Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

──── GOTHAM ACADEMY, GOTHAM, NEW JERSEY. EARLY 2011.

Rejection is probably the worst thing a pre-teen could feel.

It settles on your small shoulders like a heavy, tattered cape, dragging you down with every step. Your eyes stay glued to your shoes, two sizes too big, scuffed, hand-me-downs from your older sister’s high school days. The worn soles squeak softly against the polished floors, echoing through the hallways in a way that makes you feel painfully exposed. Around you, the other kids laugh in crisp uniforms, their shoes shiny and perfectly fitted, their backpacks glossy and new. The smell of polished wood and lemon-scented cleaner fills the air and every whisper of laughter, every glance at you, feels like a spotlight shining on your differences. 

Your hands hang awkwardly at your sides, fingers brushing against the oversized sleeves of your blazer. Your mom couldn’t afford to buy a new uniform, but thankfully your neighbor’s daughter had been a scholarship student at Gotham Academy too, and now you have a set of her old blazers, one of them swallowing your frame. The skirt is another story, your mom patched the gaps with so much care that it almost hurts to look at it, the stitching holding more love than it could ever be fashionable. 

“Are you kidding me? They just accept anyone these days. Bruce Wayne must be losing it,” you hear from behind. Four boys are passing by, their voices loud and casual, but every word feels like it’s meant to land right on you. The tallest one has messy blonde hair and a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. He glances you up and down, lingering just long enough for you to feel the weight of his judgment.

“Whoa… did you smell that?” he adds, laughing, and his friends snicker along with him. You shrink into your oversized uniform, tugging at the sleeves as if hiding could erase your presence. Your patched skirt and too-big shoes suddenly feel heavier, every step squeaking against the polished floor like it’s announcing your wrongness to the whole hallway. You force your gaze down, wishing the walls could swallow you up and make them forget you exist.

When the bell rang, you nearly bolted toward your classroom, slipping inside as quickly as you could. You didn’t dare look at anyone, didn’t pause to meet a single pair of eyes. Instead, you went straight for the last row, sliding into the corner seat like it was the only safe place left in the room.

The chair was surprisingly comfortable, far sturdier than the wobbly desks back at your old public school. Even the air here felt different, quieter, sharper, like everything at Gotham Academy had been built to remind you of how far you were from home. For the first time that morning, you let out a shaky breath, thinking maybe, just maybe, you could disappear here.

But then a shadow fell across your desk.

“That’s my seat,” a boy’s voice drawled. He stood over you, arms crossed, a smug grin tugging at his face. It’s the same blonde from the hallway. His friends lingered behind him, already laughing as if they knew how this would end. You froze, hands clutching the edge of the desk, heat rising in your cheeks. 

He leaned closer, wrinkling his nose like you were some kind of disease. “Ew… do you always smell like that? Cheap, nasty perfume—my maid wears better stuff than that,” he sneered. “I can smell it from here. You’ve basically ruined the whole row with… whatever that is.”

His friends burst into loud, cruel laughter, the sound echoing off the classroom walls like it was meant to humiliate you. A few kids glanced over, some giggling, others quickly pretending they hadn’t noticed, like they didn’t want to be associated with someone like you. You felt your stomach drop, shrinking further into yourself, wishing you could vanish into the floor. But before you could even move, another shadow fell over the desk.

“Back off, Jordan.”

The voice came from your left. You looked up and saw a boy with dark hair and piercing blue eyes standing there. He didn’t move closer, didn’t shout, but the weight in his tone made the room feel heavier.

Jordan's smirk faltered. “Excuse me? Do you know who you’re talking to? My family—”

Your savior’s lips curled into a sharp, unreadable smirk. “Yeah, I know your family. You’re horrible with chicks just like your dad, huh? Wife-beater behavior runs in the family.”

The words hit Jordan harder than anything else could. His friends froze, unsure whether to laugh or retreat. Jordan's face went red with anger, his smugness cracking, but he opened his mouth to defend himself. 

“My dad… my family—”

He cut him off, deadly serious. “I don’t give a fuck about your dad. Back off before I break your nose.”

Jordan’s scowl deepened, lips pressed into a tight line, but he finally stepped back, muttering under his breath. The black haired boy dropped into the seat next to yours and gave a small, almost invisible nod.

“I’m Jason,” he said, his tone casual, but there was a sharp edge to it, the kind of confidence that made it clear he wasn’t someone you messed with. On the surface, he looked like a regular rich kid, fancy shoes, hair perfectly in place. But his eyes… They carried weight, the kind of intensity you didn’t usually see in someone born with a silver spoon in their mouth. He leaned back slightly, one shoulder brushing yours, and gave a small, half-smile. “Don’t worry about Jordan. He acts like he’s got a stick up his ass all the time probably because his dad’s a disgusting piece of shit.”

“His dad?” you asked, surprised.

“Uhm… Mayor Hamilton Hill,” Jason said with a shrug, like it was common knowledge.

You glanced toward Jordan, who sat a few rows up with his friends gathered around him, tossing out half-baked jokes to lighten his mood. But he wasn’t laughing. The moment he felt your eyes on him, his head snapped back, and his gaze locked onto you, sharp, furious, like you’d trespassed into a place you didn’t belong.

It was insane. He didn’t even know you, yet the hatred was already there, simmering in the way his lips curled. It wasn’t just about a seat. It was about the uniform you wore that didn’t quite fit, the scuffed shoes on your feet, the patched skirt stitched with love instead of money. To him, you weren’t just a new student, you were a reminder that not everyone at Gotham Academy came wrapped in silk and gold, and he despised you for it. But your twelve-year-old brain didn’t hold onto things for long, and your attention shifted the moment class began. Physics was first, and you let out a quiet sigh as you pulled your notebooks from your bag.

The teacher started scribbling equations across the board, symbols and numbers flowing together like another language. You stared at them, eyes wide, as if you’d just been asked to solve rocket science. Back at your old public school, lessons had been slow, basic, sometimes the teacher didn’t even bother showing up. Here, though, everything moved too fast, built on foundations you’d never been taught.

