.”

Dick tilted his head, clearly puzzled. “What? Why not?”

Jason hesitated, his fingers idly tracing the hem of his hoodie. He couldn’t think of a good reason—at least, not one he wanted to say out loud. Instead, he muttered, “I’m not hungry.”

Dick squinted at him like he didn’t believe that for a second. “Not hungry? Do you know time it is? It’s Christmas time! That means it’s mandatory to eat cookies. Especially Alfred’s cookies.”

Jason shrugged, looking away, his fingers tightening on the couch cushion. He didn’t want to explain. Didn’t want to say that the idea of raiding the pantry made his chest squeeze up, like he was a kid on the streets again, sneaking into places he wasn’t supposed to be.

“Just not hungry,” Jason muttered, keeping his eyes on the fireplace. The flames popped and hissed, but they didn’t fill the sudden gap in the room.

“Not hungry? Yeah, right.” Dick’s voice edged into something sharper, though not mean, exactly. “C’mon, Jay, don’t be such a buzzkill. We’re supposed to have fun.”

Jason’s jaw tightened. “I don‘t want to.”

Dick huffed, the sound sharp with frustration, like air escaping a punctured tire. “You’re such a grump, you know that?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms like he had all the time in the world to be annoyed with Jason. “It’s just cookies. You don’t have to act like we’re robbing a bank or something.”

Jason’s head snapped toward him, heat bubbling up from somewhere deep, somewhere he couldn’t quite stop. “I don’t want any stupid cookies!” he shot back, the words louder than he meant, sharper than he wanted.

“Boys.”

Bruce’s voice sliced through the air, not loud but solid, the kind of tone that made things stop in their tracks. Jason froze, his anger evaporating like november rain, leaving behind something cold and heavy in his stomach.

He was such an idiot. A stupid, fucking idiot. Now Bruce was angry—had to be. How could he not be? Jason wrecked everything. Here was Dick, all cheerful about Christmas, letting Jason join in on this whole thing—a tradition both Dick and Bruce were clearly fond of—and Jason had to go and ruin it by being a jerk. No wonder the real kids back at the foster home hadn’t wanted him downstairs for Christmas. They’d been right to keep him out.

“Alfred left a plate of cookies in the kitchen for after dinner. You don’t need to raid anything,” Bruce said, his tone steady, no anger in it. But that didn’t mean anything.

Jason’s chest felt tight. He waited for the other shoe to drop, for Bruce to say something about his outburst, to tell him he couldn’t act like this.

Instead, Bruce just stood by the tree, his hand resting lightly on one of the branches, his gaze steady but calm.

Jason glanced at Dick, who looked sheepish for half a second before shaking it off like water off a duck. Then, just as quickly, Dick grinned, bright and unfazed, like Jason’s shouting had been nothing more than a strong breeze.

“Well, that’s no fun,” Dick said, flopping back into his chair with a dramatic sigh, one arm slung over the backrest like he was posing for a picture. “Guess we’ll just have to wait, huh?”

Jason didn’t say anything. He stared at the floor, his fists curled tight in his lap.

He didn’t deserve cookies. Not after shouting like that, not after saying he didn’t want any in the first place. He’d screwed it all up. He always screwed it up.

Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Would he even get any now?

And why wasn’t Bruce saying anything about it? Jason knew Bruce wouldn’t beat him for it, he wasn’t stupid. Jason got that Bruce didn’t hurt kids. Not hurting kids was so ingrained in who he was at his core, as Batman and as Bruce Wayne, that he just couldn’t do it, even if the kid deserved it. But that didn’t mean Bruce could just let it slide, could he?

Someone had to call him out. Someone had to tell him he was being awful because that’s what he was.

Jason swallowed hard, the warmth from the fire suddenly too much, making the room feel tighter, smaller. His voice came out small, a tiny crack in the quiet. “I’m sorry.”

It was barely more than a mumble, soft and uneven, but it was for both of them—for Bruce, who hadn’t said much of anything, and for Dick, who’d been… well, kind of a dick, too, but that didn’t matter. Jason shouldn’t have snapped. Just because he didn’t want to steal Alfred’s cookies didn’t mean Dick couldn’t.

Bruce dusted his hands off and turned toward the couch. “Jason,” he said, his voice low but not sharp.

Jason sat up straighter. He knew Bruce wouldn’t let it slide. He couldn’t. Jason had messed up, and that came with consequences. He was ready for it, whatever it was. He’d stay in his room, no questions asked, no complaints. He wouldn’t even think about sneaking downstairs. He got that there was no dinner for him tonight. That was fine. No cookies? That was fine, too—more than fine. It was so much better than being slapped!

Being grounded? Bruce had told him that was how he punished. And that made perfect sense. It might just be tonight and tomorrow, even. Maybe. Maybe Jason was allowed to come down again for Christmas Eve. Maybe he’d still get to sit here, have a cookie, watch a Christmas movie. Maybe not everything would be ruined because of one stupid outburst.

“Yes?” Jason asked, his voice coming out all meek and small.

“You’ve been on your feet a lot today,” Bruce said, nodding toward the coffee table. “Put your ankle up properly. Use the pillow.”

Jason blinked, his brain tripping over itself. That wasn’t what he’d expected. Not even close. He was expected to be send up, to remain in his room, maybe some clear instructions what he was allowed to do and what not. Would Bruce take away the books and the Ipad if he needed to ground Jason? That would be logical right? Grounding him wasn‘t really a punishment if Jason could still do fun things in the room.

Bruce crossed the room and grabbed a small throw pillow from the armchair. His movements were easy, just slow enough to not be all obvious about it but.

Jason hesitated, his hands gripping the edge of the couch. Then, almost cautiously, like the pillow might vanish if he moved too fast, he put his leg up, resting his sore ankle on it. The relief was immediate, the ache dulling just a little, but that wasn’t what hit him the most. It was that Bruce had noticed—had seen that he was hurting and done something about it.

Bruce straightened, his hands settling on his hips as he looked at the two of them. His expression was steady, unreadable but not harsh.

“I’ll go get the cookies,” he said after a pause, his voice quiet but firm.

Jason blinked again, startled. Cookies were a reward for good behavior, not something you got when you’d been a jerk.

But Bruce didn’t move like he thought this was a bad idea. He didn’t sound like it either. And Jason, for all his racing thoughts, couldn’t quite figure out why that made him feel like he could breathe a little easier.

But then Dick shot Jason a look as soon as Bruce was gone, his grin practically splitting his face. “Okay, what just happened?”

Jason shrugged, trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal. But inside, his chest felt warm, like someone had lit a tiny candle there. He didn’t know why it mattered so much that Bruce had noticed that his ankle still hurt and that he was getting the cookies. Jason didn‘t know why it mattered so so much that Jason was still sitting here, unharmed and welcomed, at least by Bruce, after his stupid outburst.

Dick leaned back in his chair, shaking his head with a laugh that didn’t seem to match the weight Jason suddenly felt in his chest. “Man, Bruce really does have a soft spot for you, doesn’t he?”

Jason frowned, his stomach twisting into a knot. He didn’t understand what Dick was getting at, but he didn’t like it. The words felt too sharp, like they might mean something worse if he looked at them too closely. “What do you mean?”

Dick gestured toward the doorway where Bruce had disappeared, a lazy wave of his hand. “You know he’s getting the cookies because of you, right?”

Jason blinked, his pulse quickening. “What? No… I…” Words failed him, tripping over the confusion and the flicker of fear curling up in his chest. Did Dick think Bruce was favoring him? That couldn’t be right. Nobody played favorites with Jason. He wasn’t that kid—the one people liked. The real kids were always the ones who mattered, who got the nice things, who people didn’t mind keeping around.

And Dick? Jason knew he was not Bruces bio kid or something but still. Dick was all grown up and he still came home for Christmas. That screamed as much real kid as any birth certificate could.

“Sure,” Dick said, casual, too casual, his tone all easy and nice. “You had this kicked puppy look when Bruce raised his voice. You know he’s not gonna hurt you, right?”

Jason stiffened. His cheeks burned hot, shame and something else he didn’t have a word for clawing at the back of his throat. “Yeah, sure do,” he mumbled, even though he hadn’t been so sure about that until… what? The day before yesterday? Whatever. Didn’t matter. “I just thought he was gonna ground me.”

“For what, please?” Dick sounded genuinely baffled, leaning forward now, like Jason had just said something wild.

“For… you know, acting like that,” Jason muttered, his hands twitching where they rested on his knees.

Dick snorted, shaking his head again. “Kid, Bruce isn’t gonna ground you for stuff like that. Bruce didn’t ground me for, like, four years straight, and then only, what? Three times? Ever. And that was for big stuff. Real big stuff, you get me?”

Jason stared at him, his throat tightening. “Bruce told me himself he’d ground me if I acted out,” he said, the words a little too fast, defensive, but also unsure.

“What?” Dick exclaimed, sitting up straight now, his face breaking into a grin of disbelief just as Bruce reappeared in the doorway, balancing a plate piled high with cookies. “Why does Jay think he’s grounded?”

Jason blurted, “I don’t think I’m grounded!” at the exact same moment Bruce said, “He’s not grounded.”

Bruce gave them both a look, his brows pulling together in quiet exasperation. He stepped forward, placing the plate carefully on the coffee table. “Jason,” he said, his voice steady but still soft, “you are not grounded. Why would you think you’d be grounded?”

Jason blinked at him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He didn’t know how to answer that without sounding like an idiot. Without admitting he just kind of assumed the worst because, well, wasn’t that just how things usually went?

Jason shifted uncomfortably, his hands clenching at his sides. He didn’t know where to look—at Bruce’s steady, unflinching gaze, or at Dick, who was leaning forward, watching him closely. The warmth from the fire felt like it was creeping up his neck, wrapping tight around his throat.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled finally, barely loud enough to be heard. “I just thought… I mean, I yelled, and that’s not… that’s not good, right?”

Bruce’s expression softened, just a little, but it didn’t waver. “No, it’s not good to snap at people,” he said calmly, pulling up the armchair and sitting down across from them. “But apologizing shows you understand that. And nobody gets grounded for something like that here, Jason.”

