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ONE THING good about being sent back in time to his own city was that Bruce could find comfort in its familiarity.
The components of the dim-lit street had drastically changed but the layout remained the same. Bruce could tell he was about two blocks away from Crime Alley, in a derelict residential area. He recognized a couple of old buildings -- ones that had gone down after the quake. One particular apartment building, however, jogged his memory a lot stronger.
Bruce stood up from his position behind a run-down car. He knew that building. It was Jason's apartment -- the one he had lived in with his mother until she had passed. The one he had followed Jason back to the very night they met.
A scruffy looking cat passed him, hissing at him suspiciously. Jason had once told him that alley cats in this part of town were always suspicious towards newcomers. Bruce knew the city inside out but sometimes, when Jason was Robin, he'd pull out the most niche facts about Gotham city. Some of them stuck with Bruce like little ghosts whenever he patrolled alone.
Bruce glanced back at the apartment. One solitary light was on in the hall and he could see the silhouette of a little head moving around behind the curtain.
He swallowed. ‘Stay put,’ Zatanna had warned. ‘Don't go wandering around.’
He stepped forward anyway. He was sure a few feet from his original position wouldn't matter much. Zatanna just liked bossing him around. He silently went up the stairs, crouching in the shadows.
He was perfectly aware that he might possibly startle the little boy but the minute he recognized Jason's apartment, all hope had gone down the drain anyway. His feet had moved without his permission.
Yet, staring at the worn down door, Bruce wondered if he should turn back. Seeing Jason as a child would not do any wonders to his mental health. He could hear Alfred chiding his self torture right now.
The door, however, creaked slightly. It opened only an inch wide but Bruce could see a pair of eyes looking out alertly. “Dad?” he called out, in a small voice. A voice too young, too innocent…
Bruce's heart constricted. He had not heard that voice in a long time. Calling him-- Even when Jason was Robin, his voice was on the verge of maturing and he had hardly ever let it sound this...vulnerable.
Bruce stepped out of the shadows slowly, not wanting to scare Jason. Jason's eyes widened, like he had been expecting someone else.
“What are you doing here, Batman?” Jason sneered, pushing the door forward a little but still keeping it a crack open. “If you're looking for my dad, he's not here.”
Right. Willis Todd.
“I'm not looking for your father,” Bruce replied gruffly.
“Then what?” Jason asked, his voice sounding muffled behind the door before becoming clear. Jason had opened the door and was now looking Batman up and down with awe and fright in his eyes. “Can't be here for me. I know Batman's got better things to do than chase after grocery store pickpockets.”
His tone was challenging, yet wavering. He was scared but too proud to admit it. Bruce looked down at him. His hair was rumpled, characterized by sleep. A couple inches long, framing his forehead with curls. His cheeks were plump, and there was a deep purple bruise right where his zygomatic bone was located. He looked about seven to eight years old. Bruce felt a swell of anger despite himself. “Are you hurt?”
“What?” Jason asked, his bottom lip jutted out and his eyebrow hunched like he was trying to figure Bruce out.
“You have a bruise.” Bruce pointed out. And a plump red lip, just starting to bleed from all the biting.
“Oh,” Jason whispered, staring down at his feet self consciously. “Yeah.”
The air around them was quiet. He was sure the boy must have found it strange that Batman was at his doorstep, not taking any apparent action.
“I'm from the future,” Bruce explained. “I was hoping to stay put for a while before my teammates come and get me.”
“You mean like Superman?” Jason tilted his head up at Bruce, his eyes shining with excitement. The pale yellow light above them made them seem so bright.
“Not particularly,” Bruce answered, frowning. “Do you mind if I come in?”
Jason stilled again, cocking his head sideways. “You sure you're not here to spy on my dad or whatever? Because he's not here and neither is Mom. He said he won't be back for a few days.”
