Chapter Text
The rain grates on the windows of the warehouse, raging, demanding to be let in. The wind howls, a warning for anything that moves and breathes that everything else that dares step outside will be lost in its might.
It was raining well before Bruce started his stake out, on a grate near the ceiling of the warehouse near pier 14: he disappeared in the shadows of that corner three hours ago and hadn’t moved since.
He is waiting for him.
Forty-two minutes before, the main door was opened by a group of six people, each with a not so subtly hidden gun in their waistbands, completely drenched even with their raincoats on.
The one he presumes is the leader, a woman with dyed red hair, shrugged the rain off like a cat and made the rest of the crew laugh by bellowing a curse against god.
They marched towards the most hidden container, the one directly underneath Bruce, the only one with an indelible black mark on, and sat there, in a very composed and serious way.
By the eighteenth minute of waiting, they abandoned their professionalism and started a candy crush tournament.
He is late. Which is not a surprise to Batman.
Black Mask always arrives forty-five minutes late to the prescheduled time of meeting.
He likes the feeling of having the power to do whatever he pleases with your time.
In the last three months Batman has tailed him like a shadow: impossible to perceive and ever-present.
He knows that he likes to wear only white Armani suits, so that he can make a show out of how untouchable he is. He knows that he can’t eat mussels because he is deathly allergic to sea food. He knows that every Friday, he locks every door of his penthouse and closes the curtains so that he can play God of War without interference, and that his lieutenants think he is seeing an escort.
He knows that he has ordered the death of thirty-six people, nine of whom were his subordinates, that he leaves no trace behind and that he has at least four people who will take the blame for him if someone tries to investigate.
Not one crime off of his extensive list can be tied back to Black Mask himself.
He knows that Roman Sionis and his contacts in Central City have been planning the exchange that will take place in this warehouse for two weeks, to smuggle in a new substance for a mysterious buyer.
He knows that, for whatever reason, Black Mask, king of Gotham’s illegal trades, will be present tonight to check the substance.
And that this is how they will finally get him.
-Still no words from the boss?- asks a man, probably in his fifties, with wrinkles on his tanned face.
-Nope- says a young boy, who should be home studying for his college exams and not in a warehouse to supervise illegal trades of forbidden drugs, while beating lever 356 of candy crush.
-Maybe he chickened out because of the rai…-. The middle-aged woman with a tattoo on her face doesn’t have time to finish her sentence: after exactly forty-five minutes, the main door busts open. The group springs on their feet, hiding the phones in the pockets of their coats.
Two giant bodyguards, each handcuffed to a metal suitcase, walk in, drenched with rain, even if that doesn’t seem to bother them. A buff woman with a machine-gun comes next, directing the weapon towards the group, who tenses visibly.
-Casey, put that thing down. We don’t want to scare our new partners, right?-.
Black Mask enters the warehouse perfectly dry and walks towards the six people like a king, with a Cheshire smile carved on his face.
He stops two feet away from the woman with red hair, eyes still locked to hers, unblinking.
He suddenly claps his hands and the entire group flinches.
-So, do we have the goods?- he cuts to the chase.
Bruce knows that he is nervous to be so exposed out in the open, because he is raising his pinky like an English duke taking his tea.
He is right to be nervous, but it’s not enough.
He should be terrified.
-Sure, mister Mask. It’s all in here-. The woman pats the container she is sitting on, and Black Mask orders his bodyguards to open it.
Bruce doesn’t need to see to know that the substance is in there: there are tons of what is rumored to be a new joker gas or a variation of Venom.
The streets of Gotham already have enough substances that flood through them.
This batch won’t make it outside the doors of this warehouse.
Black Mask finishes inspecting the long lines of vials and nods again to his bodyguards, who approach the group with the handcuffs’ keys in hand.
In that moment, Batman presses the button he was holding.
The night is awakened by the police sirens that color the nearby buildings with red and blue, and numerous shadows holding guns start coming to life, moving towards the warehouse.
-This is commissionaire James Gordon of Gotham PD. You have been surrounded. Come out with your hands raised and no weapons-.
-Shit-. The six people start franticly reaching for their weapons, almost pushing each other off of the container.
Black Mask, that Bruce’s eyes never left, starts to walk away. -Casey, get me out of here-.
-On it, boss-. The woman starts to walk towards a window to take a better aim at the cops.