Jason looked down at his hands, biting the inside of his cheek. He felt so stupid.

“But… but you said you’d ground me?” Jason’s voice was small as he glanced up at Bruce. His stomach churned.

“When?” Bruce’s tone was curious, but not defensive, like he genuinely didn’t understand.

Jason fiddled with his thumb, rubbing it hard against his palm. The skin was raw, but the sting was more of a distraction than anything. “A couple of days ago. In… in the kitchen. When… uhm, when you made me that sandwich.” His mouth was dry, and it felt like the words were all tangled in his throat.

Dick stayed silent, his posture loose but his eyes sharp. Jason didn’t know why Dick was looking at them like this. He trusted Bruce—Jason knew that. But right now, Dick looked like he was waiting for something, like he might need to step in if Bruce said something dumb.

Bruce nodded slowly, his voice calm. “I was just explaining that I don’t use corporal punishment, Jason. At worst, I said I’d ground you. But not for snapping at Dick, especially not when he’s trying to get you to join him in something and you don’t want to. That’s not a reason to be grounded.”

The way Bruce said it so calmly, so matter-of-fact, made it feel like he was missing something, like there was a catch just waiting to spring. There was always a catch.

He risked a glance at Bruce, but it didn’t tell him anything. Bruce wasn’t scowling or crossing his arms, wasn’t even looking frustrated like most adults did when Jason talked too much or said the wrong thing. He just looked at Jason like he was waiting. Jason’s chest felt tight again, like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“But… but what if I do something bad enough?” he pressed, his voice barely above a whisper. His words felt clunky, like they were too big for his mouth. “Like… like worse than snapping. What if I mess up really bad?”

Bruce didn’t answer right away, and Jason’s stomach twisted tighter, like someone had wrapped it in barbed wire. The silence wasn’t angry, though. It wasn’t the kind of silence that came before yelling, the kind that made you want to crawl into yourself and disappear. Still, Jason braced for it. He always braced for it.

“If you mess up really bad,” Bruce said finally, his voice still steady, “we’d talk about it. I’d make sure you understand what happened and why it can’t happen again. I might ground you, as I said the other night. But nothing worse would happen.”

Jason frowned, feeling a small knot of confusion twist in his gut. He looked down at his lap, his hands twisting tighter together. “What… uhm… what would grounding look like?”

Bruce’s brow furrowed slightly, and there was a pause before he spoke, like he was trying to follow Jason’s thought process. When he answered, his tone was gentler, like he was coaxing the answer out of Jason instead of scolding him. “What do you mean, Jason?”

Jason hesitated, his thoughts scattered. He wasn’t sure if it was just that he was scared or if he honestly didn’t understand. “Uh… like… would I be allowed to, uh… read? Or do my workbooks?” The words felt clumsy as they tumbled out, like they didn’t belong. “And, uh… how long would I be grounded for? I get that I can’t come down for meals or… or, you know, like be part of things. But… if you grounded me for, like… too long… would Alfred still give me some food like … I dunno a musli bar or something?” The question hung in the air like a rock in water, ripples spreading out in every direction.

Jason’s babbling felt ridiculous, like his words were tumbling over themselves, messy and scattered, too much all at once. He hated that about himself, the way he could never quite seem to get the right words out in the right order. But the idea of being stuck in his room—alone, hungry, and invisible for days—gnawed at him. The thought had teeth, sharp ones, and it dug into the soft parts of his mind until it hurt.

Bruce didn’t snap at him for rambling, though. He didn’t even look impatient. His gaze softened as he listened, his eyes narrowing just slightly. His voice was steady, calm.

Jason,” Bruce said, his voice even but soft, like he knew Jason might spook if he said the wrong thing too loud, “if you were grounded, you’d still be able to do things. You could do your workbooks, read if you wanted. You wouldn’t be locked away from everything.”

“But yes,” Bruce continued after a small pause, his voice still gentle, like he was picking each word out of a box marked fragile, “I might take away TV or video games for a day or two. That’s what grounding would look like.”

Jason felt something in his chest loosen at the words. But something in him was still tight, waiting for the other shoe to drop, because nothing came easy. Not for him.

Bruce took a breath and let it out slowly, like he was choosing his words carefully. “If you ever did need to be grounded, it wouldn’t be for more than a day or two. It would be about taking time to think about your actions. You will not be confined to your room. You can think about what you did wrong in the kitchen helping Alfred do the dishes or sitting on the grass in the garden.”

Jason couldn’t believe it. Grounding didn’t even sound that different from what he usually did over the day. There shurely must be a catch, no?

“And Jason,” Bruce added, his voice firm but still kind, “no one goes without food here. And no one gets ignored.”

“Okay,” Jason mumbled, even though he didn’t feel okay at all. His voice was quieter now, like he was trying not to be noticed. He risked another glance at Dick, who was still sitting there, relaxed but watching. Not in the bad way, not like he was waiting to pounce. It was different. Softer. Jason didn’t know what to do with it.

Dick tilted his head just slightly, his eyes kind but sharp in a way that said he saw more than Jason wanted him to. “Yeah, man,” Dick said, his tone light but careful. “Bruce isn’t gonna flip out on you, no matter what. Trust me. You’re not gonna get locked in your room or sent to bed without food. Alfred would probably knock Bruce upside the head before he let that happen.”

Jason blinked, his lip twitching like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite get there. “Yeah… okay.” He didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t like he was gonna argue, not when Dick sounded so sure, like he wasn’t just saying it to make Jason feel better.

Bruce leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on his knees. “Jason,” he said, and Jason’s gaze snapped back to him. “No one is going to hurt you, and no one is going to take away the things you need. Food, being with other people, even books if they comfort you—you don’t lose those things here. Not ever.”

“You promise?” Jason realized himself, how damn young he sounded. Ridiculous.

“Yes, Jay,” Bruce promised. “As long as I have a say in it, you are going to be safe here.”

Chapter Text

The days blurred together, like pages flipping too fast in a book he wasn’t ready to close. Jason spent most of his time moving between the quiet corners of the manor, soaking in moments that felt too good to be real.

The library had become his favorite spot, where the air smelled like old paper and the kind of dust that felt more like glitter than dirt.

He read anything he could get his hands on—adventure stories, history books, even some weird mystery novel about a detective cat.

It was awesome, having all these books at his fingertips—like, actually awesome . The library felt like stepping into another world, quiet but alive, full of stories he could get lost in.

No one was yelling at him to leave or asking why he wasn’t buying anything. No one sneered at him for touching the books with his dirty fingers or told him to get lost if he was only there to get warm. It didn’t smell like cheap coffee and too much perfume, either. He liked the way the library smelled, like paper and leather and time.

Jason spent hours curled up in one of the big armchairs, running his fingers over the spines of books before picking one. He devoured them in huge gulps. Sometimes he read so fast the words blurred together, and he had to stop and reread whole pages to figure out what was going on. It didn’t matter, though.

He liked that part—the stopping, the figuring out. It made him feel… exhilarated. Like there was nothing rushing him except his own excitement to know what happened next.

When he wasn’t in the library, Jason camped out in his room with the tablet Bruce had given him. He’d prop it up on the desk and lose hours clicking through video after video.

Airplanes, for one, were insane. He couldn’t believe they didn’t just drop out of the sky. There were these huge machines with people inside them, just flying , like it was no big deal. He watched videos about animals he’d never heard of—things with weird noses or too many legs, or fish that glowed in the dark like something out of a horror movie.

And then there was this guy who built crazy inventions out of junk, like a flamethrower made from a soda bottle. Jason’s brain buzzed with it all, his fingers itching to try things, though he wasn’t sure flamethrower would fly with Alfred.

Jason kept a notebook next to him while he watched, scribbling down words he didn’t know, sketches of gadgets he thought looked cool, or random facts he wanted to remember.

It felt good—no, better than good. It felt… safe. Not safe like locked doors or hiding, but safe like he could learn anything he wanted and no one could stop him.

Like the world was huge, bigger than he’d realized, and maybe he’d get to see more of it someday.

Between the library, his workbooks, and all these YouTube videos, Jason had an endless source of information. He inhaled it like a kid who’d spent days dying of thirst in the desert and had finally found a well.

It didn’t matter that his brain got tired sometimes or that he couldn’t keep up with all of it. He just wanted more . It was like every word he read or heard was filling up spaces inside him he hadn’t even realized were empty.

Spaces that felt less hollow now, like maybe he wasn’t so far behind everyone else. Like maybe, someday, he’d catch up.

The kitchen was another safe spot. Jason didn’t know why he liked it so much—maybe it was the warmth or the way Alfred seemed to let him hang around without making him feel like he was in the way.

They baked cookies almost every day, and Jason liked the rhythm of it, the careful measuring and mixing. It was nice to be part of something that ended up sweet and whole, even if it didn’t last long once it was out of the oven.

Evenings were for hanging out with Dick. Sometimes they watched movies, Dick sitting back and throwing popcorn in the air to catch it in his mouth while Jason lounged on the couch, pretending not to laugh when he missed.

Other times, they played video games, and Jason liked how competitive it got, even though Dick usually won.

Training with Bruce was different than before. Jason had expected it to be intense, maybe even harsh, but it wasn’t like that at all.

They worked out for an hour or two each day, Bruce always stopping before Jason felt too tired or sore. It was weird, how Bruce seemed to notice things Jason didn’t even say—like the way his ankle started to ache just a little after too many drills, or how his breathing got uneven when he was pushing too hard.

Bruce would call for a break then, not saying much, just handing Jason a bottle of water and waiting for him to catch his breath. It was careful in a way Jason wasn’t used to, like Bruce had figured out how to read the signals Jason didn’t even realize he was sending.

It made Jason feel… strange. Like maybe Bruce actually cared about him. That thought felt too big to hold onto, so Jason usually shoved it aside and focused on the exercises instead. But it lingered in the back of his mind, soft and steady, like the quiet hum of the manor around him.

