Chapter Text
Jason's always known that Dick is charming. He's got a quick tongue and a smile people go soft for, and he talks them into and out of trouble more times than Jason can keep count of. The first time Jason meets him he's down on the ground with a twisted ankle and a looking-for-blood shop owner bearing down on him, and Dick slides right in between and saves his hide. It's just a few words and some wide-eyed sincerity, and Jason doesn't know how he does it but there's not even a bruise in it for either of them.
And then Dick crouches down next to him, offers him a hand and a place in this gang he runs with, and that's that. He doesn't know how to deny Dick any more than the adult did.
He's eight when he realizes Dick is pretty.
They're short on money to pay up for the week, and Tim is so small and hungry and still has the fresh rawness of grief around his eyes, and Dick clenches his jaw and tosses Jason his hat and says, "Stay here. You stay outta sight, understand? Be ready."
"Whatcha gonna do?" he demands, dragging Tim closer to him and ignoring best he can the little sound of distress.
Dick ruffles his own hair up, wets his lips. Says, "Be bait," with grim determination and then slides out of the alley.
And Dick comes back with a guy in tow, smiling and moving backwards, drawing the man into the darkness and Jason understands. He shivers and he clutches his knife tighter and he waits till Dick's drawn the guy deeper in before they step out and block off the exit. They get the money, and Dick never mentions any of it again. Jason remembers though, and it's there in the back of his head like a festering itch in every low, desperate moment. He works harder and pushes to be smarter, more inventive, so that never has to happen again.
He's nine when the Ripper burns, and they all end up in a carriage with the Bat. Mr. Wayne. It takes days for Jason to really believe that they're the same person. Mr. Wayne (Bruce, he insists and Jason ignores) is upper class and refined and Jason has trouble matching that to the hulking shadow that snapped a guy's leg right in front of them.
Dick takes to all of it like it's his real world, smiling and staying close to Alfred and fitting right into the new clothes and the shiny shoes. Tim brightens right up too, wide-eyed and curious about everything; he gets extra treats.
For weeks, Jason feels lost in all of it. There's nothing familiar to him; a hundred rules to follow and he doesn't understand any of it. Except the ones he specifically ignores. Like the unspoken one of not going up the secret passage he's not supposed to know about.
It leads up to an attic. Tables filled with things he doesn't even recognize, suits hanging up against the wall, shelves on the other side with more things that Jason can only start to identify. It's the first time he feels something beyond lost uncertainty. He pulls things off the shelves to look at them, turning them over in his hands. Pulls books down just to open them and look at the writing. He can recognize letters here and there, but not the words.
Mr. Wayne catches him. Scares the hell out of him with a sudden, "Put that down."
He panics and his fingers clench around the metal in his hands, his back hitting the shelf as he spins around. Mr. Wayne is standing at the top of the staircase, frowning and watching him. Jason realizes, suddenly, that there's no other way out of this room. Dead end. He can't get out.
Jason stays still as he moves closer, judging how likely it is that he might be able to dodge around or hit and run. But if he does, then what? Is he out on the street again? What about Dick? Tim? Is he going to screw it up for them too? What's Mr. Wayne going to do to him for being up here and touching his things? Is running worth it? He hasn't been this unsure of himself for years, not since Dick found him, and he's running out of time, running—
"That," Mr. Wayne says, taking the thing from him with a firm touch, "is a grappling hook gun, and is extremely dangerous if you don't know how it works." Jason barely breathes; Mr. Wayne studies him for a moment and then sighs and kneels down, fingers drifting over the metal and tapping it. "This is the trigger. It propels the metal on the end, here, to either hook onto ledges or impale into wood to hold, depending on the tip attached. That's attached to cable, which can then be attached elsewhere as necessary. Understand that?"
Jason manages to nod. He's not sure he does understand, but he doesn't know what else to do.