She never gets to make a third step.
Batman fires his grappling hook, and it wraps around the woman like a snake and launches her towards the ceiling, where Bruce secured it.
He throws a batarang to the wrinkled man who has managed to bring his gun in a firing position.
-It’s the Bat- screams the young man, who lets go of his gun and starts to run towards the main door.
-I knew I should have never accepted a job in Gotham- mutters the woman with red hair, taking her gun and firing in Bruce’s direction. She misses by half a foot.
-Get me out of here- screams Black Mask, and Bruce inhales deeply the unfiltered panic in his voice, then he switches his lens to thermal mode and throws two smoke bombs down.
Then the Batman jumps two stories in free fall and lands on the container.
-He’s he…-. Bruce elbows the group’s leader in the jaw and kicks the woman with the Tao t-shirt that was approaching him in the stomach, then punches her in the face.
Batman swirls and finds himself face to face with the wrinkled man, who is shaking with fear. Before he can do something idiotic, like pulling his gun out, Bruce knees him in the side. The man falls and hits the container, his limbs trembling while he covers his head and doesn’t get up.
A bullet hits Bruce’s Kevlar armor.
Batman jumps down from the container and hides behind the one next to it.
The woman with the face tattoo is shooting maniacally in his direction, with a man that has no left earlobe covering her back.
Batman greets his teeth.
No one can shoot at him.
Not tonight.
The two jump off of from the container and approach his hiding place.
Bruce, quiet as a bathed breath, circles the container and gets behind their backs.
He kicks the woman in the knee and bashes her head on the floor.
Then he kicks the gun away from the last man’s hands and punches him in the face, sending him on the floor, his eyes rolled back.
He looks around with his thermal lenses.
There are only two more red dots, the bodyguards, between him and a frantic Black Mask, who is trying to run to his freedom.
Batman takes his spare grappling hook and shoots it towards one of the men, throws him towards his partner and sends them both crashing hard against a container.
Then the Batman is running behind the only man standing.
He knows why he can’t see Black Mask.
The rogue has run to the basement, where there is a small door, that everyone thinks has been dismissed, that leads to the next warehouse’s basement. The one not surrounded by cops.
Black Mask thinks he can save himself.
He doesn’t know that if Batman could read his mind, he wouldn’t find anything he didn’t already know.
Bruce finds Sionis behind the door, already running in the tiny corridor.
He takes the bola from his belt and throws it.
It gets Black Mask in the legs and it quickly wraps around them.
Sionis falls and hits his chin hard on the floor.
He tries to wiggle free, and now, more than a king, he looks like an agonizing fish.
Batman comes to stand over him, plating his feet at the man’s sides, a pair of his belt’s handcuffs in hand.
Black Mask is panting. -Come on, put them on. We both know that tomorrow I’ll roam the streets again as a free man. There is no judge brave enough to declare me guilty, no prosecutor that dares cross me. My organization will never crumble-.
Batman kneels down and closes the handcuffs around his wrists a little tighter than necessary.
-Not this time- he growls in his ear. He feels an indescribable pleasure in the shivers that his tone alone caused in Black Mask. -While you are laying here in the dust, the GCPD is moving on all your major businesses and your lieutenants are being read the Miranda rights. You won’t see the outside of a prison for a very long time-.
He takes Sionis by the collar of his white Armani suit and drags him along the filthy warehouse floor, past his grunting bodyguards and his knocked out dealing partners.
He busts the main doors open with a kick and suddenly a dozen red dots are traced on him.
-Don’t shoot- commissioner Gordon orders, and every dot disappears from his chest.
The commissioner is standing in front of a police car’s lights, and even if he can’t see his face, Batman knows he is looking at him.
Every single person standing in the night is waiting for his next move.
He walks under the pouring rain, right in front of the commissioner, and throws Black Mask at his feet.
-The inside is clear, nine subjects restrained. All the smuggled substance is in the marked container- he growls.
He hears Jim exhales.
-All yours-.
-You heard the man. Go, go, go-. Gordon gestures for his cops to move inside the warehouse, and a stampede makes the ground tremble lightly.
-I have my rights!- Black Mask shouts, almost choking on the rain. Gordon makes a quick sign to Montoya and Bullock to handle him with a swift, secure motion.
Everything went according to plan, then. His jobs is done.