By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, Jason wasn’t sure how to feel. Part of him wanted to sink into the warm rhythm of the days, to let himself believe it could stay like this forever.

He’d like to grow up that way.

But another part—the louder, sharper part—kept waiting for it to fall apart, for someone to tell him it was all a mistake or some cruel joke. He didn’t think Bruce or Dick would do that, but the feeling was still like a hollow ache that had been tugging at him all day.

It was the kind of feeling he couldn’t name, the kind that had his feet pulling him toward the kitchen before he even realized he was heading there.

The hallway smelled warm, like cinnamon and something buttery, and Jason’s steps slowed as he got closer to the swinging door. He liked the kitchen smells—they were so different from the sour, burnt scents of his old life. Here, they felt safe. Like maybe nothing bad could happen in a place that smelled like cookies and pies and freshly baked bread.

He pushed the door open hesitantly, his socked feet slipping just a little on the polished tile. Alfred was at the counter, his back to Jason, but the way he moved—steady and sure—made it obvious he’d known Jason was coming.

“Master Jason,” Alfred said without looking up, motioning with his flour-dusted hands toward a tray on the far counter. “There are some gingerbread men that seem to be in need of decoration. If you’re feeling industrious.”

Jason’s eyes darted toward the tray. Two dozen gingerbread cookies sat waiting, blank and perfect. He hesitated for a second before shuffling over, his fingers brushing against the edge of the counter.

“You’re letting me decorate them?” he asked, like maybe he hadn’t heard right.

“Indeed,” Alfred replied, returning his attention to the dough in front of him. “Provided, of course, that you refrain from turning the poor fellows into abstract art. I trust you’ll use the icing with… discretion.”

Jason snorted, grabbing the bag of icing and turning the first cookie in his hands. “I’ll make ‘em look cool,” he said, though a small part of him felt oddly proud that Alfred wasn’t hovering to make sure he didn’t screw it up.

The kitchen was quiet for a few minutes, except for the soft sounds of Alfred’s work and the occasional squish of the icing bag. Jason’s tongue poked out slightly as he focused on giving one of the gingerbread men a scarf and buttons. The frosting squiggled out in uneven lines the buttons weren’t much better—blobby and lopsided.

“Ugh,” Jason muttered under his breath, setting the piping bag down a little harder than he meant to. He stared at the mess he’d made before glancing over at Alfred, who was calmly arranging trays of cookies for the oven. “Can I help you any other way, Alfred? Maybe decorating gingerbread men isn’t, uh… for me.”

Alfred paused mid-reach for a mixing bowl and turned to Jason, his expression as steady and kind as ever. “Do you not enjoy it, Master Jason?”

Jason hesitated, scratching at the back of his neck. “No, it’s fun. Really. But they’re, uh, super ugly, and you wanted them to look proper.”

He gestured vaguely at the cookie carnage in front of him, like it explained everything.

Alfred stepped closer, inspecting Jason’s gingerbread men with an air of seriousness that made Jason fidget. “They are not as dreadful as you seem to believe,” Alfred said finally, one brow lifting just slightly. “In fact, I dare say this one has a certain charm to it.” He picked up the cookie with the crooked scarf and held it up to the light, tilting his head like he was considering a priceless work of art.

Jason snorted, crossing his arms. “Yeah, charm. Sure.”

Alfred set the cookie back down and picked up the piping bag Jason had abandoned, giving it a gentle squeeze to check the flow. “If you find the lines difficult, Master Jason, you might try using smaller, controlled movements. Shorter strokes instead of long, continuous ones. Like so.” He demonstrated on a blank cookie, drawing a neat, simple scarf in two quick motions.

Jason’s eyes narrowed as he watched, soaking up every detail. “Huh. Okay. That’s way easier.”

Alfred handed the piping bag back to him, his calm gaze meeting Jason’s. “It is not perfection we strive for with these, young sir. Merely a bit of whimsy to bring smiles to those who see them. Sometimes, the imperfections are what make them most delightful.”

Jason’s mouth twitched into a small, reluctant smile. “Whimsy, huh?” He picked up another gingerbread man and tested Alfred’s advice, keeping his movements short and steady. The scarf wasn’t perfect, but it actually looked like a scarf this time. He glanced at Alfred, who gave a small nod of approval.

“Better,” Jason said, his smile growing a little wider.

“Quite,” Alfred agreed, moving back to his own work but not before giving Jason a brief pat on the shoulder.

***

When the cookies were finished—rows of gingerbread men in various stages of perfection laid out on the cooling racks—Jason stepped back, brushing crumbs off his hands over the sink. He glanced over at Alfred, who was already cleaning up, his movements as precise as they were unhurried. The man could make scrubbing a counter look like art.

Jason hesitated, then asked, “So… what now?”

Alfred, who had been wiping flour from the marble countertop, straightened. His hands rested on the edge of the rolling pin, fingers curling around the smooth wood like he was considering something important. “Tell me, Master Jason,” he said, his voice carrying that proper, clipped accent Jason could only describe as fancy, “have you ever made a pie?”

Jason blinked, caught off guard. “A pie?”

“Indeed.” Alfred’s gaze didn’t waver, but his tone softened, like he already knew the answer.

Jason shrugged. “No. Never baked a thing in my life before you taught me.” He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly aware of how much that said about him. About where he’d been, what kind of life he’d lived. He ducked his head, pretending to inspect the cooling cookies, but his fingers tightened at his sides. Normal

parents bake cookies with their kids, right?

Alfred didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he set the rolling pin down with a deliberate clink and dusted his hands on his apron. “Well, then,” he said, his voice warmer now, as though he’d decided something, “I believe it’s high time we remedy that, don’t you agree?”

Jason looked up, frowning. “Wait, you mean, like, me make it? Not just watch?”

“Precisely.” Alfred’s lips curved into a faint smile, just enough to lift the lines of his face. “You’ll find the necessary ingredients for an apple pie on the counter. We shall work together, of course, but you, Master Jason, shall take the lead.”

Jason blinked again, his brain scrambling to process. “I don’t know… what if I screw it up? Pies sounds really… complicated.”

Alfred stepped closer, leaning just slightly to meet Jason’s uncertain gaze. “My dear boy,” he said, his voice as steady as the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall, “there is no mastery without practice, and no practice without the occasional misstep. Mistakes, as I believe I’ve said before, are but stepping stones on the path to greatness.”

Jason bit the inside of his cheek, considering. It wasn’t like Alfred to push him into something unless he thought Jason could actually do it. And honestly, the idea of making a pie sounded kind of… cool.  “Okay,” he mumbled, stuffing his hands into the pockets of hoodie. “You won’t get mad if it turns out bad?“

Alfred chuckled softly. “Oh, do not trouble yourself, Master Jason. I could hardly remain angry with you, even if you were to burn a dozen pies. Now, shall we begin?”

Jason stared at the mound of apples on the counter like they might bite him if he moved too fast. Their shiny skins glinted under the kitchen lights, and he could already feel the knife slipping in his hands, leaving behind nothing but jagged chunks and wasted fruit.

“Right,” Alfred said, handing him a peeler. They never had something like this at home. “The first step is to remove the skin. A steady hand, if you please. Let the tool do the work.”

Jason took the peeler, feeling the weight of it, and lined up the blade with the curve of the apple. The first scrape was awkward, a stuttering line that didn’t quite connect. He grimaced, gripping the peeler tighter, but Alfred’s voice cut through his frustration.

“Gently, Master Jason. There’s no rush. The apple isn’t going anywhere.”

Jason frowned but loosened his grip. The next peel came off in a longer strip, curling slightly at the end. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t awful either. By the third apple, he started to get a rhythm, and for the first time in forever, the knot in his chest loosened just a little.

“Not bad,” Alfred said, inspecting the growing pile of naked apples. “Not bad at all.”

The dough was another story. The flour stuck to everything—his hands, his dark hoodie, his nose—and Jason felt like he was fighting it more than working with it. He pressed too hard with the rolling pin, and the edges of the dough cracked like dry mud. He glared at it, heat crawling up his neck.

“It’s not working,” he muttered, dropping the pin with a thud. “This is stupid. I’m just messing it up.”

“On the contrary,” Alfred said, stepping in. “You are learning. Shall we try again?”

Jason sighed, just so stopping himself from wiping his sticky hands on his hoodie. “Fine. But this stuff hates me.”

“Dough, Master Jason,” Alfred said with a touch of amusement, “is not your enemy. It merely requires a bit of… persuasion.” He placed his hands over Jason’s, guiding them lightly. “Even pressure. A touch of patience. There, you see?”

It was slow going, but eventually, the crust came together. Jason stared at it, half expecting it to fall apart again, but it held. “Huh,” he said quietly. “It’s not … terrible.”

Alfred smiled, his expression unreadable but kind. “Indeed, it is far from terrible, lad.”

When the pie finally went into the oven, Jason leaned against the counter, staring through the glass at the golden crust beginning to bubble. His arms were sore, and he still had flour in his hair, but the pie was his. It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t need to be.

“You’ve done well, Master Jason,” Alfred said, setting a hand lightly on Jason’s shoulder. “I daresay we may make a baker of you yet.”

Jason didn’t reply right away. He just kept staring at the pie through the oven door, the edges of the crust turning a soft golden brown. It wasn’t perfect—he’d pressed too hard in some spots, and the crimping looked more like wobbly waves than proper scallops. But it was still his .

Jason shifted on the stool, tapping his fingers against the counter. Maybe baking wasn’t so different from training. He felt useless there too, clumsy and slow next to Bruce, like every step forward was dragging two steps back. But maybe—just maybe—he could get better at that too, if he didn’t give up. There might be a learning curve to all of it, just like Alfred said.

“I would normally bring this myself,” Alfred said, putting two plates of Sandwiches on the counter, “but I must begin preparations for the evening. Would you mind delivering one to Master Bruce, lad?”

Jason shrugged. “Sure. But, uh, won’t I, like, bother him?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Alfred replied smoothly. “Master Bruce may appear preoccupied, but I assure you, he values the interruption of you boys far more than he lets on. Particularly during the holidays.”

