Work Text:
Jason made a decent start at his new life in Bludhaven. Left the Batmobile and the Bat behind him for a fresh start in a city with no masked vigilantes. He didn’t have to worry about silent monsters dropping behind him and scaring the living shit out of him. Jason had gotten away, but Gotham was Bat territory through and through, and there was no way Jason was sticking around after he got caught boosting the Bat’s tires.
He was honestly surprised he got away. Sure, he’d hit Batman with a tire iron, but it was Batman. Jason had spent the rest of the night curled up in a hole and as soon as dawn broke, he’d counted up his cash, swiped a wallet, and bought a ticket to Bludhaven.
Jason had spent the entire trip checking over his shoulder.
But that was done and over with. Surely Bludhaven didn’t have any vigilantes, only Gotham was that crazy.
Despite that, Jason had stayed away from tires. Bludhaven was a party city in a way that Gotham wasn’t, so there were always people to pick pockets, and even though the casinos and pubs had bouncers, Jason was small and ran fast and knew how to hide.
He’d missed his target tonight, though, having caught a bouncer’s gaze at the wrong time and booked it, and his stomach was gnawing painfully. Jason knew from past experience that he didn’t have to eat tonight, but it would be worse tomorrow, and the lady at the restaurant that always had an extra sweet bun for him was beginning to get suspicious.
Jason idly strolled down the road, hands in his pockets, glancing into every alleyway he passed. It was late—late late, late enough that no one should be outside, and there was anonymity in the darkness. No one was watching him. No one cared.
It was both loneliness and freedom.
Jason snuck a peek in the next alley, and froze. There was a motorbike in the shadows, gleaming against the grime, black with blue accents. It looked powerful. It looked sleek. It looked expensive.
It looked like it belonged to someone extremely stupid because it was all by itself in a back alley with absolutely no defenses against being stolen.
Jason wasn’t as good as hotwiring as he was at removing tires, but the motorcycle was a dream, there was no one around him, and this was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Taking some hotshot’s bike to the chop shop would net him both a serious windfall and connections for the future, and all Jason had to do was figure out what wires went where.
He was sitting on the bike to get a better position, squinting at the wires that connected the ignition switch. He thought he had to take the red wire and put it in the empty slot, but he had the feeling he was getting mixed up. He counted the wires again—the darkness was not helping matters.
One, two, three—
A warmth pressed tight against his back, a hold snaking around his neck, and a breath tickling his ear. “Didn’t anyone teach you to keep your paws off other people’s stuff?”
Jason immediately started struggling, and the hold around his neck tightened, not suffocating but terrifying. He couldn’t move, he was pinned utterly in place, someone pressed flush against his back and keeping his arms at his side.
“Whoa,” the voice sounded surprised, “You’re…smaller than I was expecting.”
Jason’s voice finally started working. “Let me go!” he snapped, but his voice came out in a wheeze, “Let me go, I didn’t do anything!”
“I can see the wires sticking out of my bike.”
“How was I supposed to know it was your bike?” Jason wriggled harder, “It was just lying abandoned in an alley!”
“So that means it’s free game?” the voice huffed a tinkling laugh. It would’ve sounded more pleasant if Jason wasn’t pressed against a hard line of muscle. “Come on, kid, just tell me who you’re working for and I’ll let you go.”
“I’m not working for anyone!” Jason tried to kick his legs, tried to kick back, tried to wrench at the grip around his chest but nothing was working. “Just let me go!”
“Right, you decided to sabotage my bike of your own free will,” the voice snorted, “You can—”
“I wasn’t trying to sabotage it,” Jason said indignantly. He didn’t want to kill anyone. But if that was the first thing his assailant’s mind had jumped to—Jason swallowed. Just whose bike had he attempted to steal?
“Right, then what were you doing?” the voice asked.
“Um. Trying—trying to steal it,” Jason said in a small voice.
There was a stretching moment of silence.
“Kid, you’re pint-sized,” the voice burst out laughing, “How were you going to drive it? Where would you even go?”
Jason hissed and struggled harder—the man’s hands had loosened, which left Jason the barest of opportunities—
He wrenched himself from the grip and slid off the bike to make a run for it. Jason managed to get both feet on the ground, but that was as far as he got. In one smooth motion, his arms were caught and pulled behind him, and he was spun around to be pinned against the bike.