Batman turns around and starts to walk away.
-You’re not staying?- Gordon asks. His glasses fogged and his trench coat looks like it melted on him. He must have been in the first line since the beginning of the stake out.
-This is your big moment, commissioner- he turns away, and gets his grappling hook out. -And I have somewhere else to be-.
He fires the grappling hook and shoots towards the sky, landing on the nearest rooftop.
He runs over the buildings, avoiding the press that, uncaring of the tremendous weather, is already fighting to get as close as possible to the tied-up mob boss and the crime scene.
He jumps down a rooftop two warehouses away from the mayhem near Pier 14.
The batmobile is waiting for him in the shadows.
He opens it and jumps inside, trying to wet the inside as little as possible and failing miserably.
It’s not important right now.
He is late for his appointment. He takes a deep breath.
His body feels heavy, disconnected.
He ignites the car and, as soon as his foot touches the accelerator, like they are telepathically connected, he gets the signal of an incoming call.
He answers, even tonight.
-So, did you get him? Did he cry? God, I hope he cried- the nasal voice of a fifteen years old greets him with a rapid fireflood of questions.
He breathes a little easier.
-Dick- he says in return. -Shouldn’t you be in bed?-. His adopted son huffs, which sounds like a trumpet full of water trying to hit a high note.
-Come on, Bruce, I could not wait for the news. I had to hear it from the main man himself. So?-.
-Everything went down as we planned- Bruce relents, then he decides to add -And Sionis did cry, after I discharged him under the rain at the commissionaire’s feet-.
Dick laughs, but it devolves quickly in a fit of vicious cough.
Bruce frowns. It looked like it was going better today.
-Go back to sleep, Dick- Bruce says with a tone that doesn’t leave space for a reply.
-No, I swear, I’m all healed up, I just have a runny nose. I was choking on my saliva- Dick manages to free his airways and sighs. -I should have been there with you-.
Bruce can see him curl up on the chair in front of the batcomputer and hug his knees.
He knows perfectly well how Dick takes to being benched.
-It would have been a disaster for your recovery-. Dick has been fighting a nasty cold for almost a week, courtesy of his high school classmates. -Next time, chum-.
Dick sighs. -You’re coming back, right?-.
Bruce grips the steering wheel harder. -There something I have to do first-.
For a long moment, the rain bruising the hood and Dick’s labored breathing are the only thing that can be heard in the car.
-I wish I could have come with you- Dick whispers in the end.
His heart throbs with a monstrous feeling that, for once, doesn’t make him regret having one. He cleans his throat.
-Next year, maybe- he says.
-Master Dick- bellows a voice in the background. -You should be in bed-.
-Oh, shit- comes Dick elegant response. There’s a rustling on his end, no doubt him trying to gather the blanket and all the other trinkets he smuggled in the cave to busy himself, waiting for him.
-Language- Bruce chides, but there’s a faint curve of his lips that in any other night could have been a smile.
-You can’t leave me…-.
Bruce hangs up.
As soon as his boy’s voice is out of his ear, he misses it.
Misses how much it makes time feel faster and not clogged on his skin like molasses.
But to go where he needs to go, he wants to be alone.
It’s almost dawn, and Bruce is hours late.
The stake out for Black Mask has cost him dearly, and one of the people he needed to meet has probably gone home already.
But the other two are never going to leave.
Bruce parks the car at the beginning of Crime Alley and gets down to face the pouring rain, this time for a very different reason.
With two roses in his hand, he begins to walk down the road of his nightmares.
While he drags his feet, his memories start to come alive.
There are two other pairs of steps with him.
The phantom of a child’s laugh, the swoosh of a toy sword.
The deep voice of a father and the rustling of a mother’s dress.
Ghosts are more real to Bruce than to other people, on Halloween night.
Bruce arrives under the lamppost that twenty-four years ago shattered his life in a before and after, when the wretched sound of a gunshot, that the neighbors didn’t care to investigate, changed the world forever.
His world, for sure.
He crouches and lays delicately the roses on the wet ground, his breath uneven.
I’m trying, he thinks. To be the person you wanted to raise.
Suddenly, the rain stops hitting him.
He turns around: Leslie Thomkins is smiling at him from under her umbrella, that now covers them both.
-You took your time- she comments drily, but without heat.