“Where's your mother?” Bruce asked, following him inside. The apartment was small, crammed with furniture. Jason navigated around them easily while Bruce had to be careful not to step on anything fragile. Bruce noticed the lack of toys -- lack of everything, really. The only thing in abundance was the amount of bills strewn around the coffee table. There was only one, lonely little box sitting at the corner of the living room titled ‘Toys: Jason.’
“So you're from the future,” Jason called out instead, ignoring his question. “Has Poison Idea put out any more good albums?”
There was a smirk to his face, like the idea of Batman listening to Poison Idea amused him. You would know, Bruce thought. You loved them. He wondered if his Jason still did.
“You're too young to be listening to such music.”
“Ha. What're you gonna do? Arrest me?” Jason demanded, hands on his hips. He took Bruce's lack of response as a win, cocking his head to one side. “So? What's the answer?”
“I don't listen to Poison Idea.” Batman replied shortly.
“Of course,” Jason said, jumping atop the couch. Bruce wasn't sure that was particularly safe, considering he had seen a stray piece of glass around here somewhere. “Flying cars?”
“I already have one in this time period.”
“That makes you sound ancient,” Jason said, sitting on top of the head of the couch. “Better economy?” There was a grin on his face, like he was particularly proud of himself for coming up with that one.
“Sure.” Bruce sat down, a considerable distance from Jason, who was still eyeing him warily. Bruce tried not holding his gaze for too long. There was something too innocent in that face that he couldn't bring himself to look.
“Say, you hungry?” Jason asked, absently rubbing his belly.
“Do you have any food?” Bruce asked, looking around the house.
Bruce paused, eyeing the couch. There were only three other rooms, if you didn't count the bathroom. However the kitchen seemed a lot safer than here. “Take me to your kitchen.”
“Someone's bossy,” Jason mumbled, leaping off the couch. He trailed into the kitchen, occasionally glancing at Bruce from the side of his eyes. “I know I live in a rat's nest of a place, mister, but we got shit to eat, okay?” Jason snapped. “We've got gram crackers in there, I've seen dad eat it.” He looked upwards at a cabinet that was way out of reach for someone of Jason's height.
Bruce frowned. “He doesn't let you eat it, does he?”
Jason widened his eyes in surprise but it didn't take a detective to figure out the living conditions in this apartment.
“Here,” Bruce said, pulling out a chocolate bar from his belt. “Eat this instead.”
“Really?” Jason asked, reaching for it. His voice broke with excitement as he quickly undid the wrappers. He handed it to Bruce. “I can't, um, throw this in the house. My dad…”
“I understand.” Bruce said, taking the wrapper from Jason and putting it back in his belt. He shook his head when Jason offered him a piece of the bar.
“Fwanks.”
Bruce would tell him to eat with his mouth closed but frankly it was heartwarming to see him eat anything at all.
“Jason,” Bruce started hesitantly. Jason looked up at him, the corners of his mouth messy with chocolate. It seemed as though whenever the child looked at him, Bruce found it hard to speak. He hadn't even lost all his baby fat yet. “I can help. With the bruise.”
Jason frowned, like that somehow offended him. “Who said I need your help?”
Bruce shook his head. “It looks like it hurts,” he explained gently. “I've got time to kill. You'd be doing me a favour.”
When he put it that way, Jason seemed to see reason. He nodded. “That why you brought me to the kitchen?”
“Yes.” Bruce turned on the light. There was a fridge tucked away at the corner. He opened it and took out an ice pack. “Turn on the heat, please.”
Jason nodded, setting water onto the stove. “S'weird.” he mumbled, watching the water.
“What is?”
“Batman being my nurse,” Jason giggled. He watched, as Bruce pulled out a cloth from his belt. “Who takes care of you when you get beat up?”
Bruce paused. “A friend.” You love him, Bruce thought to himself. More than you love me at times. Alfred loves you too. You make him happy.
“Must be some kinda friend.”
“Hnn.”