Jason nodded, balancing the plate and heading upstairs. He’d thought Bruce didn’t like being disturbed when he was in the study. He was always doing something big and important—Wayne Enterprises business or maybe he even brought some downstairs work up with him or whatever it was that kept him shut away so much. There were always piles of papers on his desk, and Bruce always looked like he had the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.

And working on Christmas Eve morning? That had to mean he was up to his ears in responsibilities. People like Bruce Wayne didn’t get breaks—not even on the holidays. Jason couldn’t really imagine it anyway; Bruce seemed like the kind of guy who’d always have something on his plate.

But if Alfred said it was okay, then maybe it wasn’t such a big deal. And at least Jason wouldn‘t come empty handed.

Worst case, he could just drop it off, get some gruff nod of acknowledgment, and get out of there quick. No harm, no foul.

Bruce wouldn’t waste his time on Jason anyway—not with everything else he had to handle. Jason figured he’d already taken a big enough chunk of Bruce’s attention by just being here. The fact that Bruce had promised no work or patrols for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day—well, unless there was some kind of emergency—was already more than Jason expected.

Still, if Alfred thought Bruce would want a visit, maybe there was something to it. Maybe Bruce didn’t mind a kid barging in every now and then. It certainly sounded like something Dick had done. But then, it was Dick and Bruce seemed like super fond of Dick. Like way more than any adult ever was of Jason.

Jason’s jaw tightened, and he tried not to think about that. He shouldn’t care, but he did. Maybe Mom had liked him that way, when he was small—back when he still had that sweetness about him, before she got sick. Back when she’d take him along to the diner, her hand warm around his wrist, pulling him close as she tried to balance the bills and the orders and the heat of the grill.

He‘d been a shy kid but sitting still was hard for him, but he'd sit in that corner booth, hoping she’d see him there, hoping she’d notice how good he was for her. But she was always so tired, always trying to make ends meet, the stress eating at her the way the heat of the kitchen seemed to seep into her skin, leaving her with too little for herself.

She was nice, but that look would come into her eyes, the one that told him she was thinking about a hundred other things. He wasn’t a priority. He never really had been.

He blinked and shook his head, trying to push the thought away, but the ache lingered. It wasn’t like Bruce was his parent anyway. Not like Mom had been. Bruce was just the guy who kind of... took him in.

Bruce probably wouldn’t even care if Jason or Alfred brought up his lunch. He wasn’t fond of him the way he was of Dick. But Alfred said it was okay, so maybe it was.

Chapter Text

Bruce’s study door was ajar, the familiar smell of old books and cedar spilling out into the hall. Jason hesitated, shifting the plates, and nudged the door open with his shoulder.

Bruce was at his desk, leaning over a stack of papers, glasses perched low on his nose. He looked up as Jason entered, his eyes softening in that quiet, unreadable way that Jason hadn’t quite figured out yet.

“Alfred said you might be hungry,” Jason mumbled, holding out the plate.

Bruce set down his pen and leaned back, taking the plate from him. “Thank you, lad,” he said, his voice warm.

Jason lingered for a moment, unsure whether to stay or go. But before he could figure it out, Bruce’s voice came again, a little less distant this time. "Do you want to join me for lunch?" he said.

Jason blinked, caught off guard. “Here? Like, in the study?”

Bruce nodded, gesturing to the couch tucked against the wall. “If you’d like. Or I can finish up here, and we can eat in the kitchen.”

Jason shrugged again. “No, here’s fine,“ he said, not wanting to be any more of a bother than he already was.

Jason shuffled toward the couch, hesitating before sitting down on the edge of the cushion.

Bruce joined him a moment later, the plate balanced easily in one hand. The room felt quieter than Jason expected, but not in a bad way. He still felt out of place, though. Like maybe the fancy leather couch and the spotless rug weren’t meant for a kid who’d only just learned not to wolf down his food.

“Busy morning?” Jason asked, all awkward, mostly to fill the silence. But he was interested in what kept Bruce to the study on christmas eve morning.

Bruce nodded. “Some last-minute things for the company. Nothing too pressing.”

Jason glanced sideways at him, trying to figure out what “last-minute” meant for someone who owned an entire corporation. He decided not to ask.

Instead, Bruce spoke, breaking the quiet. “What did you do this morning?”

Jason stiffened, caught off guard by the question. “Uh… I went to help Alfred in the kitchen. But then we, um… made gingerbreadman.”

Bruce’s expression softened in that way it often did when Jason let slip something unexpected.

“Did you have fun?” Bruce asked, and there was a kind of warmth there. “Alfred can be a stricter teacher in the kitchen than he realizes. Don’t take it personally if he was a bit too serious about it. The kitchen is his domain, and he’s long since stopped allowing me to do much more than make a coffee or swipe something from the pantry.”

Jason managed a small shrug, his thoughts snagging on Bruce’s words. He’d heard some of those stories—about Bruce’s disastrous attempts at cooking. Alfred liked to tell them with a glimmer of amusement, Bruce had told him himself about the gulash incident. Still it was weird, thinking about someone like Bruce Wayne messing up something as basic as frying eggs.

“I didn’t want to make extra work for him,” Jason mumbled, his voice quiet. “I can stop going in there if it’s, like, a problem.” He liked the kitchen. It felt safe in a way most places didn’t, like the air itself had been soaked with calm over the years. But the last thing he wanted was to annoy Alfred—or make him regret letting Jason in there in the first place.

Bruce studied him for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “Jason, if Alfred didn’t want you in the kitchen, he would’ve said so. He’s not shy about that sort of thing.”

Jason bit his lip. He wasn’t sure about that. Adults didn’t always say what they meant—they hinted, or got annoyed, or sometimes they just snapped without warning. Better to stay out of the way before it got to that point.

Bruce must have caught something in Jason’s hesitation because his tone softened further. “I could speak to Alfred on your behalf if you’d like. But I think you’d find that he isn’t upset. He’s probably glad to have someone interested in learning a thing or two. It’s rare for him to get company in the kitchen these days.”

Jason stared down at the sandwich on his lap, his fingers toying with the edge of the crust as he turned Bruce’s words over in his mind. Maybe Bruce was right. Jason wanted to trust that Alfred might actually enjoy Jason hanging around. But trust wasn’t easy, even when the evidence was there, plain as day.

Alfred hadn’t scowled or muttered about being slowed down, even when Jason did something wrong for the second time. Instead, he’d handed out careful suggestions on how to do better. And that little nod Alfred gave when Jason got something right? It had felt… awesome.

Jason swallowed hard. Maybe Alfred really wanted company in the kitchen once in a while. But Jason wasn’t used to that feeling,—of being wanted in a space. It made his stomach do weird flips, the kind he wasn’t sure if he liked or not.

He glanced at Bruce, still not quite meeting his eyes. “You think so?” he asked, the question barely louder than a whisper.

Bruce’s gaze softened even more, like a candle burning low. “I do,” he said simply.

“Alfred also taught me how to bake pie,” Jason said, his voice quieter now, almost like he wasn’t sure he should say it out loud. “It was really hard to get the dough right, and I’ve never used an apple peeler before. But I think it turned out okay.”

He hesitated then, the words hanging in the air like loose threads. He felt dumb for blabbering on so much. Bruce had only invited him in to join him for a quick lunch, not to hear him ramble about something as stupid as baking a pie.

Bruce probably had a mountain of work waiting for him, important stuff that actually mattered. Jason ducked his head, focusing on the crumbs scattered across his plate, and waited for Bruce to steer the conversation somewhere else or to send him out to get back to work.

But instead of looking annoyed, Bruce chuckled—a deep, low sound that was almost unfamiliar. “We never got to the point of baking pie together,” Bruce said. “Alfred gave up on me long before that. He still tells people about the time I burned water.”

Jason smirked despite himself, the knot in his chest loosening just a little. “Yeah, he said you’re banned from the kitchen for life.”

“Not entirely untrue,” Bruce admitted, a wry tilt softening the sharp lines of his mouth. “But it sounds like you’ve been granted privileges I never earned.”

Jason blinked at him, the words settling in his mind like puzzle pieces he couldn’t quite fit together. Privileges? That didn’t seem right. It wasn’t like Alfred sought out Jasons company; he just… let Jason stay. Taught him stuff. Helped when Jason messed up but didn’t make him feel stupid about it.

Jason hesitated, his fingers brushing crumbs off his pants. “Do you think Alfred really, like… doesn’t mind me being there? I don’t wanna make him feel stuck with me or anything.”

Bruce leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful. “Jason,” he said, his voice steady but not heavy, “Alfred wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want to do. If he’s letting you in the kitchen, it’s because he wants you there.”

Jason nodded, trying to absorb that. It was strange how much those words mattered, how much he wanted to believe them. That Alfred wanted him in the kitchen—wanted him there—not because it was just part of his job but because he didn’t mind Jason being around. Maybe even liked it.

He looked at Bruce, a question forming in his head before he could stop it. “Why don’t you cook anymore? I mean, besides the whole ‘burning water’ thing.”

Bruce’s lips twitched, but his gaze drifted somewhere past Jason, thoughtful and distant. “When I was your age, I wasn’t interested in cooking with Alfred. I thought I had more important things to do. And later I only tried for a short while, every now and then. And when I wasn’t good at it, I… gave up. Alfred didn’t stop me. I think he was relieved I wasn’t destroying his kitchen anymore, but I also think…” Bruce trailed off for a moment, his voice quieter when he continued, “I think he hoped I wouldn’t quit so fast. If only for Dick.”

Jason chewed on that for a moment, staring at his sandwich like it might give him answers. Bruce tried cooking just for Dick? Jason couldn’t imagine why he’d do that if he didn’t like it. Maybe Bruce thought parents had to learn stuff like that, so they could make food for their kids.

He thought back to a few nights ago, when Bruce had made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich after finding Jason hungry in the kitchen at night. Bruce had made the sandwich and sat with him at the counter, even though he’d looked worn out from patrol.

