Chapter Text
Face pressed into his knees, hood drawn all the way over both of them, Jason Todd exhaled softly into wakefulness and let the gentle ambiance of Gotham wash over him.
“Hey dipstick, keep it moving. We’re late as it is.”
“We’re armed to the teeth, man. Anybody comes within a hundred feet and it’ll be the last thing they ever do.”
Ah, Gotham. Always so soothing.
Jason slit his eyes open just enough to verify it was, indeed, pitch black where he was. Which meant even though the voices sounded close, he had had the wherewithal to tuck himself somewhere safe before zonking out and wouldn’t be an obvious target. Which—of course he had. He wasn’t born yesterday.
They’d pass by soon enough. He dropped his eyelids and tried to go back to sleep. Nails pounded against the back of his eyelids from a killer headache he’d apparently not slept off.
“Yeah, big talk.”
“Hell, yeah. Big talk, big gun, big ba—”
Light crashed over Jason at the same moment the man’s voice devolved into a shout. “Holy s—there’s a kid in here!”
Whoops.
Jason scrambled to his feet faster than his eyes could open and found himself standing in a crate. In the middle of a warehouse. Surrounding by people who were definitely not your average warehouse workers, judging by the alien-tech, bazooka-looking firearms each of them had wrapped in their alien-tech, video game-looking arms.
Revise his earlier statement. Zero marks for past Jason’s survival skills. Warehouses were not on his usual list of places to crash.
For, shockingly, this very reason. It was Gotham after all.
His headache blared to life. Concussion level. It was probably the reason he’d thought this was a good idea.
“Don’t just stand there—shoot him!”
Jason had just enough time to careen over the side of the crate and spill across the floor before the wooden box exploded in enough firepower to kill a rhino. Someone grabbed at him, skkrt went the seams of his sweatshirt, and Jason threw back his elbow, catching the man in a weak spot in his armor, just below the ribs.
The man howled, snapping both his arm and Jason up. Jason kicked himself free, slamming into another set of body armor behind him. That guy went tumbling straight to the ground, clearly not expecting the sudden hit. Not missing a beat, Jason tumbled over him, landing on his feet.
There were two more men, too close to figure out how to effectively aim their guns and too stupid to remember they had fists. Jason wasn’t worried about them. It was the half-dozen guys swarming around the other warehouse debris, each much better placed for long-range weapon use, that sent him scrambling for cover.
Blast waves slammed into his head like pickaxes. One of the men nearest to him dropped in a bloom of blood.
The next tower of cargo crates was steel. Jason slammed his body up against them, feeling the structure shudder under another round of bullets.
Holy crap. Holy—he was going to die. He was going to die before he’d even graduated to adult shoe sizes. Because he’d picked the wrong place to sleep off a headache.
“Watch where you’re aiming those things—you’re gonna hit something important!”
“Hey kid!” someone else yelled, voice distorted by Jason’s blown-out eardrums expanded and contracting the sound around him at random. “Tell you what—come out now and we’ll let you go. You just tell us who sent you here.”
“Are you stupid? Boss would—”
“Shut it, you idiot. I’m serious, kid! No hard feelings, huh?”
Jason choked down a scream of frustration, back pressed so hard he could feel the steel box behind him cutting through his thin hoodie.
And then a new voice growled, “What about mine?”
Everything happened at once.
Shots fired wildly, wiping the rest of the chaos in a pitch that dug right into Jason’s pounding headache like a knife.
Someone screamed.
The tower of crates Jason had been hiding behind wobbled, before keeling forward with a screech that barely registered in the chaos.
Jason threw himself forward, hitting the ground with his chin and snapping his teeth straight into his tongue.
Shadows expanded and collapsed like strobe lights over the entire scene.
‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,’ Jason’s second grade teacher told him once.
‘That’s culture,’ she’d told him. ‘From the Greeks.’
Jason hadn’t ever looked it up to see if it really was Greek, translated into English. He didn’t need to. Even at seven, he’d already translated it from English into Crime Alley-ese:
Run like hell and ask questions later.