He flinches when a hand takes his, but it's gentle and all it does is press the gun into his hand. Mr. Wayne shifts closer to his side, guiding him to hold the gun, aiming it towards a clear portion of the wall, beside the stair. "Here, go ahead and pull the trigger. It'll kick, so be prepared."
Kick? What does that mean?
Turns out it means snapping back towards him hard enough to hurt his wrist. The shunk of the blade slamming into the wall is enough to make him flinch again. He stares at it. The gun is pulled from his hand and Mr. Wayne pulls hard at the cable, which pulls tight but doesn't give.
"See? Not bad, hm?" Mr. Wayne sets down the gun and turns more towards him. There's a moment of silence, and Jason takes a breath and braces for whatever he's about to get. But Mr. Wayne just glances up at the shelves, resting one arm across his knee. "What were you doing up here, Jason? Exploring?"
Jason shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. Bat's gotta have fast reflexes; probably can't get past him even now. "Yeah." He's never had Dick's tongue, never had Tim's big, watery eyes. The only way he knows how to face trouble is head on. He glares. "Why? What you gonna do 'bout it, old man?"
Mr. Wayne's gaze is a cool blue when it comes back to him. "Should I do something?"
Is this a trick? He presses his lips together, wondering if he's going to get grabbed if he takes a real step back. " 'M not supposed to be up here."
"Not really," Wayne agrees. "There's a lot of dangerous stuff up here, and it would be easy for you to get hurt."
"I ain't no idiot," he snaps. "Been fine by myself; don't need some old man tellin' me what to do."
Wayne tilts his head towards the gun on the floor. "That could have impaled you. Some of the chemicals on that desk are acidic and would have burned right through your skin. Some are toxic. There are pieces of gear on the shelves that could break your fingers if you didn't handle them right. Those are just examples. This isn't a place for a child, Jason. I need you to stay out of here; it's too dangerous."
"But—” Jason swallows the panic that demand lights in his chest. This is the only place… "So what? I go down there to yer fancy rooms 'n play good boy? That ain't who I am. I ain't a child anymore neither, and I can handle danger just fine!"
"Jason…” Mr. Wayne trails off, and then gives a soft sigh. "Are you interested in all of this? What's up here?"
Jason shifts, curling his hands to fists inside his pockets. "It don't matter, do it? You ain't gonna let me be up here."
"Aren't."
"What?"
"Aren't going to." Mr. Wayne is holding his gaze, still cool, but he gives a faint smile. "Let's make a deal, alright? I'll let you come up here whenever you want, if you'll put some effort into learning this world. I know it's not natural for you, but let us teach you how to read, and write, and all of that, and I could maybe agree to teach you about some of what's up here too. Does that sound fair to you?"
He stares, his eyes wide and his breath coming short. He's… It's not going to be taken away? All he has to do to keep it is let them teach him about all the stupid rich things? This has to be some kind of trick. "Are you pulling something, old man?"
"Mm. I do have two conditions."
Jason grits his teeth and waits for it.
"You don't take anything out of here without my permission, and while you're up here, you don't touch anything that you can't identify. That something you're willing to agree to, Jason?"
"…That's it?"
"That's it." Mr. Wayne offers him a hand, and it's turned sideways and Jason gets after a second that it's looking for a handshake. "Have we got a deal?"
He's not really convinced that there's not some hidden bit to this that's going to bite him in the ass, but he can't think of anything. He stares suspiciously at the hand for a few more moments, then cautiously takes it with his own. Mr. Wayne's fingers are strong and calloused, and the shake is firm. "Yeah. Deal."
Mr. Wayne's smile looks real. "Good. Now why don't you come downstairs, and we can start with letters?"
He scuffs the floor with his shoe, but agrees. "Fine."