Your pencil hovered uselessly over the page. It wasn’t just that you hated numbers, it was that you’d never been given a real chance to understand them. And now, surrounded by kids who nodded along like it was nothing, the gap between their world and yours stretched wider with every line the teacher wrote.

You felt your cheeks grow warm, shame settling heavy in your stomach. You shifted, hoping no one would notice.

But someone did.

Jason leaned back in his chair, glancing sideways at your notebook. He didn’t say anything at first, just smirked faintly, like he’d already figured out what was going on. When the teacher turned back to the board, Jason muttered low enough for only you to hear, “Don’t sweat it. Half these rich idiots don’t actually get it either—they just pay people to make ’em look smart.”

He tapped his pencil once against his desk, casual. Before you could give him more than an awkward smile and a straightened, whispered “thank you,” your teacher’s voice cut through the room.

“Alright, let’s see who was paying attention…” His eyes swept the class, finger pausing before landing right on you. “You—new girl. Can you answer this one?”

Your stomach dropped. The chalk marks on the board blurred together, numbers and symbols turning into a jumble that made your chest tighten. You gripped your pencil so hard it might snap. A couple of kids twisted in their seats to look back at you, some already smirking, waiting for you to trip.

Jason didn’t give them the satisfaction.

“She knows it,” he cut in smoothly, his tone sharp enough to snap the tension. He leaned back in his chair with a cocky grin, eyes locked on the teacher. “But if you’re really trying to put someone on the spot, pick me. I like this crap.”

A low ripple of laughter moved through the room. The teacher frowned, hesitated, then sighed and called on another student instead. The whispers quickly faded, the eyes on you turning back to the board. Jason glanced sideways, his smirk softening into something less sharp, almost reassuring. The knot in your chest began to ease, and you found yourself giving him a small, uncertain smile in return.

Maybe, just maybe, you hadn’t walked into Gotham Academy completely alone.

Chapter Text

“Mom, I’m home!” your voice echoed down the narrow, dimly lit hallway of the apartment building as you kicked off your shoes by the open door. The soles were caked with grime from the Narrows, subway dust, rain-slick asphalt, and everything else Gotham liked to cling to you on the walk back from the station. No matter how polished and pristine the Academy looked, the streets you crossed to get home never let you forget where you really lived. The apartment was small and warm, and smelled faintly of onions sizzling in a pan.

Your mom stood in the kitchen, still in her diner uniform, apron strings knotted tight around her waist. Her hair was falling loose from a bun, and she looked bone-tired, but her face lit up the second she saw you.

“There’s my smart girl,” she said, stirring the pot before wiping her hands on her apron. Her face looked worn, and the smell of cheap coffee still clung to her, but her smile was full of pride. “How was your first day?”

“It was nice, I guess.”

She tugged gently at your shirt and skirt, inspecting the seams with a frown, worried her stitching might not hold up through a long day. “Don’t forget—I need that uniform. I’m washing and pressing it tonight, no excuses.”

From the living room, your brother called out over the blaring baseball game. By his grunts, it sounded like the Gotham Knights were losing again. He was stretched out on the old couch in a clean T-shirt. Rare sight “Come on, ma,” he said, a grin in his voice. “She’ll survive one day at school without you wrapping her in bubble wrap.”

Your mom just kissed your forehead, “Go get cleaned up before dinner.”

You passed your brother in the living room. His feet were kicked up on the scratched coffee table, a pile of magazines teetering nearby. The couch sagged under him, its faded fabric dotted with crumbs and the faint smell of sweat and sawdust from work.

“Mom’s going to kill you for that,” you muttered, glancing at his scuffed boots by the door. He’d been working construction since he dropped out of high school, putting in long, dusty days at sites all over the Narrows. He always smelled like concrete and sweat.

He just reached out and ruffled your hair. “Go shower, Ankle Biter. You stink.” He sniffed dramatically and recoiled, waving a hand. “Wait… is that mom’s perfume?”

You wrinkled your nose.

“You know that stuff’s ancient,” he said, gasping as if he’d just uncovered a crime scene. “Seriously, go shower before she notices.”

Chances were, she had already noticed, not just the perfume, but that you’d tried to borrow some of her makeup. A bit of foundation under your dark circles, a touch of mascara, last night had been rough with your older sister’s newborn crying nonstop. But your mom was too kind to say anything, letting you slip by, proud of you no matter how small the effort to look presentable for the new school.

“Tony, take your dirty feet off my coffee table!” you heard your mom yell as you shut the tiny bathroom door behind you. Something thumped against the couch, probably whatever she had thrown at your brother this time. From the front door, your sister’s arrival reached your ears, your nephew babbling nonsense only she seemed to understand. You laughed and shook your head, slipping out of your uniform. The noise and chaos of the apartment faded into the background, a comforting white noise as you stepped into the shower.

But your moment of peace was short-lived. A knock at the bathroom door sounded insistent.

“Come on! I really need to pee—these pregnancy hormones are no joke!” your sister shouted.

The perks of having only one bathroom in the whole house.

“You’re not pregnant anymore, Simone,” you said, opening the door, already dressed in your Superman pajamas. She barged in, practically shoving you aside.

“She better not be!” your mom yelled from the kitchen as the baby reached up to tug at her hair.

Simone had become a teen mom last year, after six months of secretly dating the crackhead who lived down the street. You were pretty sure he was too old for her and he hadn’t paid a cent in child support. That’s why she dropped out of high school in her senior year, taking a job as a cashier at the corner bodega just to make ends meet. You still remembered the shouting matches between your mom and her.

And Tony? Well, he dropped out of high school in his junior year after your dad bailed, leaving your mom to raise three kids on her own. Since then, he’d stepped in, not just as a father figure, but as the one keeping the household afloat.

They were over the moon when you got the scholarship. You could see it in your mom’s eyes, in Simone’s beaming smile. In Tony’s quiet praises. For the first time, someone in your family was getting a shot at a real education, a chance to step out of the struggles of the Narrows and into something bigger.