Jason scrambled to his feet and flew to the first opening he saw.
Bodies cartwheeled through the air, thudding to sudden, painful stops against support beams and crates and other debris around him. Learn how to dodge, his dad had told him. If you can dodge, it won’t matter what they’re throwing.
He was wrong. Bodies were a lot harder to dodge than the rubber balls his dad had tossed after throwing out his wisdom.
Especially when they were coming from behind.
Behind him, he could still hear shouts and punched-out groans and the meatiness of solid punches, the kind his dad had taught him to throw in a fight.
Another crack from one of the guns made Jason flinch so hard he tripped on a body and slammed into a concrete beam. Novas of light blossomed over his entire vision.
Someone dropped from the sky in front of him.
Jason froze.
There was no mistaking the silhouette in the doorframe. No one else held themselves with as much ownership over the whole city. No one else projected shadows as if they controlled them.
No one else wore those ears.
For a millisecond of eternity, Jason stared into that chasm of black.
Then he gathered every ounce of courage his dad had ever taught him and swung.
Jason wasn’t stupid. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to hurt Batman, but it caught the vigilante in the stomach—obviously lower than the vigilante had been expecting, because he swiped the air over Jason’s head as the boy dashed to the side. Scrambling up over Batman’s shoulder, Jason landed hard on the cement behind him.
His feet stumbled, but his eyes latched onto a swinging emergency door, neon lights shredding the soupy darkness, and then he was sprinting before—
Batman caught him by the hood.
“Let me go!” Jason swung—fists snapping into Batman’s elbow. “You—you big boob!”
He hadn’t actually expected to be able to squirm out of Batman’s grasp, which was why he was as shocked as Batman when his last tug sent him somersaulting from the man’s gauntlet.
It was Jason’s second gift horse of the night.
If anything, he looked it in the mouth even less than the first.
“Wait—!”
Jason did not wait. He caught one last glimpse of Batman—the wide whites of his mask the only thing visible in the darkness behind him—before slamming into the crash bar of his emergency exit, falling out onto the asphalt, and dashing into a soggy, smoggy night that swallowed him whole.
…
Batman was chasing him. Three different chain link fences squeezed through, a half dozen attempts to double back and two bouts of squirming under dumpsters into places no one bigger than him should’ve been able to reach, and Jason still wasn’t sure he had shaken him.
Either Batman wanted to comfort him, because he was a poor, child victim, in which case no thank you—or he wanted to interrogate him about what he’d been doing in the middle of a warehouse firefight.
In which case, hella no thank you.
If some overpowered goons didn’t believe him, he doubted Batman was going to be satisfied with the “sometimes you’re just in the wrong place, wrong time” explanation.
Even if it was the truth.
Except in Jason’s case it wasn’t “sometimes.” More like usually. Always.
Classic Todd luck.
But now between the jaunt in that definitely-not-street-legal trunk and playing cat-and-mouse with Batman, Jason had no idea where in Gotham he was anymore. He thought he recognized the general area of the docks he’d escaped from, even found a pizzeria right where he’d assumed it would be. But the dilapidated Quacking Good Pizza with its boarded-up windows and smashed door obviously wasn’t the place he normally went to get a mediocre slice on cold nights, and he wasn’t sure how he’d got turned around.
He hadn’t even known Quacking Good was a chain, but it figured, didn’t it? Gotham couldn’t sustain a single good police precinct, but Quacking Good Pizza? Sure, why not have a whole bunch.
Somewhere close by, there was the crunch of gravel underfoot, a little too long, like a skid, like someone landing from a long jump. The kind you made with a grappling hook.
Jason scrambled for the first alley he could find, hoping Batman’s gear was useless in cramp and clutter. He really missed clear stretches where he could run, but he knew Batman would be able to see him there.
He was scrabbling past an old HVAC unit when he tripped on something heavy and soft.
