Work Text:
If Jason had to guess, he’d say that each tire could quite easily go for twenty-five dollars. That’s a hundred dollars of food. A hundred dollars of warmer clothes. A hundred dollars of maybe renting the corner of Candy’s shabby one room apartment. A hundred dollars he doesn’t have to get that way.
“Um…” Jason turned around, and goddamn, that’s probably the owner of this goddamn car. The man, hereby referred to by The-Man-In-The-Hat, was very tall and strong-looking. “What are you planning to do with my tires?”
Jason looked at him for a second, looked at the tools of his trade in his hands, looked to the car, and looked back to The-Man-In-The-Hat. He decided to do what any boy in his position would do.
He ran.
“Master Bruce, are you sure this is wise?” Alfred asked, checking the door every few minutes to check for Dick. If he was correct, Alfred would imagine that Dick might be quite hurt at the prospects Bruce were contemplating.
“I’ve never been more sure, Alfred,” Bruce said, buttering his bread. “If you’d seen him, Alfred. He couldn’t have been younger than eleven, but he looked like he was eight, he was so thin. Tall, though. I’m telling you, Alfred, I assure you, I won’t regret this. So, I need a warm jacket and a called in favor with that artist!”
“Master Bruce, I’m not sure Master Dick will-”
“I won’t what?” Dick said, sauntering into the dinning room. He looked as suave as he always did after school, hair still gelled perfectly and artfully rumpled uniform.
“Nothing, Dick. I’ve just decided something, and Alfred is unsure of how it will pan out.”
“Well, isn’t Alfred usually right about these things?” Dick asked, as Bruce prepared for the harsh winds and snow the storm was serving outside.
Bruce placed a gloved hand on his shoulder. “Not this time, I think not.”
“Bruce, it’s storming out. Hard. Maybe it could wait until at least after dinner?”
“I’m afraid not, Dick.” Dick just furrowed his brow.
“Is this the boy you told us about, Mister Wayne?” the policeman asked, holding Jason by the collar of his shirt. Mister Wayne. Huh, so he’d tried to steal the Prince of Gotham’s tires...Sweet.
“Yes, Commissioner,” Wayne said, offering his hand. The policeman released Jason and shook his hand. Jason tried to dart away, ‘cause be saw an exit symbol out of the corner of his eye.
Wayne caught him just in time. “I don’t think so, son,” the commissioner said, grabbing him again by the back of his shirt. “Mister Wayne wants to talk to you for a minute.”
Jason raised an eyebrow and turned to Wayne. “What?” Wayne looked around for a second and then nodded to a row of chairs against the wall adjacent to the one they had been talking near. Jason followed him, as the faster he was done with Mister Billionaire, the faster he could escape.
“So, what’s your name?” Wayne asked, smiling brightly, and resting his arm on the back of Jason’s chair.
“What’s yours?” he retorted, crossing his arms. He knew, but he wasn’t going to tell his name to some guy who wouldn’t tell him his.
Wayne’s smile turned to a smirk, “Bruce Wayne, call me Bruce.”
Jason knew this from the ‘Mister Wayne’s Gordon was handing out. “Jason. Todd.”
Today was going well.
Admittedly, it was only seven a.m., but Dick isn’t the type to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Roy had called Dick to say he was pretty sure Ollie was going to let him come over soon, if not this weekend. And Roy had his license. They could do things without the hawk eyes of Bruce, Ollie, Alfred or Dinah knowing. (The only downside to Roy calling was that he always either forgot the time difference or went the wrong way. This time, the latter, ending up with a four a.m. phone call from a sleep deprived Californian.)
To add to the awesome, Alfred had made him pancakes this morning. Pancakes! Bruce usually kept things healthy, with bran based cereals laced with fiber and concentrated boredom, sometimes with a side of egg whites, and always with skim milk. But not this morning! This morning Alfred made fluffy, buttery, syrupy PANCAKES!
Plus? A snow day! The snowing hadn’t stopped at all through the night. Of course, Dick only knew this because he’d stayed up all night waiting for Bruce to get home. Dick asked Alfred this morning, and he said he didn’t arrive until two in the morn-
“Mister Pennyworth?” Dick turned around. Standing in the doorway of the kitchen was a strange, skinny, smelly boy. “I forg-you never showed me where the bathroom was.”
Strange, skinny, smelly, and rude.
Alfred hummed at the boy, grasping his shoulder loosely. As he led the boy back down the hall, he looked back at Dick, saying with his eyes that he’d explain momentarily.
Damn right you’ll explain momentarily. Though Dick had thought it pretty hard, he hadn’t actually said it. That didn’t stop Alfred from giving him a look that said he knew, anyway.