At the dinner table, you carefully recounted your first day, making it sound smooth and easy, because you didn’t want to worry them. You left out the tears in the girls’ bathroom during lunch, and the awkward encounter with the mayor’s son. This was your moment and you wanted them to share in the pride, not the doubts.

Tony pushed his plate back slightly, crumbs clinging to his fingers. He leaned back in the chair. “Nice to hear your day was all sunshine and rainbows, Ankle Biter,” he said, voice teasing but gentle. “But… don’t you have homework? I doubt Gotham Academy goes easy on you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll get to it.”

Across the table, your mom was sneaking glances at you while eating, and Simone cooed at her baby, mumbling something.

That night, you helped with the dishes. It was just you and your mom in the kitchen, steam curling from the leftover food as she slid containers into the fridge and you dried the plates. The apartment was quiet except for the clink of dishes and the low hum of the radiator.

“Mom,” you asked quietly, glancing up at her, “can you help me with my homework?”

She froze for a second, the spatula hovering mid-air, before straightening her shoulders like she knew exactly what she was doing. “Uh… of course,” she said, her voice a little too bright, a little too confident. You could see it in the way she smoothed her apron and tried not to fidget, homework had never been her strong suit, but she was determined to make you feel like she had it under control.

You smiled at her, and she returned it, though just barely. The tremor in her hands betrayed the confident posture she was trying to wear. You could see it in the way she shifted her weight from foot to foot, biting her lip, fumbling with her apron—your mom trying so hard to seem capable, even though you knew she’d never finished school.

You sighed softly and headed to the bedroom. Simone and the baby were already lying across her bed, the little guy murmuring an incoherent babble, while Simone was reading a copy of People magazine, her eyes caught on an article about Kim Kardashian’s whirlwind 72-day marriage that everyone had been gossiping about. You grabbed the textbook the school had handed you, opening it to the first chapter.

“I need to write an essay about Little Women by Louisa May Alcott,” you said, setting the book on your lap. You could feel your mom lingering in the doorway, hesitant, hands clasped together like she wasn’t sure whether to leave or step in.

“Uh… yeah, okay,” she said finally. “I… I can help. Sure. Sit down.”

You patted the spot beside you. She sat, sinking onto the edge of the bed with a little groan, the mattress dipping under her weight. Immediately, you noticed the way she scanned the page like it might explode in her hands, brow furrowed, lips pressed tight. She glanced at you, clearly anxious, pretending she understood, but the way she tapped the page with her finger betrayed her.

You looked at your mom with soft eyes, taking in the tired lines on her face and the slight tremor in her hands. You’d never seen her reading a book your entire life. Gently, you kissed her forehead.

“Mom… I actually asked my new friend—uh, Jason—to help me with this earlier,” you said casually. Sometimes, lying isn’t wrong—it’s just protecting someone’s feelings... “He promised to explain the parts I didn’t get, so you don’t have to worry.”

Her eyes widened a little, a flicker of relief, and maybe guilt, crossing her face. She tried to hide it with a nod. “Oh… right. A new friend,” she said, her voice just a little shaky. “That’s… good. That’s… really helpful.”

She stood up from the edge of your bed and shuffled around the cramped bedroom, fumbling slightly as she grabbed your uniform from the pile of laundry on the chair. Her shoulders were hunched, and the dark circles under her eyes betrayed just how little sleep she’d had.

“I’m going to wash it and press it,” she said, trying to sound firm.

“It’s midnight, mom… you have work tomorrow,” you protested softly, reaching out to stop her.

She paused and turned to you, giving you a small smile. The corners of her eyes crinkled, and she brushed a loose strand of hair from your face. “Just go to sleep, pretty girl. I’ve got this,” she said, her voice gentle.

For a moment, the hum of the radiator and the soft creak of the floorboards filled the apartment. You watched your mom from the bedroom doorway, folding your uniform carefully.

Once she was done, you closed the door behind you and walked over to Simone, who was lounging on her bed with the baby beside her, the TV flickering in the background with Keeping Up with the Kardashians. “Hey, have you read this book?” you asked, holding up the textbook.

“Of course not,” she replied without looking up, her eyes still fixed on the magazine. “I tried watching the movie with Christian Bale, but it was so boring I couldn’t even finish it.” She nodded toward the TV with a faint smirk. “Honestly, this show is way more entertaining.”

You rolled your eyes and sat down next to her. “Well, one of us has to actually, you know… learn something.”

She snorted, tossing a blanket over your lap. You closed the book and leaned closer to her. “Sure, Professor Ankle Biter.”

Slowly, your eyelids grew heavy. You drifted off with your big sister gently stroking your hair and with the soft weight of your nephew curled against you, drooling lightly on the sheets.

You didn’t see Jason again until four days later. By then, you’d noticed he had this strange habit of skipping school for days at a time and then showing up with fresh, unexplained bruises. This time, it was a swollen black eye, dark and raw against his skin. At lunch, the cafeteria buzzed with voices and clattering trays, every table crowded with clusters of friends, except his. He sat alone, hunched over, picking at the food he wasn’t eating.

“You should put some ice on that,” you said quietly, stepping up behind him.

Jason glanced up. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” His voice wavered just a little.

You shifted the Little Women book in your hands, hugging it against your chest, not sure what to say next. He noticed, his gaze flicking to the cover.

“You finish the essay yet?”

You shook your head. “Not even close.”

Something in his expression softened. “Good,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “Makes me feel a little better.”

You sat down, facing him, heart racing slightly. But you didn’t answer right away, and the silence stretched until he let out a long sigh. “It shouldn’t take long. Little Women’s an easy book.”

“Yeah, totally easy. I can read it with my eyes closed,” you said, shifting in your seat. But Jason caught it—the way your hands fidgeted with the spine of the book, the slight awkward twist of your shoulders. His gaze tracked every movement like he was piecing together a puzzle.

“You never read it, did you?”

“Mm… no.”

“You didn’t understand it?”