He's fourteen and Dick's just barely seventeen, tall and getting handsome — Alfred comments on it occasionally — with his easy smile and that same charming sincerity that you can never pick out as a lie. All the other people in Bruce's circle of rich friends have fallen for it; the rescued orphan turned society boy, with his quick tongue and wits. It's not exactly a lie, but Jason's one of the few to know they're all only seeing the surface. Dick's got so much more under that smile; they're underestimating him.
Jason stays at the edges of all of it, and that suits him just fine. He's not good at the smiling and the faking like Dick is, and Tim is coming into — ten and wickedly smart; Jason's impressed by him most days — and it's easier for him to let them have the spotlight and just stick to what he does like.
If Bruce and Alfred would let him just skip the societal functions altogether, he'd do it, but they won't. Bruce has agreed that Jason only ever has to stay as long as either he or Selina does though, and it's a dry sort of comfort to know that Bruce doesn't like any of this either. It's Alfred that insists that they keep up public appearances, as much for the sake of keeping suspicion off of Bruce as keeping abreast of current information. Bruce grudgingly agrees, and Jason can see the logic in it.
Doesn't mean he likes it.
Jason's out on a secluded balcony at one of the parties they've been invited to, feeling slightly like a fraud — as usual — in the fancy suit he's dressed up in, his hair dragged into something vaguely manageable by Alfred. If he stands out here, to the side of the door and out of the spill of light, he can lean against the wall and no one will even know he's out here. It's nice. He's 'at' the party, but he doesn't have to navigate any of the mess in there and hey, the moon's out and pretty so that's a bonus.
He's absolutely sure that Alfred knows that he sneaked a cigarette from Bruce's stash, but that's sort of an unspoken deal between them. If he goes out, and he isn't blatant about bringing one, Alfred won't call him out on it. Bruce will, but Bruce usually isn’t watching him too closely at these.
Dick slips out not long after he's lit it, finding him with quick precision and then slipping off to the side to join him. Jason watches the door for a couple seconds, but no one follows. Good.
"Having fun?" Dick asks, leaning next to him and stealing the cigarette with fingers as quick as his gaze.
"Nice night," is the noncommittal answer, and Dick gives a knowing smile and gives the cigarette back, blowing smoke out between his lips. Jason shifts, looking away from the sight and taking another glance towards the door. "You?"
"Mmm, some interesting things. There's some talk about me going to a college; get a higher education. Bruce and I have talked about it a little before, but I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. Long term." Dick takes a breath, slow and deep. "Someone else was making comments that I should get into politics when I'm older. Run for office somewhere." Jason looks up, and there's something in Dick's eyes that's bright and suddenly alive.
Jason feels sort of captivated. "Yeah?"
Dick tilts his head up and looks at the sky. There's a poised moment, silence apart from the spill of noise from inside, before Dick says, "I'm going to do it. I can get in there and I can change things. Make it all better for everyone still out there." Jason doesn't pull away from the hand Dick lifts, clasping it over his shoulder and squeezing for a second. "There has to be something I can do with all this luck, right? I think this is it. I can do this."
Jason shifts, and he's still staring at Dick's expression, the fevered brightness and excitement to it. He swallows, and there's a little twist in his gut, in his chest. "You'll get them all wrapped around your fingers," he says, not really thinking about it but knowing it's true. "Always been good at that."
And the way Dick smiles at him… Jason looks away and pulls a mouthful of smoke from the cigarette, suddenly feeling very aware of the hand on his shoulder.
"Thanks, Jay." Dick sighs a breath that's pleased and happy, before asking, "What about you? How's the thing with Bruce going?"
Jason rolls his eyes. "The 'thing' is fine. He won't let me go out yet; says I gotta be at least sixteen, and I gotta go on his little road trip first. See some of the people he did."
"Good." Dick pushes an arm behind his shoulders, dragging him in a step despite his grunt of protest. "I don't want you to get hurt, Jay. Take your time, alright? You're gonna be great when you get out there."
He flushes a little, avoiding Dick's smile and the unfamiliar awareness of being pressed against Dick's side, head only at his shoulder. "Your street's slipping in," he says instead, maybe a little defensive.