Everything went cold.
He was practically leaning over the bike, forced up on his tiptoes by the angle, crushed into the hard leather seat. His shoulders were screaming at the tight grip on his wrists, and hips pressed flush against his ass, legs on either side of him and forcing him still. He could feel something hard pressing against his ass.
No.
No.
Please no—
He’d managed to escape in Gotham every time, but it looked like his luck had turned—
And there was no Batman here, no chance of a miracle rescue—
Please—
He didn’t know which of the pleas were in his head and which were aloud, he could only hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears like a drumbeat reverberating through his bones. His face was wet and he shivered, waiting for his clothes to be ripped off, for the grip to tighten, for the pain to get worse.
“—kid? Kid, I’m not going to hurt you. Sh—sugar cookies, kid, please stop crying, I swear I’m not going to hurt you—”
A particularly violent sob tore through him and the tightness in his shoulders loosened, the heavy weight on top of him stepping away. Jason’s legs were jelly, though, and in the absence of anything holding him up, he slid roughly to his knees, loose gravel pressing painfully against threadbare jeans.
Jason kept his face pressed against the side of the motorcycle, breaths hitching loudly, waiting for a hand to twist in his hair and pull him towards—
A soft touch on his shoulder. “Kid,” said a voice barely a whisper, “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” There wasn’t even any effort in the lie. Jason dragged his head up to face his captor—and blinked when he saw the man crouching next to him. There was a domino mask visible even through his blurry vision. “Can I get you home?”
Jason, still transfixed by the mask—he thought Bludhaven was free of these lunatics—mumbled automatically, “Don’t have a home.” The man was dressed in some kind of dark, form-fitting armor, blue accents splashed across his chest and down his arms, the same color as the bike. It vaguely looked like a bird.
“Okay,” the voice sounded sadder, “Then I’ll take you to a shelter, they’ll have food and you can get warm and—”
Jason abruptly refocused on the conversation and scrambled up, heart pounding. He was still trapped between the man and the bike. “I’m not going to a shelter,” Jason hissed, wishing he had the comforting weight of his tire iron in his hands.
The man straightened up slower, hands held up in a conciliatory gesture. “The streets aren’t safe,” he said slowly, “You need—”
“Yeah, and I suppose the traffickers are a better option,” Jason snapped, pressed back as far as he could. If he just boosted himself over the seat of the motorcycle…
“The what?”
“The traffickers,” Jason repeated flatly, glaring at the man, “Don’t pretend like you don’t know all the shelters are just fronts.” The foster care system was shit in Gotham too, but there it was just a recruitment network for the gangs. Bludhaven was a coastal city and trafficking had a foothold here, what with all the drunk tourists and downtrodden poor.
The man was staring at him like he’d never heard that before.
“The fuck kind of mask are you supposed to be?” Jason asked judgmentally, “Everyone knows that the traffickers got people at the shelters.”
That jolted the man out of his stupor, but instead of getting angry or attacking Jason or trying to make him shut up, the man let out a groan and rubbed at his face. “I’m…new,” the man said quietly, “I haven’t—I didn’t know.” Well, that explained why Jason had never heard of a vigilante in Bludhaven. “I’m sorry,” the man blew out a weary breath, “I wasn’t trying to put you in more danger.”
Jason eyed him warily. The man had actually backed off, putting more space between him and Jason, and there was enough of a gap that Jason could sprint past him and out the alley. The guy hadn’t even drawn his weapons, Jason could see the hilts sticking out from his back.
“Okay, how about this,” the man said, “I buy you a meal and you tell me everything you know about the traffickers.”
Jason’s stomach chose that moment to remind him that he hadn’t eaten anything aside from a roll for breakfast. Snitches may get stitches, but in Gotham Jason knew a couple of people that passed info along to the Batman to supplement their income, and besides, it wasn’t like anyone here knew or cared enough about Jason to go after him.
“I don’t even know who you are,” Jason said bluntly.
The man jerked in surprise before grinning ruefully. “I’m Nightwing,” he said, extending his hand, “Do we have a deal?”