They were quiet, as Bruce gathered the supplies from his medkit. The water was almost bubbling now, ready to be just the right amount of warm.
“You called me Jason.”
Bruce continued working on the water, but his hands stilled.
“Do we know each other in the future or something?”
“Yes.”
“How come?” Jason asked suspiciously. Bruce recognized his tone. It was one of self-doubt. Bruce knew he didn't want to take after his father.
“You're a friend,” Bruce replied quietly. “Someone I trust.”
“Cool,” Jason grinned wildly in relief. Bruce tried to think of the last time he had smiled so big as an adult. It didn't come to mind. “Like Superman?”
“Lift your head up.” Bruce instructed, ignoring him. He took off a glove and cupped Jason's head, tilting it upwards. He dipped the cloth in water and wiped it clean across Jason's face. It was always more pink than white, flushed with colour. Bruce swept aside his curls. “Your hair is too long.”
“Mom says that too,” Jason said idly. He kicked his legs about, like he was bored, each kick landing on Bruce's thigh.
“Stop it,” Bruce warned. Jason stopped, but not before landing one last, harsh kick. Bruce sighed. “You're very small,” he said, more to himself than to Jason.
“I'm not small, I'm eight and a quarter!” Jason snapped defiantly.
“Hnn.”
Bruce picked up the ice pack and turned Jason's cheek. The bruise was fresh, large. “Did your father do this to you?”
Jason must have sensed something in his tone because he inhaled shakily. When Bruce looked at him, his eyes were afraid. Not of the bruise or the mention of Willis. Of him. Bruce relaxed a little and eased his grip on Jason. That only got Jason to loosen up slightly. His shoulders were still hunched.
“It was..it was either me or Mom,” he said in a small voice, looking down at his knees. “She took it last week. It's my turn.” Bruce tried to look at him but he refused to look up. “I'm sorry, Batman.”
“It's not your fault, Jason.”
“Just don't send him to jail,” Jason said, flatly, brushing his hair back into his forehead. “Okay? Please.”
Bruce raised his eyebrow. Jason had never particularly been fond of his father. He had always told Bruce he was glad when the man got sent to jail.
“He puts food on the table,” Jason explained. “That's what mom says.”
Jason shrugged. Bruce lifted the ice pack towards Jason's cheek. “This might hurt, chum.” He pressed it down, as gently as he could.
Jason breathed in again and gripped Bruce's wrist. “Ow!”
“I'm sorry,” Bruce said gently. “I'm sorry, Jay.”
Jason sniffed. “It hurts, Batman.”
“I know,” Bruce said softly. I know, Robin. His heart ached in raw anger and helplessness. If only he had found Jason sooner. At eight instead of twelve. At the warehouse, instead of after it blew up. The house they were in reeked of loneliness and melancholy. All Bruce could see was how truly alone Jason had been, all his life. Even in Ethiopa, gashed with his bright, red blood, he had been so alone.
Tears began rolling down Jason's cheeks and Bruce felt helpless again. Of all the boys in the family, Jason cried the easiest. Bruce had never known what to do. He knew, theoretically, his boy secretly liked being held. He knew he liked making himself small in Bruce's arms every now and then after a bad dream or a bad night on patrol. This boy, however, was not his boy. He had to remind himself that, every time his fingers involuntarily began wanting to comb through Jason's hair.
Jason hastily began wiping away his tears. For a lack of better things to do, Bruce began digging around his belt for pain relief cream. He knew Alfred had put in one suitable for kids.
“This will soothe the pain,” Bruce said, gently rubbing some cream onto Jason's cheek.
“In the future,” Jason said, sniffing. “How well do we know each other?”
Your favorite color is green. You hated Porphyria’s Lover when you read it for the first time. Your time of death was--
“Well.” Batman replied tersely.
“Does it get better?” Jason whispered, looking into Bruce's eyes. They were so deep blue. So full of hope.
“It does.” Bruce lied, ignoring the sharp sinking in his gut as he said it.