Jason had lived in Gotham his whole life. He knew what it felt like to step on a body.
His first instinct was to keep running before he had more people chasing him, but his eyes flickered down without asking for permission. Then his whole body did a double-take.
Because that was a kid. Wearing a Robin costume.
It wasn’t very good—the whole thing was made of the wrong material, too thick and bulky to really imitate Robin’s sleek design. And those were pants. Everyone knew Robin didn’t wear pants.
But still.
Batman was coming.
Hadn’t some guy tried to impersonate Batman once—and Batman sent him to the hospital for it? He didn’t remember the details, but he did remember it wasn’t pretty.
Jason wasn’t sure how Batman would feel about some kid impersonating his sidekick, but with the echoes of breaking bones bouncing around his head from earlier, Jason felt…uncomfortable leaving the kid to be the one to find out.
As quick as he could, Jason wrapped his arms under the other kid’s and pulled him back behind an abandoned, tireless car.
“Huh…? What’s—hey!”
Jason’s hand cut off anything else he was going to say. At least, anything he was going to say that loudly.
“Shut up.”
He held his breath. There was no sound other than the city shrieking and groaning around them.
Slowly, he relaxed his hand.
Immediately, the kid scrambled up onto his knees.
Now Jason could see him better. He was maybe a few years older than Jason: black hair, sharp blue eyes, fading green bruise across his cheek—and, of course, that Christmas-colored target of a costume.
“What are you—? Woah, hey, are you ok?” A green glove that looked like something welders used to keep metal burns off their skin reached for his face. “What happened to your face?”
Jason didn’t even reach up to see if he had a bruise. “Why are you dressed like Robin?”
“I—what?” The kid jerked his eyes down, as if someone had changed his clothes while he wasn’t paying attention. Jason watched his whole face bloom red as he took in the costume. “Uh…it’s just a—were you…are you, uh, looking for Robin?”
“Do you have a death wish or something? Don’t you know that’s just askin’ to get beaten up out here?”
The teenager—Jason probably shouldn’t call him a kid, because he looked older than him in years, even if he was apparently a baby in street smarts—dropped to rifle through a beat-up backup Jason hadn’t noticed. He yanked out an old green hoodie and tugged it on. “I’m not Robin,” he said.
“I know that.” Aside from the fact that the costume was all wrong, Robin didn’t sleep in the questionable liquids pooling in Gotham alleys. “Obviously. You’re still gonna get killed.”
Something hot and defensive flashed through the Robin-impersonator’s eyes. “I can take care of myself.”
“Sure.” Jason watched as the other guy snatched at the sides of his hoodie, smashing them together over a broken zipper. It covered the part of the costume with the R on it—as long as he kept his hands in place. “Is that why the costume? You got something to prove?”
“No.” It came out too hot, too quick to be anything but a lie. “It’s just a…maybe this is just how I dress, huh? It’s none of your business.”
“What,” Jason laughed, “did someone dare you to put on a Halloween costume and spend the night outside as Robin?”
Both Jason and his laugh waited for the other guy’s face to do screw up tight in defense.
When it blanked instead, the laugh quickly saw itself out, leaving Jason betrayed and horrified. Wow. Wow. He’d thought even people outside of Gotham were smarter than that. This kid was the poster child for why nonnatives should never move to Gotham.
“Swap hoodies with me,” he demanded, already squirming out of his.
“Do…what?”
“Well, I’m for sure not swapping shirts with you. Your hoodie doesn’t zip, moron. You’re basically a walking ‘shoot me’ sign.”
The kid stared numbly as Jason wrestled his hood off and held it out, huffily.
“…Why do you care?”
Jason didn’t. People in this part of Gotham couldn’t afford to care about each other. It was just…
Jason had already almost been the ‘wrong place, wrong time’ victim for this part of the city tonight. Batman had bailed him out. It was probably karma if he bailed out some idiot dressed up as Robin. The universe’s idea of a joke.