Dick snorts and shoves him a little bit, just hard enough to make him stagger and almost out into the light. "So what?" His tone slips further, back into the street accent that Alfred's spent years mostly grooming out of them. "Just you an' me out here, yeah? You gonna be a snitch?"
He's grinning, and Jason scoffs and smirks back, letting the cigarette drop to get crushed under his heel. He circles more firmly back into the darkness, out of sight of anyone inside. "You wanna go, Dickie? Trade a couple taps?"
"Ya mean a fight?" Dick counters, and his grin goes soft, his gaze almost sort of fond. "Nah. I ain't got the skills to beat you." He steps forward, and Jason straightens up as Dick offers a hand, waiting for him to take it before pulling him into a tight hug. " 'M gonna miss you, Jay. Off learning all sorts 'a things."
Yeah, that is what that means, isn't it? He doesn't know how long he's going to be gone, off on Bruce's path, but Dick's leaving too, right? Off to some college to learn how to perfect that silver tongue he's got. Jason's got no idea how long that's supposed to last either; will it be local? Some big, other-state place?
Jason curls his fingers into Dick's jacket, clinging back. "Me too."
He stays there for what feels like a couple minutes, safe in the darkness and the sort-of familiar smell of Dick. It's more cologne now and less the mustiness of old clothes, but it's still Dick. Huddled close at night to stay warm, he remembers that scent and that feeling even more strongly than his mother's. Except now Dick is taller than him, clothes soft and well-fitting, no more little lines of exhaustion around his eyes to betray that he hasn't eaten more than one thing that day.
When Jason pulls back and looks up, Dick is smiling. There's none of that cheer to it, or the sharp edge. Just soft happiness, and it looks good on him. Really good.
A hand ruffles his hair, and Jason suddenly feels supremely lucky because that makes him grimace and then Dick doesn't get a chance to see the little flash of horror in his face as he realizes he thinks Dick looks good.
Dick's voice slides back into that polished pronunciation, fingers sliding out of his hair. "I have to get back; see you later, Jay. I'll let Alfred know where you are so you can head out when they do." His silence must be taken as leftover sadness or something instead of mild panic, because Dick just smiles a bit and adds, "We've still got some time before either of us are going to leave, right? It's not forever, Jason."
"I know," is all he manages, but that seems to be enough to get Dick to head back inside.
Jason steps back against the wall, lifting his hands to run through his hair, staring at the floor. The wall is cold at his back, the noise from the open door suddenly terrifying. Someone could come out at any moment, look at him and just know.
His hands are trembling.
He— No. No this can't be happening. He can't be attracted to Dick. He's not one of those sorts of people; he's not into that.
He's not.
Alfred takes all of three days to come looking for him, up in the attic where he's been spending most of his time. Dick almost never comes up here, and Jason's got reasons to stay. There are always more books to read; this isn't unusual for him. At least, that's what he thinks.
"I've noticed that you seem to be avoiding Master Dick," Alfred says from the top of the staircase, standing there with one hand resting on the wall.
Jason nearly drops his book at the sudden sound, and barely swallows the swear he wants to spit in reaction. He very carefully closes the book and sets it aside — it's already old; Bruce will not at all like it if he damages it — before looking to Alfred. How the hell he manages to walk around in those crisp shoes with barely any sound Jason doesn't know, but it's never stopped being startling.
"Sorry, what?"
Alfred lifts an eyebrow, taking the last step inside the room and clasping his hands at his back. "Master Dick. You seem to have developed an allergic reaction to inhabiting the same room as him over the last few days. Is there something I should be aware of?"
Jason's so caught off guard that he flushes before he can even try to stop it. He knows his, "No," sounds petulant. "I've just got reading to do."
"Ah, I see." Alfred glances towards the book. "Master Tim and I must be mistaken then; I'd noticed already but he attempted to bring it to my attention as well. I believe he was intending on asking Master Dick what was going on."