Jason bit the inside of his cheek. It wasn’t like Bruce wanted to do that. It was just something he had to do because Jason was here. Because Jason was another kid in his care, and Bruce probably thought that’s what care meant. The thought made Jason feel small, like he was taking something that wasn’t really his. He resolved, right then, to stop being so needy. It wasn’t fair to take advantage of whatever sense of duty Bruce felt toward him.

“I’m not really good at it either,” Jason mumbled, his voice so low it could’ve disappeared into the quiet of the room if Bruce hadn’t been paying attention. He focused hard on his plate, keeping his fingers tight around the edges, grounding himself in its cool, steady surface.

“That’s how learning works,” Bruce said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You try, you make mistakes, and you get better. Or, in my case, you decide to stick to making coffee and leave the rest to Alfred.”

Jason snorted despite himself, a small sound that broke through the heavy knot sitting in his chest. For a second, the tension in the room lifted.

But the relief didn’t last. Jason’s thoughts snagged on the other thing he sucked at—being Robin. He couldn’t help it; it was always there, this low hum of failure, like background noise he couldn’t tune out. Every time he messed up, it felt like a confirmation, proof that maybe the streets had been right about him all along. He was just a kid pretending to be something bigger, someone who didn’t belong in a cape or a mask.

The idea sat like a stone in his stomach, too familiar to ignore. But maybe this was one of those things you had to stick with. Maybe baking and fighting and all the other things he felt clumsy at weren’t so different. Maybe screwing up didn’t mean you’d always suck. Maybe it was just part of getting better.

“Sometimes it feels like no matter how hard I try, I just… suck,” Jason mumbled, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His fingers tightened around the edges of his plate like it might keep the words from hanging in the air too long. They felt too loud, even though they’d come out quiet and small.

Bruce didn’t answer right away. Jason peeked at him through his lashes, expecting a sigh or maybe one of those short, clipped responses that adults used when they didn’t know what to say. But Bruce just sat there, still and quiet, his expression thoughtful.

When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, not sharp. “You don’t suck, Jason. Not at baking. Not at anything. You’re learning, and that takes time. It takes patience. And it takes courage to keep going when it feels like you’re failing.”

Jason’s head dipped a little, like he wanted to hide but couldn’t quite bring himself to look away.

The words landed heavy, sinking into the spaces Jason tried not to think about too much.

He risked a glance at Bruce, his fingers loosening slightly from the plate. “You think so?” The question came out quieter than he meant it to, almost like he was afraid of the answer.

Bruce nodded, and there was no hesitation in his face, just something solid and sure. “I know so.”

Bruce leaned back and set his empty plate aside, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Ready to head back down?”

Jason hesitated, surprised by the offer. “You’re coming with?”

“Yes, lad.” Bruce’s hand made a vague gesture toward the papers and folders scattered across his desk. “That is nothing that can’t wait until after the holidays.”

Jason blinked, trying to reconcile the image he had of Bruce, of Batman—the man who never stopped working, never let his guard down—with the one standing now, looking oddly at ease. It was strange, like catching a glimpse of someone through a window you hadn’t noticed before. Jason shuffled to his feet, unsure of what to do with the flicker of warmth that settled in his chest.

They walked out of the study together, Bruce’s steady footsteps sounding like a metronome against the quiet. Jason’s own steps were lighter, almost careful, as if he might disturb something delicate in the air.

Bruce was really coming with him. He wasn’t going to hide away upstairs, lost in work until Dick came home later this afternoon.

The hallways were dim, lit by the soft glow of the old sconces that lined the walls. Jason kept sneaking glances at Bruce, half-expecting him to change his mind and turn back. He didn’t, though. He just walked beside Jason, calm and solid, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Jason’s thoughts churned in the quiet. He wanted to ask Bruce why he wasn’t working. Why he was bothering with Jason instead of all the other stuff he always had to do. But the words tangled up in his head before they could make it to his mouth. It was easier to just keep walking.

They reached the staircase, and Bruce matched Jason’s pace as they descended, the grand railings casting long shadows across the walls. Jason’s hand brushed the banister, his fingers trailing over the smooth wood, polished from years of use. It reminded him of how old the manor was—how permanent it felt, like it had always been here, waiting.

They reached the kitchen, and the warm smell of cinnamon and butter hung in the air, lingering from whatever Alfred had been working on earlier, but there was something heavier underneath it—earthy and rich, like meat and vegetables simmering low and slow.

The lights were softer here, golden and welcoming, spilling across the countertops like a cozy blanket.

Jason trailed behind Bruce, his fingers brushing the edge of the counter as he followed.

Bruce leaned against the doorframe, his silhouette easy and relaxed, but Jason could feel his presence, quiet and solid.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred greeted from where he was stationed at the counter, his voice polite but edged with something Jason couldn’t quite pin down. He looked at Bruce, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “Can I help you with something, or are you merely here in search of a coffee before returning to your study?”

Jason stiffened, but Bruce didn’t. He tilted his head, his lips pulling into a faint smile. “A coffee would be great, thanks, Alfred.”

Alfred turned back to the coffee machine without a word, but Jason caught the tightness in his movements, the way he reached for things with a little more force than usual. The air felt heavier now, not quite tense, but…something. Jason glanced at Bruce, who didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care.

“I trust working has been fruitful?” Alfred asked as he poured coffee into a cup, his tone pleasant but with just enough sharpness to make Jason’s stomach twist.

Bruce sighed lightly. “It’s Christmas Eve, Alfred. You’re not going to guilt me about paperwork, are you?”

“Only if it’s warranted, sir,” Alfred replied smoothly, setting the cup down on the counter with a faint clink. “The morning is nearly gone, and Master Dick is otherwise occupied. I would hate for Master Jason to think this is how we celebrate the holidays—holed up and distracted.”

Jason blinked, startled. He looked between Alfred and Bruce, his fingers curling into the hem of his sweater. The words didn’t feel like they were for him, but they didn’t not feel like they were for him either. Alfred wasn’t yelling, wasn’t even angry, but there was something in the way he spoke that felt more like a gentle push or an invisible hand nudging Bruce.

Bruce tilted his head, his expression softening in a way Jason didn’t expect. “I don’t take enough breaks,” he admitted, almost as if the words weren’t meant for Jason to hear. “But I should. Especially when it’s important.”

Jason frowned, that twisting feeling in his chest tightening. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like the way they were talking, like there was some secret thing floating above his head that he couldn’t quite grab. He didn’t like the way Bruce looked at him either - like he was something fragile.

“What’s so important about coming downstairs with me?” he asked, his voice quieter than he wanted it to be. “You don’t have to. I’m not—” The rest of the sentence stuck in his throat, heavy and impossible to push out. He wasn’t important. Not as important as Bruces company or Bat-Stuff or any other things he needed to be doing instead of babysitting Jason.

He stared at the floor, the words bubbling up too hot in his chest until they spilled out before he could stop them. “I’m not a little kid.”

Alfred turned to Jason, his eyes softening in a way that made Jason’s chest ache, like he could see every messy, ugly thing Jason was trying to hide. Jason wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t.

“Forgive me, Master Jason,” Alfred said, his voice calm but warm, like he was smoothing out wrinkles in something delicate. “But I think you’ve misunderstood. It’s not your age that warrants Master Wayne’s company. Holidays, you see, are for making time, especially when it seems there isn’t any to spare. It’s a lesson some of us still struggle with.”

Jason’s chest felt tight, but not in the bad way this time. He blinked, staring at Alfred.  He thought about the sandwiches earlier, how Alfred had sent him upstairs instead of bringing the lunch up himself.

It was the first time Alfred had asked Jason to do something like that—taking the sandwiches upstairs instead of Alfred bringing them himself. At the time, Jason hadn’t thought much of it. He liked being helpful, liked having something to do with his hands, something that made him feel like he wasn’t just standing there, useless.

It hadn’t felt like a strange request then, but now, standing in the kitchen with Alfred’s words still echoing in his head, it felt like something else. Like a puzzle piece he hadn’t even known was missing until it clicked into place.

Alfred hadn’t said it, but Jason could see it now. Alfred had been trying to make something happen without saying it outright. He’d wanted Bruce to stop working. to pay attention. To make time. For Jason.

Jason glanced at Bruce, trying to read his expression, but Bruce’s face was as still as a mask. The idea of him arguing with Alfred made Jason’s stomach twist. He hadn’t seen them fight yet, but the thought of it made his chest feel tight.

Mom and Dad had always fought real loud. Jason could still remember pressing his hands over his ears, crouched under the desk to block out the sound of Dad screaming at Mom, the sharp crash of something breaking. He remembered the slap too, how it rang out sharp and mean like a crack in the air, how Mom had gone quiet after.

Jason blinked hard, pulling himself back to the kitchen. Alfred was watching Bruce now, waiting. For what, Jason wasn’t sure, but it felt like the kind of waiting that didn’t come with yelling or thrown dishes. Maybe. Hopefully.

“I’m done for today,” Bruce said finally, his voice steady and calm in a way Jason hadn’t expected. He turned to Alfred, the corners of his mouth pulling into the faintest of smiles. “Can we help you with anything?”

Alfred’s expression shifted, soft and hard at the same time, like he was smoothing out the wrinkles in an invisible cloth. His expression shifted, but Jason couldn’t tell if it was approval or exasperation. “If you insist, sir,” Alfred said, turning back to the counter. “The potatoes could use peeling. A task as unassuming as it is vital.”

Jason snorted before he could stop himself, the sound sharp and strange in his throat. He ducked his head, half-expecting Bruce to glare at him, but Bruce just raised an eyebrow, not saying a word as he moved toward the sink.

Jason stayed where he was for a second, watching the two of them like he might break the moment if he moved too fast. It didn’t make sense. None of this did. Bruce was supposed to be upstairs working. People like him didn’t peel potatoes.

Jason hesitated, watching the two of them for a moment. Then he moved to help, his hands finding that strange peeler that Alfred had shown him earlier and a potato, his fingers awkward but steady as he started to scrape away the skin. Thin ribbons curled onto the counter, and Jason focused on the sound, the rhythm of it, like it was the most important thing he’d ever done.