You shook your head, bracing yourself for a sarcastic jab, maybe even a laugh. But none came. Jason just sat there, studying you with that bruised face and tired eyes. He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the table like he was debating whether to bother. Then he huffed out a breath. “Alright. Look. Little Women’s not rocket science.”

You tilted your head, clutching the book tighter. “Easy for you to say.”

He smirked faintly, but it didn’t quite reach his bruised eye. “Okay, so—you got four sisters, right? Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. They’re dirt poor, but they’re trying to keep it together while their dad’s off fighting in the war.” He paused, making sure you were listening. “The book’s really about how they deal with growing up when everything around them kinda sucks.”

You blinked at him. “That’s… actually a lot clearer than how our teacher explained it.”

Jason shrugged. “Yeah, well, teachers like to make things sound fancy. Truth is, it’s just about family. Each sister’s got her thing—Meg wants to fit in, Jo doesn’t want to be told what to do, Beth’s sweet but too quiet for her own good, and Amy… well, Amy’s Amy.”

You bit back a laugh. “That’s it? That’s your literary analysis?”

His lips twitched. “Hey, I didn’t say I was writing your essay for you. I’m just giving you the cheat sheet. Point is, the story’s not about big words or whatever—it’s about trying to do right by your family even when life kicks you in the teeth.” His voice softened at the edges, like maybe he wasn’t just talking about the book anymore.

For a second, neither of you spoke. The cafeteria noise buzzed around you, but at that table, it was just the two of you.

You looked down at the cover of Little Women and then back at him. “You’re… actually kind of good at this.”

Jason smirked again. “Don’t spread that around. Gotta keep my reputation.”

“Yeah, sure but... Thank you,” you said quietly.

He leaned back, starting to wave it off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve read this book a bunch of times, so it’s—”

“No, not just about the book,” you cut in, heat rising in your cheeks. “I mean… standing up for me. For not letting Jordan humiliate me. Or our teachers.”

For once, Jason didn’t have a quick comeback. His smirk faded into something gentler, almost surprised, like he wasn’t used to anyone noticing that side of him. He rubbed at the edge of his tray, looking everywhere but at you.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, voice low, “somebody had to.”

Neither of you said anything after that, both of your faces heating up. Jason’s eyes dropped to his bruised knuckles, and you found yourself fiddling with the corner of your book.

“So, uh… did you start the physics homework?” he asked suddenly, like he needed to change the subject fast.

You shook your head. “No.”

“Okay, then. We’ll do the essay together, and after class we’ll tackle physics.”

Your eyes widened. “Really? I mean—I don’t want to bother yo—”

“Just give me your mom’s number,” Jason cut in, his words quick and clumsy. “I’ll… I’ll ask Bruce to talk to her. You can come over to my place. There’s more room to study there.”

You blinked. “Bruce?”

His body went rigid. He scratched the back of his neck, looking everywhere but at you. “Uh—Bruce Wayne. He, uh… adopted me. I’m… adopted.”

You froze for a second, eyes wide, your mouth opening and closing like you were about to say something smart but failing spectacularly. “Wait… so… you live with Bruce Wayne? Like… the billionaire guy?”

Jason’s cheeks flushed, and he jerked his hand toward the tray in front of him. “Yeah… but it’s not like I’m rich or anything, okay? Don’t tell anyone.”

You nodded frantically, heart racing, words tripping over themselves. “No, no! I—I won’t! I promise!”

He gave a small, awkward smile, and the cafeteria noise faded into the background, leaving just the two of you. Awkward, a little embarrassed, but strangely… allies in all of this.

Chapter Text

Your mom never owned a cell phone.

Not just because it was expensive, but because she had this stubborn loyalty to her landline. It was the first thing she’d ever gotten in her own name, and in a family barely scraping by, that clunky beige phone wasn’t just for calls, it was proof she could keep at least one thing steady on a waitress’s paycheck.

Which meant you got to see her face the night Bruce Wayne called your house.

It was early evening. You’d just trudged home from school, sweaty from sprinting for the bus. Simone had the TV blasting Twin Peaks in the living room, the baby wriggling on your mom’s hip while she tried to keep him from yanking on her earrings.

“Come on, little man, give grandma a break,” she muttered, bouncing him as he drooled down her shoulder.

The phone rang just as you were kicking off your shoes by the door.

“Gabriel, stop—oh. Hello?” Your mom’s voice flipped instantly, high and nervous. She smoothed her hair with her free hand, even though nobody could see her. “Yes, this is her mother. …Mr. Wayne?” Her eyes went wide. “Wait—your son and my daughter? Uh—yes, sir. Of course.”

You didn’t stick around. Heart thudding, you retreated into the bedroom you shared with Simone and dumped your backpack on the bed. Little Women slid out, along with the notes Jason had scribbled for you in class. You were still pulling out your pencil case when your mom appeared in the doorway, arms folded now that Gabriel had been handed off.

“Baby girl,” she said slowly. “Since when are you and the Wayne boy so close?”

“His last name’s Todd, actually,” you muttered, cheeks hot. Jason’s crooked smile at lunch flashed in your head before you could stop it. Most boys your age were gross, but Jason was… different. “He just invited me over to study. He asked for your number.”

Your mom arched a brow. “Uh-huh. Just talking, huh?”

“Yeah, just talking,” you said quickly. “So… can I go to Jason’s after school tomorrow?”

Her answer was immediate, a firm shake of her head. “Absolutely not. I’m not letting my twelve-year-old run off to some stranger’s house. I don’t care if it’s Bruce Wayne or the President. This isn’t the eighties. I told Mr. Wayne his boy can come here first. If I like him, then we’ll talk about you going over there.”

“Wait—did you just say Bruce Wayne?” Simone’s voice shot from the living room. A second later she came bounding in, Gabriel clinging to her like a little monkey. Her eyes were wide, gleaming.

“Yes, your sister’s got a study date with the Wayne boy,” your mom said. “He’s coming here tomorrow.”