Jason eyed him in suspicion one last time before his stomach made the decision for him. “Jason,” he said, mimicking the man’s tone, “And I guess we do.”
Nightwing was as good as his word—Jason got a whole bunch of delicious food, and all Nightwing did was tell him to slow down while Jason attempted to inhale the food and give the vigilante his information at the same time. Nightwing was taking diligent notes, listening to Jason’s sparse information with disconcerting focus, but he didn’t radiate the grim darkness of Batman and he managed to make the waitress laugh.
He almost reminded Jason of Robin. Jason had only met the Boy Wonder once before Robin disappeared, but the slightly mischievous smiles were nearly identical.
Of course, it was when Nightwing was helping Jason pack up all the extra food that the catch dropped. “I know you said you can take care of yourself,” Nightwing began slowly and Jason tensed, “But I’d feel a lot better if you had a roof over your head.” Jason watched him warily. “I’m not suggesting a shelter,” Nightwing raised his hands in surrender, “There’s some people I know in the city. People I trust. They wouldn’t mind letting you stay in the spare room while I get rid of the traffickers.”
Wow, he was optimistic. This guy thought he was the second coming of Batman or something.
“What’s the catch?” Jason said suspiciously, “How am I supposed to pay for the room?”
Nightwing looked taken aback. “No, nothing like that. You gave me a lot of information, I just want you to be safe. Somewhere the traffickers won’t be able to get to you.”
Jason didn’t give Nightwing that much information, but if the guy was really this new, it made sense for him to want to protect his informants. “Like witness protection?” Jason probed.
“Sure, we can call it that,” Nightwing said with that reassuring-Robin smile, and Jason was helpless to resist.
“Okay,” Jason said slowly, “But I get to leave whenever I want.”
“Of course, Jason.”
Jason tried to tell himself that he could take whatever contact Nightwing left him with if it turned out that their motives were less than altruistic…right up until Nightwing deposited him in front of a door in a moderately expensive apartment building, rang the doorbell, and disappeared.
Jason was left fidgeting on the doorstep for half a minute before it was yanked open, revealing a breathless teenager on the other side.
“Hi, Jason!” blue eyes pierced into him, accompanied by a wide smile, “Nightwing mentioned that he’d be dropping off a guest. I’m Dick.”
Jason stared blankly at the teenager who was clearly Nightwing without his domino mask and suit, and wondered if the world would make sense if he banged his head against the door hard enough. “Dick?” he said instead.
“It’s short for Richard,” Dick-Nightwing volunteered with that same blinding smile, “Come in! Are you hungry? Do you need anything?”
“I just ate,” Jason said, half-holding up the bag of leftovers. Dick looked at it like he hadn’t helped Jason pack them in the first place. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Great, I’ll show you to your room, then,” Dick said, heading deeper into the apartment. It was a mess, with what looked like a cursory attempt to tidy anything in direct view of the front door.
“How well do you know Nightwing?” Jason poked as he followed after the teen. If this was some split personality crap, Jason was getting the hell out of here.
But Dick’s shoulders tensed and his airy laugh was obviously fake. “Well, I guess? I mean he’s pretty new—well, not that new—I mean, I knew him before he was Nightwing—but I didn’t know him forever or anything—”
Jason resisted the urge to facepalm.
Dick—Dick Grayson, the teen had volunteered the next morning over a meal of over-sugared cereal, and why did that name sound so familiar—was indeed new to Bludhaven, having arrived only a month or so before Jason. Nightwing had some good moves, and Dick moved with a fluidity that Jason had seen only in Batman and Robin, like every once in a while he deigned to let gravity do its job.
He was also, unfortunately, an idiot.
Jason was on guard for all of one day before Dick came stumbling out of his room the second morning, bleary-eyed, and shuffled to the kitchen where Jason had made toast and eggs, where he then proceeded to stare at Jason for a stretching eternity like he’d completely forgotten that Jason existed.
Dick was a kid—an adult, legally, older than Jason, sure, but Jason didn’t miss the lack of any other adult presence in his life, and Nightwing was kind of a mess. Jason bemoaned the fact that Dick was actually trying to hide his vigilante alter ego, because Jason had to pretend to be willfully blind to the random bruises and cuts that kept cropping up on Dick’s skin, and the muffled cursing at two in the morning when Nightwing got back from patrol, and the amount of notes and newspaper clippings and stray weapons Jason found while he was cleaning the apartment.