The tension in his chest hadn’t disappeared, but it felt smaller now, like it had been folded up and put somewhere else. He didn’t know why helping worked like that, but it did. The room felt quieter now, but not the kind of quiet that made his stomach twist.

And as they worked, peeling away layers in quiet companionship, Jason thought maybe he didn’t mind being here. Maybe holidays weren’t supposed to be loud and sharp and full of things breaking. Maybe this was what holidays could be like instead.

Chapter Text

The dining room felt enormous, not because of its size, but because it all felt so… right. There was a warm glow from the chandelier above, casting everything in a soft light

Jason had never seen a table like this before— never . The spread before him was overwhelming in the best way, everything warm and golden, like it had been pulled from a storybook about rich, cozy homes where nothing was ever missing.

The roasted goose at the center, glistening in the light of the chandelier above, was golden-brown perfection, its skin crisp and inviting. The mashed potatoes beside it were so smooth they looked like they could melt into the gravy, which shimmered like little pool of liquid gold.

Roasted root vegetables—carrots, parsnips—sat next to the mashed potatoes, glistening with some kind of glaze that made them look way too good to be just vegetables.

Jason’s stomach tightened in excitement—he’d never seen so much food that looked so good. His mouth watered just looking at it. It was the kind of food his mom used to dream about making, but they’d never been able to afford that kind of spread they only saw in the movies they used to watch on christmas eve before mom got to sick to care about it all.

Alfred moved around the table with quiet grace, serving them all with an ease that made Jason feel small and out of place, but at the same time, kind of hopeful. The air smelled rich—of herbs, spices, of home—and Jason could hardly stop staring at it all.

He wanted to stay, to get used to the soft clink of cutlery against porcelain, to the sound of Alfred’s quiet hum as he moved between them.

“This looks amazing,” Jason whispered before he could stop himself, his voice soft and unsure. He wasn’t sure if anyone heard him, but then Dick’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Looks like a feast, huh?” he said, nudging the bowl of mashed potatoes toward him. “Alfred’s been making this stuff for Christmas since forever.”

Jason nodded, his voice barely more than a whisper, “I’ve never had anything like this.”

Alfred gave him a knowing smile, one that spoke volumes without saying anything at all. “It’s my pleasure, Master Jason,” he said, voice calm but warm, like the smell of the food filling the room.

Jason, still in awe, couldn’t stop looking at everything. He stared at the cabbage rolls with a mix of curiosity and excitement. They were different from anything he’d seen, the cabbage wrapped tightly around rice and meat, a faint shimmer of tomato sauce let the rolls shine in the candlelight of the table chandelier.

Jasons fingers hovered for a second, unsure to try them. He wasn’t picky but what if they tasted to strange, to unfamiliar? Jason wouldn’t want to waste them but also tonight he didn’t want to feel like only to have a full belly. He wanted to enjoy his first and maybe only real christmas dinner of his childhood.

“You’ll like those,” Dick encouraged, catching his eye. “Sarmale—cabbage stuffed with rice and pork. And the caltaboș,” Dick said, pointing to a dark, round sausage on the table with a big grin. “This stuff’s like Christmas at my house. My mom made them every year, and Alfred learned it so we could keep it alive.”

Jason poked one of the rolls with his fork, intrigued by the way the cabbage was wrapped so tightly. The smell was sharp, with that tang of vinegar mixing with the richness of the meat inside. He wasn’t sure what to expect but, despite his uncertainty, a spark of curiosity flared in his chest.

“Cabbage and rice?” Jason asked quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

Dick laughed, his eyes lighting up as he scooped up a forkful. “Yep. Sarmale,” he said, his mouth full, “is basically comfort food for my whole family. You’ll love it! And don’t let the caltaboș scare you. It’s kinda dark-looking, but trust me, it’s all flavor.”

Jason reached for the cabbage rolls, his fingers feeling a little clumsy as he poked at the soft, vinegary smell of the cabbage. He’d never had anything like this, but it smelled so much like home—it wasn’t his home, not the one he remembered, but something warm. He cut a bite and slid it into his mouth, letting it sit there for a second, the rich flavor of pork mixing with the tang of cabbage. It was unlike anything he had ever tasted before, and for a moment, everything else in the room seemed to fade.

“This is so good,” he said before he could stop himself. His voice came out like a little gasp of wonder.

Bruce glanced over at him from across the table, his eyebrows lifted slightly, but his smile was there. “Glad you like it, Jason,” he said, his tone casual, like it was no big deal. But Jason could tell that Bruce meant it.

Dick laughed, pleased. “Told you. But this,” he leaned forward, grinning as he slathered a dollop of mustard on his sausage and added a couple of pickles from a jar next to his plate. “it’s one of my favorites. You have to try it!”

Jason picked up a piece of the sausage, eyeing it with suspicion. Jason’s fingers hovered near the fork, his stomach a mix of nerves and excitement. He glanced up at Bruce, who had been quiet most of the meal, eating slowly, no sausage but a bit of everything else on his plate and watching the conversation unfold. Bruce’s voice, calm and steady, broke the silence.

“You don’t have to eat anything you’re not comfortable with, Jason,” he said. “There’s plenty here to enjoy.”

Jason’s head shot up, and he shook it quickly. “No, I really want to!” The eagerness in his voice surprised even him. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful, not when everything was so… nice. And when would he have the chance again to try food like this?

Jason stabbed the piece of sausage with his fork and popped it into his mouth before he could overthink it.

The taste hit him in waves. The sausage was rich, almost buttery, with a deep, meaty flavor that warmed him from the inside out. There was a bit of spice, and a softness he hadn’t expected. He blinked in surprise, his words tumbling out before he could stop them.

“Wow,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “That’s… that’s really good. What’s in it?”

“It’s a mixture of pork, liver, rice, and a few... carefully chosen spices,” Alfred said, his tone as composed as ever, with just a hint of warmth. “Perhaps a bit unfamiliar, Master Jason, but I daresay that’s part of the charm, is it not? The joy of cooking—and eating, for that matter—lies in the discovery of new flavors. Every region has its own... particular delights.”

Jason nodded, trying another bite, this time with mustard and a pickle like Dick had done. The mustard’s tanginess and the sharp crunch of the pickle made the sausage even better, and Jason couldn’t help but smile a little. It was strange, knowing there was liver in it, but the taste was too good to care.

He imagined what it might have been like to grow up with food like this, sitting in a big circus tent surrounded by laughter, the air smelling of spice and warmth. Was this what Dick’s childhood was like? As warm and nice as this food?

“Hey,” Dick said, noticing Jason’s growing interest in the food “what about you, kid? Did your folks have anything special they made for Christmas?”

Jason froze, the mashed potatoes halfway to his mouth. The air seemed to shift, like everyone was waiting for him to say something. His chest tightened, and for a moment, all he could hear was the sound of his dad yelling, his mom crying.

“I dunno,” Jason said, trying to shrug it off like it didn’t matter. His voice felt smaller than he wanted it to. “We didn’t… really do Christmas like this.” He glanced down at his plate, suddenly too aware of how fancy everything was compared to the things he used to eat. “My mom tried, though. She’d make boxed mac and cheese. She’d fry up some onions to put on top.” He hesitated, his throat tightening. “Some years we … uh… we got some shredded chicken or you know, some hot dogs if there were any on discount …”

His ears burned, and he kept his eyes fixed on the mashed potatoes, waiting for someone to laugh or say something mean.

But Dick didn’t. Instead, his voice came easy, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “Mac and cheese with onions, huh?” he said, smiling. “That actually sounds pretty good. Bet your mom made it taste great.”

Jason shrugged again, but this time it felt different. He didn’t look up, but he didn’t feel as bad either. Maybe it was the way Dick had said it, like it wasn’t something to be embarrassed about.

Alfred, always knowing just when to step in, cleared his throat softly. “It sounds to me like your mother put effort and thought into making something special, albeit with limited resources. That is a remarkable talent I daresay,” he said. His voice was gentle, but it carried weight, like he really meant it.

Jason’s chest tightened again, but not in the bad way this time. It felt more like… warmth, spreading slowly.

“Would you like some mac and cheese on the side for dinner tomorrow, lad?” Alfred asked, his tone so casual that Jason almost missed the kindness underneath.

Jason looked up, startled. He hadn’t expected that. “Really?”

Alfred smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Of course. We’ll make it however you like. Perhaps you can show me how your mother prepared it, hmm?”

***

The Christmas Eve dinner wound down slowly, the rich warmth of the food giving way to an equally warm sense of calm. Jason sat back in his chair, feeling full but not uncomfortable. He’d had seconds of the mashed potatoes and the cabbage rolls, which were his favorites, but he didn’t dare ask for thirds. He didn’t want to seem greedy, even though the food was so so good.

Alfred had been watching him closely, though, and had slipped an extra dollop of gravy and another smallish piece of goose on his plate without asking, which made Jason smile.

When the plates were cleared, Alfred gestured toward the den. “Shall we move to the tree, gentlemen? I believe there’s still some cocoa and cookies waiting for us.”

Jason trailed behind the others as they made their way to the den. He already knew what to expect, but it still felt magical stepping into the room. The Christmas tree in the corner was twinkling with lights and ornaments, some of which Jason had hung himself just a couple of days ago.

Decorating it with Bruce and Dick had been…fun. Jason had climbed the step stool to reach the higher branches, while Dick had told him the story behind every ornament and Bruce had hung the heavier, older ones closer to the trunk.

The gingerbread cookies on the table made Jason grin a little. He’d helped decorate those, too, squeezing the icing tubes with careful hands to make little scarves and buttons. Alfred had let him help bake some of the other cookies, too—spiced shortbread, thumbprints with jam, and some buttery ones with powdered sugar on top.

They’d spent hours in the kitchen, and Jason had felt all warm inside when Alfred said they were some of the best cookies they’d ever made.

The room smelled like Christmas—pine from the tree, cinnamon from the cookies, and the faint, warm scent of the cocoa steaming in mugs on the table. Jason hesitated by the door for a moment, his eyes scanning over everything. The stockings with Dicks, Bruces and Alfreds name were hung by the fireplace, and the soft glow of the fire made the room feel impossibly cozy. But then his gaze landed on the presents under the tree, and his stomach clenched.