Simone gasped. “No way. Wait—it’s not Dick Grayson, right? Right? He’s, like, eighteen, not some middle schooler like Ankle Biter over here.” She jiggled Gabriel on her hip like he was agreeing with her. “Oh my god—if Gotham’s prince is coming to our house—tell me it’s Dick Grayson.”

Of course. Her crush. Half her dresser was stuffed with clippings of him. People covers, glossy gossip mags, headlines like “From Circus Tragedy to Gotham’s Golden Boy” and “Rift with Bruce Wayne?” She’d read every word. To Simone, Dick wasn’t just Bruce Wayne’s ward, he was Gotham’s heartthrob.

She darted back to her drawer, fishing out a wrinkled magazine page and reading in her most dramatic voice: “‘From circus tragedy to Gotham royalty, Dick Grayson has captured the city’s heart—’” Gabriel tried to grab the paper, but she just spun away, “‘—the eighteen-year-old has stepped into the spotlight as a dashing young man—’”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. Simone grinned at your misery.

“It’s not Dick,” you cut in, rolling your eyes. “It’s Jason. The new kid.”

Simone blinked, then smirked, rocking Gabriel on her hip. “Ohhh. That makes sense.” She leaned in with a wicked grin. “When Jason shows up, I’m asking for his brother’s number.”

“Don’t you dare embarrass me, you jerk,” you hissed, imagining Jason’s face if Simone started drooling over his older brother. Not that you were even sure if they were brothers, Bruce Wayne’s whole family situation was confusing as hell.

“Don’t call your sister names,” your mom snapped, shooting you a look. Simone only stuck out her tongue and dropped back onto the couch, TV volume cranked up until it rattled the cheap picture frames on the wall.

“Now hush, you’re ruining Twin Peaks,” she said, shoving Gabriel’s tiny hand away from the remote.

“I thought I was the middle schooler here,” you shot back, but Gabriel latched onto your sleeve, tugging until you laughed.

Simone didn’t glance up. “Shhh. I’m about to finally find out who killed Laura Palmer.”

In gym class, a volleyball came flying at your head. You barely had time to react before Jason’s hand shot up, snatching it out of the air like it was nothing. His jaw tightened, blue eyes flashing as he turned toward the girls who’d sent it your way. Without a word, he hurled the ball back. It smacked into the wall beside them with a sharp bang, making the whole group flinch.

He didn’t bother hiding his glare before turning back to you.

“So, what’d your mom say?” His voice was softer now.

“She said it’s not the eighties anymore, so I can’t just show up at your place without her meeting you first.”

Jason snorted. “Fair enough.”

“Which means,” you added, raising a brow, “you’re coming over to my place today.”

He just nodded.

You hesitated, glancing at the boys laughing nearby, then lowered your voice.

“I live in the Narrows. You… know that, right?”

Jason met your eyes without flinching. A grin tugged at his mouth. “What, you think I’m scared of a couple cracked sidewalks?”

“More like the daily homicides and muggings.”

He smirked. “Sounds charming.”

After class, he was waiting outside, wind messing up his hair. Gotham stretched out around you, still beautiful, even under the haze and the constant hum of traffic. Jason glanced over, about to say something, when a girl with short hair walked past with her friends.

“Hey, Carmen,” one of them sneered. “Did you know Jason’s dad’s rotting in prison for life?”

Carmen turned with a poisonous smile. “Really? Guess it’s only a matter of time before Jason joins him.”

The words cut sharp. Your head snapped toward Jason, bracing for his usual response, a scoff, a comeback, maybe even something reckless.

But he didn’t fight back.

His fists curled at his sides, knuckles whitening. The easy mask he always wore slipped, just for a moment, and something raw flickered through. Your chest tightened. You wanted to defend him, to shut Carmen up, but the words stuck in your throat. The girls’ laughter trailed behind them, cruel and smug, leaving only silence in their wake.

That flicker of embarrassment in Jason’s face made something inside you snap. Heat surged through you, rising fast. You locked onto Carmen’s blonde head and spun toward her.

“Listen, you—”

Jason’s hand closed around your wrist, cutting you off before your anger could sharpen. His grip was steady. Without a word, he steered you toward the academy gates.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly. Not harsh, but anchoring.

“But, Jason—”

“No.”

“But she—”

“It’s not worth it.” His jaw was tight, grip unyielding.

You swallowed your frustration as he led you, not to some sleek car with a chauffeur, like you half expected, but down the street to the bus stop. His fingers still curled lightly around your wrist, like he didn’t quite trust you not to whirl around and throw a punch.

“You should’ve let me say something,” you muttered.

“And what would you have said? She wasn’t lying.”

You glared at him, but the argument lodged in your throat. The evening breeze rattled the shelter around you. The bus screeched up, brakes hissing. Jason still didn’t let go, guiding you on board like he was afraid you’d start a fight the second he released you. He dropped the fare in without a word, shoulders stiff. For someone who usually carried himself like nothing could touch him, he suddenly looked worn.

He finally let go once you were inside, hand lingering in the air before shoving it deep into his pocket. He slid into a seat near the back, hunched forward, eyes fixed out the window. You followed and sat beside him before he could pretend he wanted space. The bus lurched back into motion, engine humming. 

Jason’s reflection in the glass looked unreadable.

“She was lying,” you said softly.

His jaw clenched. “My dad’s in prison. That part wasn’t a lie.”

You leaned closer, making sure he couldn’t look away. “She was lying about you.”

He finally met your eyes, suspicion flickering there.

“You’ve had my back since I got here,” you said, voice steady. “Let me have yours too.”

The words hung between you, heavy as the rumble of the bus. Jason didn’t answer right away, but his shoulders eased, just slightly.

“I mean… if you really wanted to punch her, I wouldn’t stop you,” he muttered at last, voice low, like he was testing the waters. 

Testing you.

And you couldn’t help it.

A laugh burst out, ugly and breathless. You pictured yourself swinging at Carmen’s smug face, the chaos that would follow, maybe even losing your scholarship. It was absurd, and somehow that made it funnier. Jason glanced at you, a faint flush creeping up his cheeks. For a moment, he looked his age, like your laugh had cracked through the armor.