Look, he was itching at staying here for free, and itching even worse at staying in a pigsty. Besides, Dick didn’t even notice that Jason had sorted his files.
Nightwing was going after the traffickers and street chatter was beginning to repeat Nightwing’s name with the same sort of wary awe that Batman got in Gotham. Jason was willing to go out on a limb and believe that Dick Grayson was the good guy.
He just wasn’t sure how Dick had gotten involved in all this.
Despite his utter lack of subtlety, Dick was scarily good at deflection, and any attempt to pry further into Nightwing was met by Dick easily and swiftly changing the topic. Jason was currently reaping the results of one of those conversation switches, curled up on the couch with a book and his brand new library card in his pocket.
“Lasagna okay, Jaybird?” Dick called from the kitchen.
“Sure,” Jason called back easily, and scowled when his field of view was blocked by a grinning face, “What?”
“Nothing,” Dick chirped, tousling his hair in easy, casual affection, and Jason grumbled as he straightened his hair but couldn’t entirely suppress the warmth inside of him. It was nice. Jason had wanted a sibling for the longest time, and Dick was everything Jason imagined an older brother would be.
Dick started singing something in the kitchen, alternating between humming and loud, clear lyrics, and Jason rolled his eyes. He knew if he checked, Dick would be dancing on the tile, moving with that easy grace.
Of all the homes he’d been in, this was certainly the best.
The thought made him slightly cold. These things never lasted, Jason had learned that lesson well, but he didn’t know what to watch for. What combination of disasters would strike, how many people would get caught in the crossfire, what it would take for Jason to finally learn that happiness was a thing for other people—
Silence.
The apartment was silent.
Jason leapt off the couch before he consciously registered that Dick had stopped singing, and grabbed the spare baton-thing he’d hid under the couch before running into the kitchen.
He lost his brief element of surprise when he stopped dead in the kitchen doorway. Both the occupants turned to stare at him.
“A child,” Batman growled, somehow looking more forbidding under the fluorescent light, “You brought a child into this.”
“Okay, one, that’s rich, coming from you,” Dick snapped, brandishing a ladle at Batman, “And two, Jason is none of your business.”
“He’s in my apartment, that makes it my business,” Batman said, not even glancing at Jason. Jason was frozen in place, baton in his white-knuckled grip, terror yawning wide.
“Your apartment?” Dick’s voice rose sharply, “Your apartment? Last time I checked, that bank account was under my name, but I suppose I couldn’t expect anything else from you. You can have the fucking trust fund back, and all your gear too, and—”
“You’re getting angry. Calm down.”
“Calm down?” Dick looked near-feral right now, but Jason couldn’t move. Couldn’t budge. His muscles were locked in place and all that was running through his head was how fucked he was. “Fuck you, B, you don’t get to order me around!”
Batman’s tires. Batman’s apartment. Jason didn’t know how many bones he’d get to walk away with.
“If you would just listen,” Batman growled, but Dick cut him off, high-pitched and furious.
“I’m sick and tired of pandering to your paranoia—”
“Robin.” The word came out despite Jason’s numbness, the last piece of the puzzle slotting into place. “You’re Robin.”
Dick Grayson. Trust fund. Nightwing. Capes. If Dick Grayson was Robin, then Batman was—
Jason refocused to see both Batman and Nightwing staring at him. Dick looked taken aback. Batman looked—Batman looked like a nightmare, mouth grim, white lenses narrowed, hands clenched into fists.
Tires. Apartment. And now a secret identity. Batman didn’t kill, and Jason didn’t find that the slightest bit comforting.
This was going to hurt. This was going to hurt a lot, and not just the broken bones but losing Nightwing, even though Jason should’ve fucking known that getting involved with capes wouldn’t end anywhere good.
“—ason? Jaybird? Jay, can you hear—”
Someone was gasping, loud and choked, like they couldn’t breathe. Jason distantly felt the baton slip through his fingers, but didn’t hear it hit the floor. The world was going oddly blurry.