She must have been bone-tired, coming from a fourteen hours shift at the clinic she manages. But she waited.
-I was busy- he tries to sound apologetic.
-I don’t doubt it- she says, and her gaze follows on the roses that have already been ruined by the rain.
She licks her lips. He can see her trying to choose the right words. -I think you should stop coming here-.
Batman turns his head to the roses again. These are not the right words.
He doesn’t want to fight. Not tonight. Not here.
-You have gained so much since you lost them- she persists, because she never lets any of her patients go until she saves them. But she can’t save him.
Bruce thinks about the training years around the world, about the endless nights spent punching criminals that after three months escape from Arkham, about his city that never heals, no matter how many money he injects in its wounds.
-Trying to heal doesn’t mean loving them any less-.
The doctor stops talking when Batman abruptly stands up.
He doesn’t want to fight. Not when his heart is crying.
Not when Black Mask’s blood still drips from his knuckles on a street where blood is all he sees.
He turns around and walks away from the protective dryness of the umbrella.
He hears Leslie sigh.
-We’ll see each other next year, then- she bids him goodbye.
He doesn’t turn around, but he knows that she’s gone. With his grief roaring in his ribcage, Bruce stomps towards the car.
Sudden and strong like it came, the rain stops. It doesn’t make him feel any lighter.
When he gets near the car, he notices that a child is stealing his tires.
Three of them are already off, and the kid is working on the last one with incredibly quick hands and an expertise with the tire iron clearly refined by much practice.
He would be impressed if the kid wasn’t robbing him.
Trying to be less scary as possible, Batman splashes his feet on a pothole to alert the child of his presence.
The kid freezes and slowly raises his head, his face a mask of terror.
Bruce slowly comes near him, towering on the scrawny kid.
-What are you…-. Quick as lighting, the child gets up and smashes the tire iron in Batman’s abdomen.
Bruce’s breath gets squeezed out of him, even if he’s wearing the armor.
-Get away from me, ass face-. He throws the tire iron in his stomach with all his strength, that is, frankly, more than Bruce expected.
Then he runs away at a commending speed. -See if you can catch me now, ya big boob-.
Bruce can’t breathe for a moment.
The kid knows where to hit to hurt and he has enough strength to do some real damage.
Then the Batman laughs, right there in the alley where his childhood was shot down, on the anniversary of his parents’ murder.
Bruce runs to catch up with the child, who is lighting fast, but is no match for Batman on endorphins. He catches up to him and picks him up from the back of his t-shirt, careful to leave the airways free.
The kid starts to kick like a crazy pony, but Bruce is holding him at arm’s length.
-Put me down- the child bellows while he tries to scratch his gloved wrist and kick everything he can reach, which is nothing. The child, who barely reaches his waist, glares at the Batman with enough vitriol to corrode metal.
Bruce is finding this situation very amusing.
-I just want to talk- he reassures him, but the kid scoffs.
-Yeah, sure- he rolls his eyes and makes a face. He doesn’t stop trashing around.
-What’s your name?- Bruce asks, trying to project calmness with his voice.
The child seems immune to that.
-Nobody- he says sarcastically. He tries to wrench the collar of his t-shirt out of Bruce’s hold. -Now put me down-.
-Where do you live?-.
-In Wonderland. If you don’t put me down, I’ll bite you-.
-Where are your parents?-.
-At home. Dude, seriously, I left your tires there, okay? I’ll never do it again, you’ll never see me. Let me go-.
The child is not looking him in the eyes anymore. The fight went out of his body, and Bruce is reminded that it is not because he is waiting for an opportunity to kick him in the nuts (hopefully), but because he is just a kid, who is probably scared of the Dark Knight.
It was never his intention to scare the kids of Gotham.
The child that he is holding cannot be older than ten and he is lifting him far too easily. His clothes are worn and dirty, and his hair is not trimmed precisely: he probably did it himself. His cheeks are hollow and his skin is pale and clammy. He can’t understand if he has freckles or dirt on his face. Probably both. His shoes are starting to decompose. He is wearing a red hoodie and a sleeveless coat, too light for this season.
Bruce is not amused anymore.
-Do you need money?- he asks, softly.
The child regards him with a disgusted expression and shrinks on himself.
-I’m doing fine by myself, thank you- he grunts, writhing to escape him.