Obviously, if Alfred knew about the boy, then he hadn’t broken in. Hell, he knew Alfred’s name. Plus, Wayne Manor was a fortress, born from Bruce’s intense paranoia of the press ruining Dick’s childhood.
Dick spent the time it took Alfred to bring the smelly little boy to the bathroom on the second floor and back cursing Bruce and the horse he rode in on.
Once Alfred arrived, Dick started right in, “Who was the boy? Why was he in the house? Why does he know your name? Does Bruce know he’s here? Are you related to him? Why did he smell like he hadn’t bathed in months? Why was he so skinny? Why is he here?”
Alfred gave Dick a strictly displeased look, the kind he gave, not when Dick was doing the displeasing, but Bruce. “Now, Master Richard, I know you weren’t prepared, completely unaware, of this situation, but...Master Bruce is very sure this is a good idea.”
“And, what, exactly, is this idea?” Dick asked, dropping his fork into his plate, and crossing his arms. The pancakes that he had looked so forward to eating now felt heavy in his stomach.
“Master Dick,” Alfred said, but stopped. He pulled a bar stool next to Dick’s place at he island. He gently laid a hand on Dick’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Master Richard, Master Bruce has adopted Master Jason.”
Dick felt the ground fall from under him. He looked down to his knotted fingers, felt his chin start to quiver. He viciously bit his lower lip. “Am I...am I not enough for him?” Am I getting too old for him to want me anymore? Am I not good enough? Was I never good enough? Doesn’t he love me? Dick felt a tear slip down his cheek, as, even though he didn’t voice the questions, they were probably more important.
Alfred moved his arm so he was half embracing Dick, “Master Richard, that’s not it at all. Master Bruce loves you, so very dearly. He just-Jason needs his help too, just as much as you did. Perhaps even more. He doesn’t have an entire circus willing to take him into their home.”
Dick felt someone wipe a tear from his cheek. He turned to Alfred, but it wasn’t him. Bruce stood there, and held out his arms for Dick. Dick jumped up, right into his arms. Bruce wrapped his arms around his waist, keeping Dick suspended about six inches suspended in the air.
“Dick. You know I love you, and you’ll always be my little Robin, but Jason...Jason has no one and no where, and I was hoping this could become his place to belong, like it became for you.” Bruce looked at him with hopeful eyes and Dick sniffled. “Dick, hearts aren’t solid rooms with stable walls and a confined amount of space. They’re like a circus tent, that can be stretched and added onto, so they have enough space to fit as much as needed.”
Bruce put his hand on Dick’s cheek, wiping away another stray tear with his calloused thumb. Dick pressed his cheek into the hand and nodded. “Okay,” he finally murmured, “I just wish you’d told me before he came in smelling like garbage and asking where the bathroom is.”
Bruce cuffed the back of his head, and gave him a light noogie.
“Alright, Jason my boy, I just have one rule!” Dick gesticulated, waving his free arm about and tightening the arm around Jason. Dick had insisted on giving him the “brothers-only” tour of the mansion. To try to bond, Jason was sure. “One, don’t go in my room. Two, don’t question the wardrobe.”
Jason looked at his “brother,” and could understand the second ruling. To tell the truth, he probably would have said something, if Dick hadn’t said that. Dick was wearing bright green bike shorts with a blood red overside tank-top (maybe Bruce’s? Probably, given the size) and an oversized mustard yellow sweatshirt. Also...green slippers shaped like Peter Pan’s pixie boots.
Jason sighed, and ran a hand through his red hair. It was getting long, maybe Candy would-No, Candy wouldn’t, because a rich Wayne boy would never be seen with a trick. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.
“Alright, so this is the Drawing Room. I don’t know why it’s called that, but it’s pretty much a living room outside, well beside, Bruce’s office. Which is through there, and next door in the hall. Also? The office is off limits, unless it’s after six or the weekend.” Dick kept blathering on, Jason only listening when he wanted to. He was kinda sick of listening to Dick talk, but he didn’t want to offend him. Bruce might kick him out if he didn’t get along with his Golden Robin.
“Master Richard, Mister Harper is on the phone for you,” Alfred said, holding the cordless in the door way.
Dick seemed to brighten, and ran to the door. “Roy! Dude! You’ll never guess what Bruce did!...Oh my, god! Really?...I’ll be right down to the gate!” He started to leave, but at the last second , turned around, “Jason, dude, are you coming? My friend, Roy, is down stairs and I want him to meet my new baby brother!”
“I’m not a baby,” Jason said, even as he moved to the door. There may not be a Candy and he may not be able to pick-pocket anymore, but maybe this was a place he could finally belong.