There were so many. Big ones, small ones, all wrapped in shiny paper with ribbons and bows. Jason had helped decorate the room but the presents were new. They hadn’t been there yet this very morning.

He swallowed hard, his stomach doing a little flip. He didn’t want to open presents. He didn’t want to see his name on one of those shiny boxes.

Bruce and Alfred had already done more than enough for him. The beanie, the picture frame, and the Peter Pan book had been too much already. And the school Bruce wanted to send him to—it was going to cost so much. Jason couldn’t even wrap his head around that kind of money. They didn’t think he needed more, right? All those presents where surely for Dick and Bruce and Alfred. Jason had no money to buy any of them a present, so why should they want to give him one?

Jason shuffled to the couch and sat down in his usual corner, trying to keep his shoulders hunched to make himself smaller. He grabbed one of the cookies he’d helped bake—one of the spiced shortbreads—and nibbled on it as the others settled in. Dick plopped down next to him, a mug of cocoa in one hand and a cookie in the other.

“Man, Alfred outdid himself this year,” Dick said, gesturing to the spread on the table. “You’ve gotta try one of these,” he added, holding out a jam thumbprint. “You made these, didn’t you, Jay?”

Jason shrugged, feeling a little heat rise to his cheeks. “Yeah. Alfred let me help him.”

“Helped?” Alfred said from where he was settling into an armchair. “Master Jason, I seem to recall you making the dough for those entirely on your own.”

Jason ducked his head, but he couldn’t stop the small, shy smile from creeping onto his face.

“Wow,” Dick was saying, holding up a jam thumbprint like it was some kind of treasure. “How happy are you that Bruce found you a little kitchen pal this time around, Alfred?”

Jason’s cheeks prickled, and he hunched his shoulders a bit. Was that supposed to be a joke?

“Quite, Master Richard,” Alfred said smoothly, his tone as calm as ever as he sipped from his mug. Jason tried to catch Alfred’s eye, but the butler didn’t seem bothered. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal. Jason told himself it wasn’t a big deal.

But his gaze kept drifting to the Christmas tree in the corner. The lights twinkled, reflecting off the shiny wrapping paper of the mountain of presents underneath. They looked expensive—thick ribbons, bows tied perfectly, the kind of wrapping paper that didn’t come in a cheap roll from the dollar store. Jason’s stomach twisted.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe for a second, his mind flashing back to the foster home last year where Christmas meant sitting in his room while the “real” kids got to open presents.

When they finally let him come down, he remembered standing in the corner, trying not to look too long at the shiny dollhouse the youngest girl had gotten. It was big, with tiny furniture and dolls that had shiny hair that probably smelled like plastic. Jason hadn’t touched it, of course. He wouldn’t have dared. But he couldn’t stop looking, and when she caught him, she’d screamed like he’d stolen something, her voice high-pitched and jagged, like a fire alarm going off in his head.

He flinched, just like he flinched now. The memory felt like gum stuck to his shoe—gross and impossible to scrape off. Back then, the girl’s dad had backhanded him across the face. He didn’t bother to ask if Jason had actually touched the dollhouse. “Don’t ruin her Christmas,” the man had snarled, and Jason had just stood there, too stunned to cry.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t . He hadn’t even done anything. But Jason knew that fairness wasn’t something he got to expect. He never had toys like that. The rare times his mom managed to scrape together a couple of dollars, she’d buy him something from the thrift shop—a toy car with one wheel missing, or a puzzle with half the pieces gone. She’d wrap it in newspaper and duct tape, and Jason would smile and pretend not to notice. It was still something, and the look on her face when he said “thanks, Ma” was enough to make it feel like more than it was.

“Hey, Jay.”

Dick’s voice pulled him back, like someone had turned the volume back up in the room. Jason blinked, his fingers tightening on the mug.

“Huh?”

“You okay?” Dick asked, leaning forward a little, his smile soft and easy, like he wasn’t expecting anything from Jason except an answer.

Jason’s chest squeezed. He didn’t know what to say, so he just shook his head quickly. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “I’m fine.”

But Dick didn’t stop looking at him. His gaze flicked to the tree, and then back to Jason, and Jason saw the grin spread across his face. His stomach sank like a stone.

“You’re excited, huh?” Dick teased, nudging him lightly. “It’s okay to be excited. Alfred always goes nuts with his wrapping. Just wait till you see what Bruce gets Alfred every year. It’s always—”

“Dick,” Bruce said, his voice low but steady, cutting through the conversation like a sharp blade.

Jason stiffened, his cheeks flushing hot. He hated this—hated how the attention was suddenly all on him. His chest felt tight.

“I’m not excited,” he blurted, the words tumbling out too fast, too defensive. His voice cracked a little at the end, and he winced.

Dick blinked, his grin faltering. “Hey, I didn’t mean—”

But Jason wasn’t listening. His heart was pounding and his face burning. Why was Dick making it sound like he was waiting for presents? That wasn’t fair. Jason knew his place. He knew he wasn’t Bruce’s real kid. He wasn’t stupid enough to think tonight was about him. He’d told Dick he didn’t need anything. He didn’t.

Jason could feel the words spilling out before he could stop them. “I’m not stupid,” he said, his voice shaking. “I know—I know I’m not like you. I’m not Bruce’s real kid, okay? I don’t need anything. I don’t—”

His throat tightened, and he bit his lip hard enough that he tasted copper. He looked down at his mug, his reflection rippling in the cocoa. He wished he could disappear into it, sink into the warmth and not have to sit here, feeling like he’d messed up something he didn’t even understand.

The room was quiet for a moment, and Jason hated it. He hated the silence almost as much as he hated the feeling twisting in his chest.

“I—I didn’t mean—” Dick’s voice cracked first, a nervous edge creeping into it. “Jay, that’s not what I was trying to say.”

Jason clenched his jaw, his lips pressing into a thin line. He wanted to believe Dick—he really did—but his chest was still tight, and the weight of their gazes felt like bricks pressing him down. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

Bruce cleared his throat, low and soft, like he was trying not to scare him off. “Jason,” he said, his tone steady but gentler than Jason had expected. “Look at me.”

Jason shook his head, refusing to lift his eyes. He couldn’t. If he looked at Bruce now, he was pretty sure he’d see disappointment, or maybe pity, and both of those would be worse than the silence.

Bruce didn’t press, but Alfred’s voice cut through next, smooth as butter and twice as warm. “Master Jason,” he began, and Jason flinched at the name. It still felt strange, too big and fancy, like it didn’t belong to him. “Would you care to join me by the tree? I believe you might appreciate the artistry that went into the ribbons this year.”

Jason frowned, confused, and risked a quick glance up. Alfred was standing by the tree now, his expression calm, but there was something kind in his eyes, like he wasn’t in on some joke Jason wasn’t a part of.

“I don’t—” Jason started, but Alfred just smiled, patient as ever.

“Come now, humor an old man,” Alfred said. “I’ll have you know, I spent an entire afternoon arguing with Master Bruce over whether gold or silver ribbons were more appropriate for the occasion. He was most insistent.”

Jason blinked, his mouth twitching just a little, even as his stomach twisted in confusion. Slowly, reluctantly, he set his mug down and stood, his movements careful, like he might step on something fragile. He shuffled toward the tree, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket, as if they might betray him otherwise.

The tree was ridiculous up close. The presents were stacked so high that they almost spilled over, and the ribbons Alfred had mentioned gleamed under the soft lights. Jason swallowed hard, his throat tight again, but Alfred didn’t say anything. He just knelt down and plucked one of the gifts from the pile.

“This one is yours, Master Jason,” Alfred said simply, holding out a package wrapped in deep green paper with the ribbon tied neatly into a silver bow.

Jason froze. His brain scrambled for an explanation, some kind of mistake, but Alfred was still holding the box out to him like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“I—what?” Jason stammered, his voice cracking again. His hands itched to take it, but he couldn’t move. “I said—I told you I didn’t—”

“You told us you didn’t need anything,” Bruce said from behind him. His voice was softer now. Why was Bruce always speaking so softly to him? Even if Jason was nothing but trouble. “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve something.”

Jason turned, wide-eyed, and found Bruce standing there, his arms crossed but his face strangely soft too. Dick was just behind him, leaning against the arm of the couch, his grin smaller now but no less warm.

Jason looked back down at the present in Alfred’s hands. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, and for a moment, he felt like he couldn’t breathe again.

“I—I didn’t do anything,” Jason muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alfred tilted his head slightly, his expression as steady as always, like nothing Jason said could ever surprise him. “You’ve done more than you realize,” he said, his voice calm and even, like he was explaining something obvious. “You are quite a helpful young man, Master Jason. Always polite, always a hard worker. I must admit, the kitchen is far brighter with you around to keep an old man company—Master Richard’s frivolous remarks notwithstanding.”

Jason’s ears burned. His hands twitched at his sides, his fingers curling into fists before he realized it. It wasn’t that he didn’t like what Alfred said. He did. But he wasn’t used to people being fond of him. And that’s what it was, wasn’t it? For whatever reason Alfred seemed to like him. Maybe like some grandfather was supposed to like you. Jason wouldn’t know. He’d never met any of moms or dads parents.

He didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. His hands moved almost on their own, trembling as they reached out to take the gift. The paper felt smooth under his fingers, the bow tied so perfectly that it made his stomach twist. Things like this weren’t meant for him. They were meant for people who fit, people who didn’t break things by accident or said stupid, awkward stuff.

Jason glanced up at Alfred, then at Bruce and Dick. Their expressions were steady, like they weren’t expecting him to screw this up. That just made it worse.

The box in his hands felt heavier than it should have, like it wasn’t just paper and ribbon, something far heavier than a gift.

“Go on, open it!” Dick said, his grin widening. “You can’t just stand there holding it all night!”

Jason hesitated, his fingers curling around the bow, and then, slowly, carefully, he pulled it loose. The paper came apart neatly, revealing a box, and inside—

His breath caught.