Bruce frowns but doesn’t lose his grip. If he lets him go now, he will never be able to help him.
-I can give you 200$ right now-. He always packs some cash in his belt for whatever reason, and he doesn’t mind giving it all away to this child.
-And what would I need to do for your dirty money?- the kid screams, vicious, looking right at him, challenging him with tear-rimmed eyes.
Bruce thinks about it. If he just gives this kid his money, he is never going to find him again. If he is homeless like he suspects, the child knows his way around the city.
He wants to help him as much as he can.
He thinks about two roses crumbling on the asphalt.
He has to.
-I need eyes on Leslie Thomkins’ clinic. Do you know about it?-.
Jason’s glare doesn’t subside.
-What do you want with Leslie?- he growls. Bruce will take that as a yes.
-I need to make sure that it’s safe. It’s important for the people who can’t go to hospitals because they can’t pay for it. There have been some… disturbances, lately-. Not untrue: there are always some disturbances at Leslie’s clinic, because she really agrees to help everyone. One of the many things they have in common. -I need you to warn me if something threatens the clinic. You can take this button: it will notify me immediately and I will come. Leslie can give you a place to sleep, so that you can watch it at night too-.
Leslie is going to kill him, but she will not deny a boy a place to sleep.
-Since everything there is voluntary work, I will be paying you, because I am the one giving you the job. Does 200$ per week works?-. He should have asked Alfred how much it costs to provide for a nine years old weekly.
Jason is looking at him with his mouth open.
-What?- he murmurs, gobsmacked.
-300$?- he tries again.
-One million?- the kid relaunches, and Bruce feels the corners of his mouth tug upwards.
-That’s not how a negotiations work- he says. The child looks is not trying to escape anymore, which, in Bruce’s book, counts as an improvement. -Let’s start at 300$ and see where it goes-.
The child, forgotten all about the air-jail he’s stuck in, is staring at him like he has grown a second head.
-Who am I to question my luck?- he murmurs to himself, then shakes his head and holds his hand out. -Alright, I accept your job offer. If you have money to waste, why not do it on me?-.
Bruce takes his hand and shakes it with vigor, which prompts the kid to try to outperform him.
He shouldn’t think about smiling this much tonight.
-You can put me down, now. I know where Leslie’s clinic is, I can go there on my own-.
Bruce puts him down, but leaves a hand on his shoulder. He feels all the bones.
He squeezes down without really thinking about it. The child is looking at his hand with a mix of horror, disgust and challenge.
-I was thinking about accompanying you there myself. It’s very dangerous here at night…-.
He can feel the child’s indignation coming from a mile away, but someone else is faster.
-Hey, that’s the dwarf that stole my tires yesterday- a dabbling voice comes from behind them. Bruce instinctually pulls the child behind him and swirls around, fists ready to defend.
The kid automatically grips Batman’s cape in his fists.
Four men are approaching, if you can call drunkenly stumbling over their own feet approaching. Two have beer bottles in their hands, one a baseball bat and the last a chain.
-You’ve been busy- mutters Bruce. The child looks at him and at the wall behind him, trapping him in place. If he runs away, he will make a target out of himself and he knows it.
The safest place for him right now is behind Batman’s cape.
-Come here, you little motherfucker…- the one with the bottle and the Nirvana t-shirt throws the bottle towards them, but his aim is so distorted by the alcohol that it goes crashing against the building next to them, a good five meters away.
Bruce doesn’t even flinch.
The child does, though. And that’s all he needs to spring into action.
He runs towards them and punches the guy with the bat in the throat, then kicks him in the back. He elbows the guy with the other beer, who was trying to sneak on him by behind, and hear the satisfying crack of his nose. The guy limps backwards until he falls in a dumpster.
The one that spoke comes bellowing at him with his weapon raised.
Bruce doesn’t even give him time to swing it: he knees him in the crotch and hits him with his hand flat on his neck.
The one with the chain tries to launch it towards him, but Batman catches it and pulls it towards him, making the guy stumble and land his head on his knee.
-Behind you-. Batman turns at the shout in time to see the guy who probably won’t be able to have children aim a gun at him. He jumps to the side to avoid the bullet, who would have missed him regardless, since the man’s hands are shaking.
But a drunk man with a gun is still dangerous.
He gets up, but before he can make a move, the child jumps on the guy with the gun and starts to kick his back.