He jerks to his feet, blood washing cold. No. If Dick realizes— "What? No! No, there's nothing going on. Alfred, he can't—”
"I must apologize, Master Jason." Alfred's gaze is cool, distantly disapproving in the same way he used to get when Jason would raise his voice or get frustrated and lash out at things that weren't the real target. "I'm afraid I've lied to you. No one else has yet noticed, except perhaps Miss Kyle. She's yet to say anything to me, however, so that is mostly my own suspicion. Regardless, I would appreciate it if you did not lie to me any further."
His throat feels tight, and that cold fear turns to a rush of shame, heat building under his cheeks and down his neck. He shoves his hands in his pockets and dips his head, lost without any words to defend himself.
"I've also noticed," Alfred starts, voice softer now and far less pointed, "that in the rare occasions that you are around Master Dick, you seem to be looking at him differently than you did not even a week ago."
Jason goes stiff. It's counter to everything Bruce has taught him, every bit of old survival instinct that still haunts his bones, but he can't move. He can barely raise his gaze far enough to look at Alfred's expression.
"Master Jason, if you happen to have proclivities towards those of your own sex—”
"No!" he shouts, fear driving him back a step, nearly knocking over the chair when he smacks into it. "No, I don't— I ain't like that, Alfred. I'm not— I'm normal. Just like everybody else, swear."
"I wasn't saying that you did, Master Jason." He steps forward and Jason stays frozen, but the hand that reaches for him only clasps his shoulder with gentle pressure. Alfred gives a faint smile. "I was merely saying that if you did happen to have any of those leanings, you should be aware that neither Master Bruce nor I harbor any distaste for such actions. Should that be a concern someday."
Jason swallows. "It's unnatural," he says, and it comes out as barely a whisper. "People like that ain't right."
"Is that so?" Alfred makes a small hum of thought, letting go of his shoulder and clasping both hands behind him again. "I suppose that would explain Master Bruce."
His eyes go wide. He can't even find the words to ask the question, but he stares up and Alfred smiles benignly down at him.
"That was before Miss Kyle of course, though I've heard that she also has some tendencies in that direction." A hand comes to rest between his shoulder blades, guiding him firmly towards the stairs with gentle pressure. "Now come downstairs, Master Jason. There's a game set up, and both of the other young masters are looking forward to your attendance. You won't be hiding away in here any longer."
"But—” He ducks away, spinning out from underneath Alfred's hand with an ease that doesn't at all match how he feels like he should be shaking. "Alfred, I can't. What if Dick—? I don't know what to do. If he thinks that I— It's wrong. He'll hate me."
Alfred frowns a little bit. "I would hope that I have raised Master Dick well enough in these last few years that he does not hold such narrow minded values, nor a cruel enough soul to inflict pain for what cannot be helped."
No, he just… He can't. He can't go down there and sit next to Dick and watch him smile and not betray everything in his head. Dick will notice. Dick's always noticed when something's wrong.
The sigh sounds disappointed, and it makes him want to cringe, but Alfred only murmurs, "Very well. I'll let them know that you're otherwise occupied. Please do consider what I've said though, Master Jason. You will not be able to avoid Master Dick forever."
Jason avoids looking up until Alfred vanishes down the stairs, and even then he only glances briefly towards them until he hears the faint scrape of the secret entrance below moving back into place.
There's a corner, to the side of the desk, that's just a small empty space between the polished wood and the wall. He fits himself into it, tucking back until he's curled into the limited space and there's nowhere else to go. His arms wrap around his knees, his face pressing into them and making the whole world dark so he just doesn't have to deal with any of it. It's not real. It's not. He's not like that and these are just terrible, sinful thoughts and if he stays here long enough they'll go away.
They'll go away.