Plus, he didn’t need to add ‘watching someone get murdered’ to the list of crappy things he’d been through tonight.
“Just take it, would you? And give me yours, it’s cold.”
Once the other kid pulled on Jason’s hoodie, Jason surveyed him again. The hoodie was tight on him, black body with a red hood that did little to dispel the Christmas vibes, but given the green of those pants, it could hardly be helped. And, most importantly, it covered the important parts. No one was going to make hero assumptions from leggings and black combat boots.
It was officially no longer Jason’s concern.
“Right. Good luck with everything.”
“Wait!”
A hand snagged his sleeve. Jason whirled, fists already out. The teenager jumped back, hands up, steel blue eyes wide. “Woah there, I just…what about your face? You don’t look so hot.”
“I can take care of myself,” Jason mocked.
“Okay well, but…you looked out for me, right? Made sure I didn’t get murdered in an alley? So I—I owe you one. Let me get you help.”
“Don’t touch me.”
“Come on.” The boy, more energetic now that he was more fully awake, danced around to the front of Jason’s, hands still innocently in the air. “Look, the sun’s almost up. Let me at least buy you breakfast.”
“No thanks.”
“You did me a favor. And I swapped your perfectly good hoodie for my crappy one. I at least owe you something for that.”
Jason should have said no. He knew he should have said no.
But his head was still pounding. His legs were basically useless. And…well, he was hungry.
“…Fine. But I’m picking the spot.”
…
Jason didn’t let the other guy know that he was lost. He walked like he had been walking these streets his whole life, as if he recognized every corner and knew exactly where he was heading, until he spotted a diner up ahead with its fluorescent signs spreading neon into the gray dawn air.
He walked in as if he had been going here his entire life.
They slid into a booth close to the emergency exit without discussion. Jason immediately pulled the crappy laminated menu up to hide his face. He preferred scrutinizing the different options for eggs over being scrutinized.
Eventually, the other kid broke the silence. “So. What should I call you?”
“What should I call you?” Jason countered, flicking his eyes up enough to glower warningly.
He was rewarded with a smirk and a lie. “Robin.”
Jason made a face. “Bite me.”
His companion laughed. “First you refuse to tell me why you look like crap, and now you won’t even let me thank my rescuer properly? That’s cold, kid.”
Oh please. If he thought that was a rescue, he couldn’t handle the story of why Jason ‘looked like crap.’ And that was just for misjudging the safest spot to take a nap. Imagine if he’d actually done something to cheese off one of the dockside gangs.
A waitress eased her way towards them, reeking of cigarette smoke, and jotted down two orders for scrambled eggs and bacon, before wandering off again.
“What about you?” Jason threw back viciously, when the silence turned oppressive. “Gonna tell me what makes you stupid enough to take a dare that could get you killed?” A thought occurred and Jason almost slammed his head into the table for being too stupid to grasp it earlier. “You’re not trying to join a gang or something, are you?”
“What? No!” Robin huffed defensively. “I just…have bad friends, I guess?”
“Uh-huh. If you survive the bet, what’s in it for you? You live in that dumpster?”
“No. I live…I’m kind of living with my uncle right now.”
Jason knew exactly what sort of living situation “kind of” was—and he felt a bit of his defenses drop. “’S that where you got the…?” He gestured vaguely towards his own face with the menu still clutched in his hands.
The older kid frowned. “Huh? Oh! No. No, it’s…no. Eddie couldn’t have because he’s…well, he’s not really around.”
“Got it.” Jason nodded, ducking his head back behind the card. “I mean—I get it.”
“Yeah? You’ve got a shiner too. ‘S that from your old man or…?”
“No.” Geeze, he really had to spell everything out for this guy, huh? “I said, I get it. He’s not around right now either.”
“Ok. I just, my uncle…like, I know where he is, I’m just…taking a bit of a break. What about you? Is your dad…?”