-You can’t kill my investment- he shouts in his ear, then he tries to bite it.
-What are you doing?- the man slurs, trying to point the gun towards the child while screeching in panic.
Bruce’s heart stops.
The child is moving like an eel and, between those jerky movements and his trembling hand, it’s more probable that the guy shoots himself than anything else.
Batman doesn’t care.
He runs to the man and kicks his knee from the side, dislocating it.
The guy falls down, screaming.
-You should have kept pointing it at me- Batman growls, then his eyes flies to the child to make sure he is unharmed.
The kid is looking around with starred eyes.
Bruce can let his breath go.
-Wow- he murmurs, his mouth wide open. -This fucks so hard- he adds, which triggers his dad mode.
-Language. Now, I believe we have a place to go to. I’ll take you there, no protests-. The kid looks around once more and follows him wisely, without a word, to the batmobile.
-If you try anything weird, I’ll bite you and run away- he warns again, and Bruce nods, trying to convey that he doesn’t have a hidden motive.
He needs to think what to say to Leslie to make her accept his offer after he didn’t even bid her goodbye twenty minutes ago.
-Holy fucking shit, this is amazing- he exclaims loudly when he sees the batmobile, making sure Batman can hear the first part very well.
-Language- he repeats, but huffs in amusement anyway when the kid launches himself straight into the vehicle as soon as Bruce unlocks it.
Bruce picks up his discarded tires and the kid’s tire iron and puts them in the trunk.
He hopes the fourth one is not going to fall off while he is driving.
He gets in the car and tries to hide how proud he is that the kid is touching the consol reverently.
-Holy fucking shit, this is a dream- the boy murmurs, looking at him with his eyes blown.
-You can stop saying that. Now be quiet, I have to call Leslie to tell her you’re coming-.
The child sits down and, after a while, he takes the seatbelt, looks at it and puts it on.
Bruce, satisfied that every safety measure has been taken, starts driving and calls Leslie.
She picks up when it was starting to get awkward and the kid was looking at him suspiciously.
-B…-.
-Leslie, this is Batman speaking- he interrupts before she can start to yell at him, giving away his secret identity to a random child.
She grunts in acknowledgement. -And what might the mighty Batman want with me?-.
-Are you sure you’re friends?- Jason asks, raising his eyebrows at the highly sarcastic tone of the doctor. Bruce sighs.
-Quiet. I have a child here that needs a place to sleep. I offered him one of your clinic’s rooms in exchange for…-.
-Batman- she stops him with such a harsh tone that the boy flinches and Bruce grimaces. -I already have four interns that you brought to me because they needed a job. I enrolled them in the Wayne scholarship program, so they can get licensed. I have a total of sixteen homeless underage kids that you brought me because they refused to get involved with the CPS, that live in the clinic and help around. I love to help, you know that, and if I could I would do it forever, but I’ve simply run out of space. How old are they?-.
-How old are you?- he asks the kid, already thinking about some way to change Leslie’s mind. He can’t let this kid stay on the street. He can’t fail someone else.
-I’m nine- the kid mumbles.
-He’s nine- he hurries to repeat.
He needs to save at least him.
-And I can hear him just fine. Listen, I am very sorry, but there’s only so much I can do with the space I have. It’s a simple fact. I am truly sorry, but you are a resourceful man, I think you’ll find a way to help him-. Leslie hangs up just as the kid is opening his mouth.
He deflates on the seat.
Bruce tries not to look at him and grips the wheel harder.
-You don’t have parents, right? Or a place to sleep?- he says after a while.
He doesn’t know where he is driving to anymore.
But he can’t stop the car and admit his failure. Not tonight.
Not to this child who jumped on an armed man to save him and made him laugh at Halloween and looks so tenacious even if Bruce could break him if he squeezed him too hard.
The boy exhales, a sound so old that should not have place in a body so young.
-Just let me off here. Don’t get the CPS involved. Please- he murmurs, defeated. His face is all hard lines and scowls, like he’s not allowing any vulnerability to slip in.
He knows his knuckles are white under the gauntlets.
He really can’t involve the CPS, not without having the guaranty that this kid would be placed in a good home (something extremely rare in Gotham’s foster system), and he can’t have that, since Bruce Wayne and all his influence do not have ties to this child.