Still smiling, you nudged him. “I know it sucks, your dad being in prison and all. But hey… at least you know where he is.”

Jason leaned back, shooting you a sidelong look.

“What? Your dad’s not around?”

“Not really,” you admitted, shrugging like it didn’t matter.

“That’s fucked up.”

“Very.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Outside, Gotham shifted. Downtown’s shine gave way as the bus rolled into the Narrows. Buildings leaned close, brick and stone darkened by years of neglect. Fire escapes zigzagged across narrow streets, graffiti marked the walls, and the hum of life here carried a rougher edge.

The neat order of the city’s heart felt a world away, replaced by grit pressing in on both sides. You noticed Jason shifting in his seat, fingers tracing absent patterns over his backpack straps, like he was trying to will his thoughts into focus.

“My dad was a henchman,” Jason said, eyes still on the streets outside. “Ran with Penguin for a while… till he got caught.”

You shrugged, doing your best to act unimpressed, even though this was huge. He was actually opening up to you. “Hum… I don’t even remember my dad’s face. Honestly, probably for the best—he ditched us right after I was born, so I’m guessing he wasn’t much of a nice guy anyway.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Eh… not worse than your dad working for a criminal, but yeah.”

You caught him snorting.

“What is this, Gotham’s Worst Dad Award?”

You bit down on your smile, but another laugh slipped out anyway. Jason shot you a quick side-eye, his blue eyes bright with the effort of keeping a straight face. His lips twitched, fighting a grin, until he finally gave in and laughed with you. The sound made your chest feel weirdly light. Your shoulders brushed, then your knees bumped. Neither of you pulled away, but you both pretended not to notice, like staying that close was an accident neither of you wanted to fix.

“Wait—that’s my street,” you blurted, already hoisting your backpack.

Without thinking, you grabbed Jason’s hand and tugged him toward the doors as the bus slowed. It wasn’t until you felt his fingers tighten just slightly around yours that you realized what you’d done. Heat rushed to your cheeks, but you didn’t let go. 

Neither did he.

The two of you just walked side by side down the cracked sidewalk, the silence stretching in a way that felt strangely comfortable.

You glanced at him, heart thumping in your chest. “Hey… when Carmen said all that stuff about you ending up like your dad—what did she mean?”

Jason’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t pull his hand away.

“You don’t really keep up with the news, do you? Gotham Gazette, Gotham Times, any of that?” Jason asked. His eyes weren’t on you, they stayed fixed on the Narrows around you, like it was easier to watch the neighborhood than to face the past.

You shook your head. “Not really. My mom reads the Gazette sometimes, but I don’t. Why?”

The two of you walked past a corner bodega with bars on the windows, the smell of fried food drifting into the street. A group of kids played stickball with a dented soda can, their laughter echoing between the tight rows of buildings.

Jason’s hand tightened in yours. “Because if you did, you’d already know what she meant.” His voice was quiet, almost swallowed by the hum of the city, but heavy enough to sink in your chest.

He caught your confused expression and sighed.

“Before Bruce… before all this academy crap, I was in Crime Alley with my parents. My dad was locked up before I even turned ten. And my mom…” He paused, jaw tightening. “She wasn’t around much. Drugs, you know? By the time she overdosed, I already knew how to take care of myself. Stealing food, crashing wherever I could. That was just… normal.”

Finally, he looked at you, blue eyes sharp.

“Then Bruce caught me stealing the tires off his car,” Jason said, voice low. “He parked in Crime Alley, of all places. I couldn’t believe it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That dumb?”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah… dumb enough. But that’s how he found me. Saw me struggling with the tires and… well, next thing I know, he’s taking me out of there. Adopted me. That’s how I ended up with him.”

He shrugged, like it was just another fact of life, but the weight behind his words hung between you.

“Gotham Gazette found out I was living on the streets before the adoption went through. Stealing whatever I could to survive,” Jason said flatly. “They ran an article. Bruce sued them, of course.”

You frowned. “But the damage was already done, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, eyes flicking to the cracked sidewalk. Then, almost against his own seriousness, a corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Carmen likes to call me a street rat. Like it’s supposed to be insulting.” He laughed again. “Total jerk move. But… I think she’s got a thing for me.”

You blinked, caught between disbelief and amusement. “A thing?”

Before he could answer, a voice cut through the quiet.

“Hey! You two—get down here!”

You both looked up. On the building’s fire escape, your mom leaned over the railing, arms crossed and eyes narrowing.

“Mom…” you groaned, letting go of Jason’s hand.

Jason raised an eyebrow, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Family reunion, huh?”

“Something like that,” you muttered, tugging your backpack higher.

Your mom shook her head, but there was a hint of a smile in her eyes. “Come on, you’re not standing out there all day. Get inside.”

You glanced at Jason. “Guess we’re heading up.”

He followed you as you led the way through the narrow stairwell, the city’s hum fading behind the walls of your apartment building. The door to your unit creaked open, and you stepped inside, the warmth of home washing over the tension of the streets. Jason paused at the threshold, taking it all in, then gave you a small, quiet smile.

“Nice place.”

“Thanks.”

“No shoes inside!” your mom called from the kitchen. You both froze for a second, then started kicking off your shoes almost at the same time, fumbling a little with laces and straps. Jason shot you an amused glance, and you couldn’t help but grin.

Before you could start explaining the apartment rules, like no shoes inside and no eating on the couch, your mom appeared in the living room.

“Jason, huh?” she said, giving him a careful once-over, arms crossed but her expression neutral. “You’re the one my kid’s been hanging out with?”

Jason straightened slightly, offering a polite nod. “Yeah. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Your mom studied him for a beat. Her gaze lingered on the faint smudge of dirt on his jeans, the way he kept his hands tucked close to his sides. Finally, a tiny smile appeared. “Alright. You don’t seem like a thug. That’s a good start.”

Jason allowed himself a small smirk. “I’ll take it.”

You couldn’t resist. “See? Told you she’s selective.”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head, but the warmth in her expression was undeniable. “Selective, yeah… but fair. Now, come on—sit down before you two track dirt all over my floor.”