How the hell was Jason supposed to know? Fortunately, he was saved from having to tell ‘Robin’ where to shove the rest of his questions by the return of the waitress. She dropped two plates of eggs—somehow both cold—and undercooked bacon without any silverware. She waved a ticket over the plates without a word until the older kid got annoyed and pulled a ten out of his backpack and she left. Jason hoped he wasn’t expecting change.
“Look…kid.”
Jason shoveled the eggs into his mouth as fast as he could. Yeah, they weren’t good, but they were better than nothing. And he ate them fast because this was always where it happened, the sudden ‘next favor’ request, as soon as they had you sweetened up with gratitude. Well screw that. Jason didn’t feel any gratitude. The kid owed him—from the sweatshirt—and he was just taking his payment.
“You’ve helped me twice now, technically. You woke me up in that alley so I didn’t get mugged. And you swapped hoodies so I wouldn’t be murdered. The breakfast is one, but I owe you another. And I know this sounds corny, but if you’re in a bad situation, I’d really like to help.”
Jason snorted into his food sarcastically. “What, you gonna find my dad?”
He hadn’t even meant to say it out loud. But he had—and he regretted it the moment he realized what he’d done. Across from him, ‘Robin’s’ fork was frozen in his pile of crappy eggs, eyes wide and shining.
“You want—? Yeah. Kid, I could help with that.”
“It was a joke. No thanks.”
“Is that cause he’s—?”
“He’s a great dad!” Jason saw the kid flinch and realized he might have spoken a little too loud. He scowled. “Look, we’re not friends, ok? You paid for breakfast and we’re square. I don’t need your help locating my old man.”
“So you know where he is?”
“Go to hell.”
“Kid.” The other kid rolled his shoulders back to look at the ceiling and sigh. “I’ve got friends.” He flicked his eyes down to glower at Jason’s expression. “Good friends—not the kind that dare me to—never mind. I’m saying, I could at least try to find where he’s at for you. Then you’d…you’d at least have options.”
Jason shoved the last of his bacon in his mouth petulantly. “What do you care?”
And he heard it, even as he said it. The echoes of the other kid—Robin—as he asked the same thing in an alley where Jason was too tired of living in a messed up world to do anything but care.
Robin blinked at him. Jason thought about how Robin lived with his uncle, except that he didn’t.
He thought about the fact that Robin had a black eye he didn’t want to explain.
He thought about how easily he trusted a kid just because he’d swapped sweatshirts with him.
Robin sucked in a slow breath. “Look. My…my dad…is not around anymore. He—he died. Recently. And…I want you to find yours. I care because I’m…” He didn’t need to finish his sentence. Jason knew where it was heading.
Too tired of living in a broken world to do anything else.
Jason thought about his dad. He remembered him sliding on the couch next to him, taking a day off work just because Jason had to stay home sick. It settled in his chest like something warm. Things weren’t always perfect—and for all Jason knew, he might not even be around anymore—but if there was a chance…
“…Ok.”
“Ok?” Robin’s face stuttered, blinking hard as if he could reset reality to double-check. “Ok, you’ll let me help?”
Jason shrugged.
“Ok. Ok. Great!” The kid pulled a slick, black phone out of some pocket Jason was almost sure he shouldn’t have had with those tight green pants. “Okay, so first things first—we should probably exchange names. You know, like, actual names, so I can start doing some digging on your dad.”
Uh-huh. Jason was too tired to come up with an alias and it probably didn’t matter anyway. “Todd,” he said finally. “My name’s Jason Todd.”
Phone in one hand, fork in the other, Robin’s eggs paused halfway to his mouth. It was pretty obvious he hadn’t expected Jason to share personal details so…easily.
But instead of the sadistic smile Jason expected to see from pulling one over on a kid, the guy let the eggs drop off the end of his fork and set the tableware down without breaking eye contact, face serious in the face of both Jason’s trust and the trust he was preparing to reciprocate.
“Tim.” The name peeled off the sides of his dry mouth like those plastic decorations school kids stuck to windows at holidays. “I’m Tim Drake. Nice to meet you, Jason.”