But he can’t leave him on the streets either.
The cold winter in Gotham is ruthless. And then there’s the hunger, the danger he could not protect himself from…
No child should spend a day in their life on the street.
And maybe he can’t save every single kid in Gotham, but he will help this one.
-I’m sorry that that one didn’t work out- he tries, just to stall, so he can think of a permanent place to stay.
-Yeah, it was too good to be true- the kid murmurs, playing with the strings of his hoodie. Trying to seem unbothered.
He reminds him painfully of another boy who stood near his parents’ caskets, wrapped in a suit and not his usual leotard, looking at him with eyes that knew that no one was coming to save him.
He reminds him of himself, wearing an oversized coat and playing with a broken pearl necklace, while he waits for the only person who knows him that he had left.
And suddenly Bruce had a direction.
He makes a U turn that makes the boy squirm.
-What’s going on?- he asks, his voice cracking with anxiousness.
Bruce couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought about it before.
He is so accustomed by sufferance that he is not used to think he can sooth it.
-I have a friend that will take you in indeterminately- he explains fast, going well past the speed limit. Beyond the rapidly thinning Gotham skyline, the sun is finally showing its rays.
-Why are we getting out of Gotham?- the boys ask nervously. He is alternating between looking out of the window and looking at Bruce with growing suspicion.
-He lives in Bristol- he explains, hoping to clear up any possible misunderstanding, and the kid whips his head around to stare at him in horror.
-Who the fuck is your friend?- he asks, his voice hitting an octave.
-Bruce Wayne- he says, and the kid inhales hard.
-Are you fucking… Let me out. Let me out NOW-. He starts to bustle the handle of the door. Bruce always locks the doors when he has a civilian passenger, so the kid is not getting out. But he must say that he is very puzzled by this reaction.
-You don’t like him?- he inquires.
The boy turns his head towards him again, his eyes huge with fear.
-Are you kidding me? That dude’s the richest guy in Gotham. Why the fuck would he take in a street rat like me?-. His voice is borderline hysterical.
Uhm. Dick didn’t have this reaction.
He doesn’t really know how to handle this new development.
-He’s a registered foster parent- he explains, frowning. He doesn’t see what the problem could be. -He has already adopted a son-.
-I don’t wanna be adopted by goddamn Bruce Wayne- he screams, putting his hands in his hair and, uhm, this complicates things.
-You can just stay at his house for however long you need- he tries carefully. -He has the space and the resources to provide for you indefinitely-.
-I don’t wanna be the property of some rich asshole- the child is shouting at the top of his lungs, tears condensing in his eyes.
Bruce takes a deep breath to calm the pace of the conversation, before things spiral out of his control any further. -I won’t get the authorities involved, but I can’t let you stay on the streets. It’s not safe for you. Stay at Wayne’s and see if you like it. I’ll check on you tomorrow night to see if everything is going well. This is the best solution for you. I’m sure you’ll like it-.
The kid is looking at him with hurt, swollen eyes. -I thought you were supposed to help people-.
This hurt more than any other hit he ever received.
-I try. Every night- he looks at the kid after he parks in front of the manor’s gate. He wishes he didn’t have the cowl on so that the child could see that he is being honest. It’s all he has on his side and he can’t show it. He’s never been the best with words. -Give me a chance. Bruce Wayne is a person who tries his best to do what’s right, like me. He can give you what you need. The winter’s not gonna be kind this year-.
The child looks at the manor looming at the end of the driveway.
-I barely survived last year- he whispers, and Bruce’s heart throbs.
-You don’t have to face it. You have a way out now- he says calmly. The boy turns to him slowly.
He probably used his sleeve to wipe his tears away without making him notice, but his eyes are far from dry.
Bruce pretends not to see it.
-What do I have to do for him?- he asks, his voice quivering.
Bruce decides not to investigate the meaning behind that question now.
-Nothing- he reassures him, firmly. -I personally vouch for Wayne. I know him. He would never hurt you-.
The kid sniffles loudly. -It’s not like I have a choice, right?- he says, his laugh bitter.
Bruce looks at the manor, where Dick is sleeping the remains of his cold off and Alfred probably thinks he is dead because he is not back yet.
The house he is slowly turning into a home with the people he loves.