“Jaybird—Jaybird, breathe—”
Dick was right in front of him, blue eyes a spot of color in the rapidly dimming world, and Jason focused on that as everything spun around him. There was a pressure on his chest, pushing down and off and down and off. “Breathe, Jay, come on, you can do it, inhale, yes, just like that—” He blinked, and realized that the underside of the kitchen table had replaced the ceiling, Dick’s worried face still in place. “—now exhale, slow and deep, good job, Jaybird, inhale again—” His heartbeat was loud and tinny in his ears.
Jason obeyed Dick’s orders, sucking in air on his count and releasing it as slow as he could, until his lungs stopped burning and the world returned to a shaky clarity. Jason was half curled up underneath the kitchen table, Dick sitting cross-legged in front of him and holding him upright with the grip on his shoulders.
There was a pair of dark boots in Jason’s field of view.
Dick followed Jason’s gaze, his expression tightened, and he immediately moved in between Batman and Jason. Pathetically, the paltry protection made Jason feel better.
“Ignore him,” Dick said firmly. Ignore Batman? Well, Jason guessed, if you were Robin, that was easy to say… “I won’t let him touch you.” Jason dared to lean a little forward, into Dick’s grip. “Are you feeling better? Can you breathe?”
Jason nodded.
“It’s just Batman,” Dick whispered to him, “His bark’s worse than his bite.”
Jason shook his head, his heart crawling into his throat.
“No? Why are you scared of him?”
Jason couldn’t make the words come out. Not with Batman right there. He wasn’t going to incriminate himself.
“He attempted to steal the tires off the Batmobile,” Batman growled.
Dick stared at him in abject shock. Jason tensed, waiting for Dick to push him away, or haul him out to face Batman’s justice. Dick’s expression changed, slowly, haltingly, until it screwed up and he started shaking.
Laughing. Dick was laughing. “That was you?” Dick wheezed, “Oh, I’m so much happier that I found you. You know how many people have the guts to rob the Batmobile? You’re my new hero, Jaybird.”
Before Jason could respond, the low growl came back, “You weren’t the one who had to spend several minutes hunting through alleys to get the tires back.”
Dick rolled his eyes and reached a hand out to Jason. “Don’t tease, you’re frightening Jason,” he said with a distinctly admonishing tone, and Jason hesitated before placing his hand in Robin’s. “It’s okay, you’re safe here.”
Jason still stayed behind Dick when they crawled out from under the table, clutching the hem of Dick’s shirt to ensure that the vigilante was between him and Batman. Batman made no move to get any closer.
“And why is he here?” Batman asked.
“Because I—” Dick started, and stopped, “Because Nightwing—” he glanced over his shoulder at Jason and broke off again.
Jason took pity on him. “I know you’re Nightwing,” he mumbled.
Dick’s expression twisted briefly in consternation before smoothing out, “Jason told me that the shelters and the foster care system has been taken over by traffickers, so I suggested he stay with me while I deal with them.”
“Hn,” Batman said noncommittedly.
“I don’t need your help,” Dick said sharply, reading more into the sound than Jason had.
“Are you going to take on the entire system by yourself? With a corrupt police force?” Batman asked quietly.
“I was thinking of joining the BPD—”
“And take care of Jason?” Batman added on. Jason scowled. He didn’t need to be taken care of.
Dick gave Jason a distraught look, though. “I don’t need your help,” he said again, but now it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than Batman.
Batman didn’t respond for a long moment, and Jason ducked further behind Dick when that heavy regard landed on him. “It’s been awhile since you last visited Alfred,” Batman said, “And you can take Jason with you.”
“Who’s Alfred?” Jason interjected.
“He’s kind of like my grandfather,” Dick said absently, before tensing and turning towards Batman, “What, no lecture about names?”
“Your young guest has already put the pieces together.”
Dick and Batman were both staring at him again.
“You’re Bruce Wayne,” Jason said, which sounded ridiculous out loud, but Batman actually took off his cowl, and Jason met steel-blue eyes before he ducked behind Dick again.
“Bruce isn’t going to hurt you,” Dick said quietly, but he didn’t make any move to step away from Jason, “Besides, you figured out the family secret! You’re practically one of us already.”
One of them? One of the Bats? Jason peeked up at Dick’s amused expression.
“Hey, Jaybird, how would you like another look at Batmobile?”