Footsteps pull his head up, and the world's a little blurry but not enough to stop him from recognizing Bruce, crossing the room and kneeling down in front of him. He wipes at his eyes, chest tight and uncooperative as he tries to get a bit of breath back. Bruce's expression is cast in stone, and when a hand takes one of his arms and pulls him out of the safe little space he makes a wordless noise of protest. But hands take his arms and hold him up, keep him holding Bruce's gaze.
"There is nothing wrong with you," Bruce says, low and fierce and almost angry. "Whoever told you that was an ignorant, small-minded fool, and should never have been allowed to be near you. Do you understand me? You are no worse than any other person in this world, and even if you were it would have nothing to do with who you find attractive."
He doesn't even have time to answer before Bruce is crushing him into a tight hug, arms hard enough to almost hurt and his face all but smothered in the tailored shirt. He can barely breathe, and even if he could he doesn't think he could get words through the choking blockade his throat has become. He shudders, and then he can't stop. Everything just shatters around him and he's crying, thick and hot and in ragged sobs that hurt his chest.
Bruce picks him up, dragging him around till he's in his lap, one arm a vice around his back and the other warm against the back of his skull. It's safe and warm and he cries all the harder for it. Cries until he has nothing left to give, and the sharp edges where he's broken open have smoothed off into an easier, aching emptiness. Bruce holds him the whole time, the arm on his back easing bit by bit, as he does, till Bruce's palm is just resting on his back, solid and comforting.
Eventually, when his breathing smooths out, Jason leans his weight harder into Bruce's chest and ducks his head down underneath his chin. He feels fragile. Open. He can't remember the last time he cried any more than a tear or two from pain. Only ever just pain.
Bruce presses a kiss to the top of his head, sighing and pulling him a little closer. "You're a good kid, Jason, and I know you'll be a good man before long. The world's full of ignorant idiots that love to hate what they don't understand, and unfortunately, caring for someone they don't approve of can be that. There are people that hate me for being with Selina, just because she's not from my class, as surely as they would hate me for showing any affection to a man. Those people aren't worth your time, and I'm never going to let anyone try and hurt you for how you live. Never, understand? You're my son; I'll protect you as long as I can."
Jason nods, and then shivers. "I don't know what to do," comes out in a rough whisper.
A hand strokes his back. "I know. It's not going to be easy; it might never be. But we're your family, and that's never going to matter to us."
He's never been good at not pushing. Boundaries, his luck… "What if it's Dick?"
Bruce doesn't answer for a long few moments, but then he sighs again. "Well, that's a little more complicated, but it's the same as any other relationship. It's up to both of you what you want it to be. I know it feels risky, and you don't ever have to ask him, or even tell him if you don't want to. No one's going to make you."
"It's not fair."
"You're right, but life rarely is." Bruce pauses, then asks, "Do you want my advice?"
He nods. Just enough for Bruce to feel it.
"I know it's hard, but be patient. You're still young, and it won't be long before Dick's off to college and you're heading off to train with the teachers I've set up for you. It will give you time to figure yourself out away from all this." Bruce kisses the top of his head, squeezing him tighter for a second. "You don't have to make all these decisions right now."
That… doesn't sound so bad. In some ways. But Dick… He's going to have to lie to his face, and Dick's going to know. Dick's always been able to tell when people are lying.
"I don't think I can do this."
"You're going to have to," Bruce says, not unkindly, "but it doesn't have to be tonight. Come on, I'll carry you down and you can get some sleep; all of this can be faced tomorrow. That sound better?"
Not really, but it’s not like there’s any better choice. What, run back to the streets? Not going to happen.
“Alright.”
Bruce gathers him up a little more securely, getting to his feet. “It gets easier, Jason. I promise. You’ll be alright, eventually.”
Sure, but eventually isn’t now, and that’s not soon enough for him. He buries his head against Bruce’s collar, curling around the ache in his chest and holding it close. What other option has he got? If this is who he is…
He’s just going to have to live with it.