Inside was a stocking.

Not just any stocking, either. It looked just like the others on the mantle, with its deep red velvet and soft white trim. Tiny snowflakes danced along the edge like they’d been caught mid-fall, and his name— his name —was embroidered in a steady, careful script, the dark green thread standing out like it belonged there.

But that didn’t make sense.

It was stitched there, permanent and neat, like it was supposed to be there.

His fingers brushed over the lettering. His throat felt tight, like something was caught there, and his mind spun in that messy, disorganized way it always did when he didn’t understand something.

“A stocking?” he whispered, the words shaky and uneven. He wasn’t sure if he was asking a question or just trying to make sense of it.

Alfred’s voice was gentle, steady as ever. “Quite so, Master Jason. It’s meant to be hung with the others on the mantle.”

Jason’s gaze darted to the fireplace. He saw the other three stockings—Bruce’s, Alfred’s, and Dick’s—all lined up, looking so coordinated and perfect. The thought of his own hanging there made his stomach flip.

“You like it, don’t you?” Dick said, leaning closer. His grin was still there, but softer now, like he was trying not to startle him.

Jason shook his head quickly, his hands curling back toward his chest. “I don’t… I didn’t…” He didn’t know how to explain the way it made his skin crawl and his stomach twist, like this was some kind of trick he couldn’t figure out yet.

“I didn’t earn this,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. He stared at the stitching, his name clear and steady, and it made his hands tremble even more.

“You don’t have to earn it,” Bruce said, his voice calm and steady in that way it always was when he was trying to make Jason believe something impossible. “It’s not about that.”

Jason shook his head again, his hair falling into his face. “But I didn’t—I didn’t..,” he tried, his voice rising slightly before he forced it back down. He hated how shaky it sounded, hated how stupid he felt. “Isn’t this a family thing?’

“Jason.”

Bruce’s voice cut through the air, low and firm. Jason flinched automatically, his shoulders tensing. He braced himself for the sharp edge of a scolding, a reprimand for not acting grateful enough, for assuming he was part of any family thing. But Bruce didn’t snap at him. Instead, he crouched down, slow and careful, like he was trying not to spook him.

“Look at me,” Bruce said.

Jason hesitated, his chest tight and his breath caught somewhere between inhale and exhale. For a long moment, he couldn’t make himself move. But then, reluctantly, he lifted his gaze.

Bruce’s face was calm. No anger, no frustration, just a steady kind of patience that Jason didn’t really understand. His blue eyes locked on Jason’s.

“This is a family tradition,” Bruce said, his voice quieter now but just as solid. “One that goes back a long time. Alfred’s parents celebrated Christmas with him this way. His mother made his stocking, and she made mine when I was a baby. And when Dick came to live with us, Alfred taught himself how to make one for him too.”

Jason’s lip trembled before he bit down on it, hard, trying to stop the tears welling in his eyes. He glanced down at the stocking again, the soft red velvet catching the warm glow of the fireplace. It looked… different now, like it was glowing from the inside, full of something Jason couldn’t quite name. His fingers gripped the edge of the box tightly, like it might vanish if he let go.

“You don’t have to give me stuff,” Jason whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his words. “I’m not your kid… I…”

“Master Bruce brought you home,” Alfred interjected gently, stepping closer. His voice was steady but kind, like the soft edge of a blanket on a cold night. “In my perception, this makes you one of my charges.”

Jason swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to budge. He wanted to believe them. He really wanted to believe them—that this wasn’t some mistake, that they weren’t going to change their minds and realize he didn’t belong here. But it felt so big, so impossibly big, like trying to hold onto something much larger than his hands could manage.

He glanced back at Bruce, whose gaze hadn’t wavered, and then at Alfred, whose hand came to rest gently on his shoulder. Dick was still beside him, nudging him lightly with his elbow like he was trying to coax him out of his head.

Jason didn’t know how to say what was caught inside his chest, the tangled mess of hope and fear that felt like it might choke him if he wasn’t careful. So he didn’t say anything. Instead, his fingers tightened on the box, his knuckles white against the cardboard, and after a long moment, he nodded. Just a little.

Alfred’s hand gave his shoulder a warm, reassuring squeeze, and Dick’s nudge softened, the grin on his face gentler now. Jason risked a glance up at Bruce, who stood and straightened, still watching him with that steady, grounded presence that Jason couldn’t quite figure out.

“You’ll hang it yourself, of course,” Alfred said, his tone warm and light, like this was just another one of those little things they expected him to be part of. “A stocking’s place on the mantle is chosen by its owner.”

Jason looked back at the mantle. The stockings hanging there were perfect, lined up in their neat little row, each one looking like it had always belonged. His hand brushed against the red velvet of his stocking, and for a second, he couldn’t move.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hang it. It was that he was sure it would ruin the picture.

But then Dick nudged him again and Jason’s feet moved before his brain caught up. He stepped closer to the mantle, his stocking in one hand and his heart pounding in his ears.

When he finally hooked it in place, it swung slightly, catching the light. It looked… strange. But very very nice.

Jason stood there for a long moment, staring at it like it might suddenly disappear. It didn’t. It just stayed there, hanging neatly beside the others.

Then Dick crouched by the tree, his grin almost too big for his face as he waved another box in Jason’s direction. “Alright, kid, next up! This one’s from Bruce. And trust me, it’s awesome.”

Jason hesitated, his feet planted where he stood, but Dick waved him over, his expression softening. “C’mon, Jaybird. You gotta see this one.”

Jason’s face warmed at the nickname, but he shuffled over, sitting cross-legged on the floor as Dick handed him the box. It was heavy, and the glossy wrapping paper crinkled under his fingers. He turned it over carefully, half-expecting the weight to give away its secret, but it didn’t.

“Go on,” Bruce said softly. His voice was calm, like this was normal, like Jason opening a gift—a real one, big and heavy, just for him—wasn’t the strangest thing in the world.

Jason peeled the paper back slowly, he knew that it was just wrapping paper but tearing it apart felt… wrong, even though he knew it would get thrown away anyway. The tape came loose under his nails, the paper folding back little by little until the box underneath came into view.

Jason froze, staring. The bright red of the box hit him first, and his breath caught. The Lego Ferrari.

It didn’t make sense. Jason’s hands tightened on the edges of the box, the sharp corners pressing into his palms as he stared. Sure, he’d been obvious in the store, about how much he liked it, but it was almost a hundred dollar. Why would Bruce spend so much money on him? For a freaking christmas present.

There had been a lot of smaller car sets in the store, not as cheap like the McLaren Bruce had bought him, but around 30 bucks, which would have already been huge! No present he’d ever gotten hat been this expensive.

“Do you like it?” Bruce’s voice broke the silence. Steady.

Jason nodded quickly, the movement jerky. His throat felt tight, like his voice would come out wrong if he tried to speak.

How could he not like it? It was amazing. More than amazing. Jason had always loved the bright red Ferraris on TV, racing like blurs down the track. They were fast and sleek and perfect, like the opposite of everything Jason had ever had. And now—he swallowed hard—he’d get to build one. Out of Lego bricks. That was so so cool.

Before he could say anything—or think too hard about how he was supposed to respond—another box landed in his lap.

“Okay, next one! You’re gonna love this,” Dick said, grinning wide like this was all the most normal thing in the world.

The next gift was wrapped in bright blue paper with gold stars, though the wrapping job was a lot messier. Jason noticed the duct tape right away—it was slapped on in uneven strips. It didn’t bother him exactly, but it made him nervous about how to open it without tearing the paper. He tried to work at the edges, carefully peeling the tape away, even though it stuck stubbornly to his fingers.

Inside was a hoodie, black and soft under his hands. The bold, colorful Justice League logo stretched across the chest, practically glowing against the dark fabric. Jason’s fingers brushed over the design almost without thinking, like he was scared it might disappear if he touched it too hard.

“Figured you needed a proper superhero hoodie,” Dick said with a grin. “You know, to keep up with the family brand.”

Jason’s lips twitched in what might’ve been a smile if he wasn’t so completely overwhelmed. He nodded, his fingers brushing over the logo. It was…cool. No, it was more than cool. It was amazing.

But his chest tightened anyway.

Jason had always noticed those kids. Not out of jealousy, exactly, but because their lives seemed like some unreachable version of normal.

Kids at school used to wear stuff like this sometimes—not a lot of them, not in his neighborhood—but enough. The ones whose parents that prioritized their kids instead of booze or drugs. The ones whose moms worked a million jobs but still found a way to buy them things. Nothing fancy, of course, but maybe a T-shirt with a cartoon character or a hoodie like this one if they were lucky.

Jason had never had anything like it. Not even close. His clothes had always been hand-me-downs or whatever he could find. He used to look at those hoodies, the ones with Superman logos or Wonder Woman stars, and think they looked like armor.

And now he had one.

But the thought made his stomach churn. How much had this thing cost? Did Dick even realize how crazy this was? It wasn’t like Jason was his real brother or anything. He wasn’t even sure he counted as family. So why would Dick spend money on him?

Jason kept his head down, hoping Dick wouldn’t notice the way his throat felt tight, like if he said anything it would come out wrong.

Another box slid into his lap. “And this one’s for your car nerd brain,” Dick said cheerfully.

Two presents. From Dick. Jason didn’t get it. Dick didn’t owe him anything. He wasn’t Jason’s brother—not really—and Jason had already told him he didn’t need anything. Why didn’t anyone listen to that?

Inside the box was a puzzle. Jason stared down at the image on the lid: a sleek sports car gleaming under bright, studio lights. It had all these bright colors splashing everywhere—orange, blue, and red and green, like it was going so fast it was making the colors fly off! It was all shiny and fast-looking, like it was ready to zoom off the page.

Jason swallowed hard, his chest tightening into a knot he couldn’t untangle.

“Once you’ve finished it, I’ll get you a frame,” Dick said, his voice casual but warm. “You can hang it on the wall in your room if you want.”

Jason’s stomach twisted again. He didn’t plan on hanging anything up. It wasn’t really his room. It was a guest room, and it was fine the way it was.