-You could run back to Crime Alley. It would be a very long walk back, but I would never be able to find you again, I’m sure- Bruce confesses his limit, looking the child in the eyes. The kid wipes his nose with his dry sleeve, sniffling again, but he is listening to Bruce. Maybe even considering his words. It leaves a taste of hope on his tongue. -You always have a choice. I just hope you make this one-.
His throat is raw, scraped by all the emotions that clawed their way out of his mouth.
Show me that I can make a difference. Show me that you can still save yourself.
The kid looks at the manor again. He takes a deep breath and his shoulders drops.
-My name is Jason Todd- he says, his voice steady, challenging yet again. He turns around to point a finger at Batman’s chest. -And this dude better fucking be okay, or I’m going to kick him in the nuts, rob him blind and run away faster than a speeding bullet-.
Batman relinquishes his breath slowly, so that Jason doesn’t notice that he was holding it.
His heart is blooming, battling away the chill that suffocated him all night.
-Ring the bell. An English butler will let you in. When you arrive at the main entrance, wait three minutes before knocking- he instructs rapidly. Jason looks at him weird, his hand fidgeting with the handle of the door.
-Why?- he asks, already suspicious.
-I have to alert Wayne, who at… 5:53 am-. Alfred is going to murder him. -Is probably still sleeping-.
-What if he doesn’t want me?- Jason asks, desperately checking all the weak points before his leap of faith.
-He is going to love having you there- Bruce underlines, firm like a rock. -The whole family is going to welcome you with open arms, I have no doubt-. Jason looks at him a little longer, his face a practiced neutrality. Bruce makes sure not to bat his eyelashes.
-If I don’t like it, I’m running away- he repeats, perhaps to test him. Bruce nods, sealing the deal.
Then Jason opens the door and gets out of the car quickly. With the handle still in his hand, he turns around.
-Can I keep one of the tires? As a memento?- he smiles cheekily, all his doubts wiped away and a cocky smirk on.
Bruce closes the door with a button and starts the car.
He calls Alfred immediately, flooring the accelerator.
-Sir…-. Bruce interrupts his friend. They don’t have time for snarky remarks.
-Alfred, we’re going to have a guest for an undetermined period of time. He’s a nine years old named Jason Todd and I need to present him Bruce Wayne. Is Dick awake?- he rattles rapidly
-A child, master Bruce?-. He can feel Alfred raise his right eyebrow. -Are we starting a collection?-.
-I don’t have time for this…-. Bruce skids to a stop in the batcave with a drift that probably consumed his tires. -My pajama?-.
-Here, as you requested, sir-. Alfred, already in the exact spot near the driver side offers him a pajama rumpled at perfection. -And master Dick is still in his bedroom. I thought it prudent to let him sleep…-.
-Excellent, they’ll meet tomorrow morning- he interrupts the butler again, and he hears his irritated sigh. Bruce is changing out of his suit while climbing the stairs.
-It’s already morning- Alfred informs him with a dry tone. Bruce flies thought the rest of the manor and arrives at the door the exact moment the pounding at the other side starts. He ruffles his own hair before opening the door.
-Uhm, hi-. The kid on the other side stops playing with his hoodie’s strings and straightens his back. -My name is Jason Todd-.
Bruce smiles so wide he probably hurts his facial muscles. -Hello, Jason. The Batman told me about you. My name is Bruce Wayne. Please, come in-.
Jason wipes his shoes in the doormat three times before stepping foot inside the manor, and, even then, he keeps himself near the wall. Bruce closes the door behind him.
-It’s a pleasure having you here- he continues, putting as much warmth as he can in his tone. Jason looks at the closed door with apprehension.
-Sure- he comments, avoiding eye contact at all cost. There’s a sound of steps behind them and Alfred appears, perfectly composed as usual and not even out of breath.
-Master Jason, I presume- the butler smiles softly. -Alfred Pennyworth. We spoke through the interphone. It’s a pleasure to meet you-. He gives him his hand and, after a second of hesitation, Jason shakes it.
-The pleasure’s mine, mister Pennyworth- he mumbles, his timid eyes daring to raise to Alfred’s neck. The butler’s smile grows.
-Just Alfred will do, my boy-.
-Bruce-.
They all turn towards the gothic stairs the lead to the upper floors.
Dick, with his red nose and his pajama put on backwards, his looking at them with his mouth agape. -Is that a motherfucking child?-.