Jason raised an eyebrow at you. “Guess I better behave then.”

When you two finally went up to your room for the study session, your mom was very clear about one thing. The door had to stay open.

“Last time I wasn’t looking,” she said, arms crossed, “your sister ended up pregnant. So—door stays open.”

You froze, cheeks flaming. Mortified. Jason, meanwhile, looked like he wanted to disappear, maybe even throw himself out the nearest window.

“Uh… noted,” you managed, fumbling to pull your chair closer to the desk.

Jason gave you a weak, incredulous look, running a hand through his hair. “Seriously… what did I walk into?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Welcome to my life.”

Once the initial shock faded, you both got down to work. Books and notebooks spread across your desk like a small battlefield. You tried to concentrate, but Jason kept brushing past your arm as he reached for a pen, his closeness making your chest thump a little faster than usual.

By the time you hit the physics homework, both of you were running on fumes. Numbers weren’t really Jason’s thing, and your brain felt like it was slowly melting under the weight of equations and Newton’s laws. Jason had abandoned the desk entirely, perched in your chair with a resigned slump, while you lay sprawled on your bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling and trying not to scream.

After a long pause, he muttered.

“What’s your favorite book?”

“Diary of a Wimpy Kid,” you said without missing a beat, letting your eyes wander back to the ceiling.

Jason raised an eyebrow, leaning back in the chair. “Really?” His voice carried a mix of disbelief and amusement. “That’s… your favorite?”

“Yep. Greg Heffley all the way,” you said, shrugging. “Don’t judge me.”

“I mean… it’s an okay choice for a middle schooler.”

“You’re a middle schooler, smartpants. So what’s your favorite book?”

“To Kill a Mockingbird. Harper Lee.”

“You’re twelve.”

“With a big brain,” he said, grinning.

You rolled your eyes. “A twelve-year-old with a big brain who reads sad, moral novels instead of, I don’t know… comics or something.”

Jason leaned forward, mock-offended. “Come on, that book’s a classic. And it’s about justice, morality, and human nature. Stuff that matters.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, sitting up a little, “all I want to know is whether Greg Heffley is actually touching the cheese in the schoolyard or not.”

Jason blinked at you, a corner of his mouth twitching. “You’re… serious?”

“I am twelve!”

Before he could respond, your mom called from the bedroom doorway.

“Alright, you two, I made something for you—come eat before it gets cold.”

You and Jason both glanced toward the doorway. Jason shot you a mock-exasperated look, like silently asking: do we really have to pause our profound Cheese Touch debate?

“You already know, food over morality,” you muttered, nudging him toward the kitchen. The moment you stepped inside, the warm smell of freshly baked cake hit you both. Your mom was wiping her hands on a towel, a proud smile on her face as she set the cake on the table.

“Sit down,” your mom said, motioning to the chairs.

She set two big slices of cake on your plates, then looked at Jason with a warm smile. “So… Jason, I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“You have?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“Well,” she said, nodding toward you, “Ankle Biter here doesn’t have a ton of friends, so she was pretty thrilled when you came along.”

“Mom…” you groaned, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Ankle Biter?” Jason echoed, clearly confused.

She laughed. “Yeah, that’s a family nickname. When she was a toddler, she had this weird obsession with biting people’s ankles. Didn’t matter who, me, her siblings, everyone got nibbled. The name stuck.”

You buried your face in your hands, muttering, “Thanks for bringing that up again.”

Jason chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “Okay… that’s actually kind of adorable.”

While you two started digging into the cake, your mom paused, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Hold on—I think the family album’s in the living room. I’ll go grab it.”

Your stomach sank. “Mom…”

Jason tilted his head, curious. “Family album?”

“Oh, it’s mostly pictures of this one growing up,” she said, pointing at you with a grin. She disappeared down the hallway, leaving you and Jason alone for a moment. You shot him a nervous glance.

“Trust me,” you whispered, “this it’s going to be painful."

A few minutes later, she returned, album in hand, her grin impossibly wide. “Alright, kids, brace yourselves!”

She flipped open the pages, and soon Jason was laughing along with you at your childhood antics; Halloween costumes where you were inexplicably wrapped like a burrito, the time you flooded the kitchen trying to give your nephew a bath, crayon-eating sessions, and countless diaper disasters.

Jason shook his head, still chuckling. “You… were a weird kid.”

“Yeah… apparently, some things never change.”

After the cake break, and the humiliation of the family album, you and Jason slogged through the rest of your homework. By the time you both finished, the sun was dipping low and the apartment felt quieter, softer.

When your mom started clearing the table, Jason stood up without hesitation. “Here, let me help.”

“You don’t have to—” she began, but he was already stacking plates and carrying them to the sink.

A few minutes later, he was elbow-deep in suds, carefully rinsing dishes while your mom dried beside him. They traded easy small talk, her laughter ringing through the kitchen at something he said. You leaned against the doorway, watching. Your mom kept sneaking little approving glances at him, the kind she usually reserved for rare miracles, like when one of your siblings actually remembered to do their chores.

By the time they finished, you were pretty sure your mom was completely smitten with Jason Todd.

“Oh, honey, you definitely have to come by more often!” your mom said as Jason slipped his shoes on in the hallway.

Jason glanced up, clearly caught off guard. Before he could respond, she reached out and ruffled his hair like he’d been hers all along. He froze for half a second, wide-eyed, then let out a startled laugh.

“Uh—thanks, ma’am,” he said, scratching the back of his neck once she pulled her hand away. His voice was polite, but there was something softer underneath it, something almost shy.

You caught the look on his face, the way his surprise lingered, almost like he wasn’t used to this kind of easy affection. Maybe it had been a while since anyone’s mom treated him like he belonged. As she headed back into the apartment, Jason adjusted his backpack, still looking thoughtful. Then he muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “Your mom’s… kinda great.”

You grinned, bumping his shoulder. “She’s already adopted you.”

He just smiled.

“See you tomorrow, Ankle Biter.”

“Don’t start with that.”

“Sorry,” he wasn’t sorry. 

It didn’t take long before you found yourself at Wayne Manor. By mid-July, the city was baking under the kind of heat that made the asphalt shimmer and the air feel heavy. Your grades had climbed, thanks in no small part to Jason’s relentless tutoring and your mom, pleased with the results, finally relaxed enough to let you enjoy a Saturday morning at Bruce Wayne’s pool. The idea of setting foot in that mansion still felt surreal, but the promise of cool water on a sweltering day was enough to push the nerves aside.

You were clutching your backpack and a pair of pink goggles when the enormous front doors creaked open. Instead of Jason, or even Bruce Wayne himself, you were met by a tall, neatly dressed man with the kind of posture that made him look both intimidating and gentle all at once.

“Good morning, Miss,” he said warmly, dipping his head in greeting. “You must be Master Jason’s guest. Welcome to Wayne Manor.”

You blinked up at him, momentarily forgetting the goggles in your hand. “Uh… hi.”

“I’m Alfred. Master Jason mentioned you’d be joining us today.” He stepped aside, gesturing toward the sweeping entryway behind him. “Please, come in. Shoes off if you plan to go near the pool. I do insist on keeping the floors spotless.”

You stepped inside, the marble floor gleaming beneath your sneakers, the air cool compared to the heavy July heat outside. Before you could say anything else, heavy footsteps echoed from the grand staircase. Jason came jogging down two steps at a time, hair a little messy, a smug grin already plastered on his face.

“Took you long enough,” he said, eyeing the goggles in your hand. “Nice look. Very intimidating.”

“Master Jason,” Alfred chided lightly, though his eyes held the faintest hint of amusement. “I’ll remind you that a good host welcomes his guests, not mocks their swimwear.”

Then he turned back to you, his voice polite as ever.

“Shall I bring refreshments to the pool, Miss, or would you prefer to settle in first?”

“Um… I don’t know, maybe—” you started, fumbling for an answer.

Before you could finish, Jason grabbed your wrist. “She’ll figure it out later,” he cut in, already tugging you toward the hallway.

“Jason—” you protested, stumbling after him.

Alfred’s lips twitched, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his composure as he watched the two of you disappear. “Very well,” he murmured to himself, already making a mental note to prepare lemonade anyway.

“Jesus,” you breathed, your eyes darting from the towering walls to the gleaming chandeliers. “Your house is… huge.”

Jason smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction as you trailed behind him, taking in every ridiculous detail of Wayne Manor’s endless hallways. But the second you stepped outside, all the polished wood and fancy décor vanished from your mind. Your jaw practically hit the ground.

The pool stretched out in front of you, sparkling under the July sun like something out of a magazine. It wasn’t just big, it was massive, the kind of pool that could probably fit your entire apartment building inside it.

Jason caught the look on your face. “Yeah,” he said casually. “Kinda beats the community pool, huh?”

Before you knew it, you were in the pool with Jason, the cool water a relief from the sticky heat. Within seconds, the two of you had devolved into chaos, splashing, dunking, and laughing so hard you could barely catch your breath.

Jason tried to push you under, but you kicked out and sent a wave straight into his face. He came up sputtering, hair plastered to his forehead.

“Oh, you’re dead,” he warned, grinning.

You squealed and swam away as fast as you could, only for him to catch your ankle and tug you back, both of you thrashing and laughing loud enough to echo across the entire yard.

It wasn’t elegant, or graceful, or anything remotely like what you imagined swimming at a billionaire’s pool might look like. But it was fun.

“Wait, wait, wait! I need water!” you called, water dripping from your hair as it plastered itself across your face.

You clambered out of the pool, the tiles slippery under your feet. Water splashed across the floor as you trudged toward the kitchen, still in your Minnie Mouse bathing suit and pink diving goggles, hair sticking in every direction.

Jason called after you, laughing. “Hey! Watch the floors!”

You barely heard him over the squelching sound of your wet footprints. You stomped into the kitchen, dripping water everywhere, hair plastered to your face and pink goggles still perched crookedly on your head and then—

He was there.

An older boy, maybe seventeen or eighteen, leaning casually against the counter. His black hair fell in soft, natural waves, and his blue eyes were bright, full of energy even as they casually scanned the kitchen. His posture was effortless, every movement smooth and confident, and the kind of grin he wore made your heart skip a beat. Your twelve-year-old brain short-circuited. Every coherent thought evaporated. He wasn’t just cute, he was everything your pre-teen imagination could dream up: athletic, graceful, and handsome in a way that made your stomach twist.

You blinked at him like an idiot, water dripping off your arms and legs, goggles slipping down your forehead, and your entire body felt like it had forgotten how to move.

“Uh… hi?”

“Water,” you squeaked, your voice sounding like a squeaky cartoon mouse instead of a human being.

His head tilted slightly, amused. He pointed toward the fridge. “Over there.”

You nodded so fast it was probably alarming, barely noticing your heart pounding in your ears. You grabbed the water bottle from the fridge, hands shaking so badly you nearly dropped it. Your brain had officially shut down. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t form a sentence, couldn’t even process how someone could look like that.

The older boy studied you for a moment, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You… you’re Jason’s friend, right?”

Your throat went dry. Words existed somewhere in your brain, but they refused to cooperate. All you could do was nod violently, blinking so fast it was a miracle your pink goggles stayed on.

“Uh-huh,” you squeaked.

He leaned a little closer. “Nice. I’m Dick.”

“Uh-huh."

Before he could say anything else, Dick flashed that grin again, his white, perfect teeth, and you almost screamed. Panicking, you spun on your heels and bolted back toward the pool, your wet feet slipping slightly on the shiny floor. You wobbled, arms flailing, barely catching yourself before a full-on faceplant.

From behind you, Dick’s laughter rang out, warm and amused. “Careful, kid!” he called, still grinning.

You didn’t reply, too busy trying to regain your balance and convincing yourself your heart wasn’t trying to leap out of your chest.

You officially hated boys.