Chapter Text
Jason had been watching Batman work for twenty minutes now, crouched behind a dumpster, and the only gumption he had mustered was to shuffle his feet forward an inch. The vigilante had his back turned to him, but Jason wasn’t a fool - he knew that more than likely, the man knew he was there.
Somehow, that was more unnerving than trying to sneak up on him. Not that sneaking up on him was Jason’s best idea.
The Alley was bitter cold that night. It was the very end of summer, the days where the sun was hot but the nights turned crisp and chill, and Jason’s mildewed jacket and blanket weren’t cutting it. Sitting in the apartment he had chosen for the week he heavily considered lighting the molding couch on fire just to have some heat - but, as previously stated, Jason wasn’t stupid. Instead of committing arson, Jason sought out other methods of getting warm.
None of the dumpsters in the area had any clothes left, or anything that could resemble clothing. That made sense - warm clothes were sparse, and more than likely snatched up the moment anyone threw them out. Jason wasn’t willing to try and fight someone for their clothing or blankets; it felt wrong to try and deprive someone who was in the same situation as himself. He also wasn’t going to ask anyone to share, because that was stupid, and not how the Alley worked.
Final options, then.
Stealing a coat or a blanket was next to impossible. Either one was too big to sneak out of a store, and Jason didn’t want to try breaking into someone’s home. There were too many variables; his young mind imagined a shotgun pointed at his chest, or the police dragging him away in handcuffs. Neither of those options would do.
So that left extortion.
Jason was good at extortion. He was what the adults called a snoop - nobody paid attention to the little kid with the big ears, and without even realizing it, adults would hand him the keys to getting what he needed. During the spring Jason could tell the pharmacist, Marcy, with whom her boyfriend was cheating on her, and he would get allergy medicine for his troubles. During the summer a well-placed remark about the IRS got him a free ice cream cone from Vincent, the vendor who had a warrant out for tax evasion. Jason knew how to collect information because adults found information valuable. And it was. It was free, easy to get, and easy to carry, so long as he kept his noggin clear.
Jason had information Batman could use. He knew it. He had thought it over all day, sitting on that moldy couch, eating stale saltines. Batman would be interested in the information Jason had.
But would he let Jason barter with him, or would he dangle him off a building by an ankle? That was the main question.
If Robin had been with him, that wouldn’t have been a concern. Robin kept things light and balanced out the dark shadows of Batman’s exterior - hell, if Robin were around, Jason wouldn’t have thought twice. Robin would have just given him whatever he wanted, no bartering needed because Jason was a kid and Robin liked kids. But Robin wasn’t around anymore - nobody knew where the teen had gone - and Batman had become scary again, like the old stories Jason used to hear the goons in the area tell. Breaking bones, just barely keeping people alive. Batman didn’t kill, no, but sometimes? Sometimes living was worse, maybe.
Jason stayed crouched behind that dumpster, silent, because he simply couldn’t decide if Batman was far gone enough to make a kid wish he was dead.
It didn’t seem like the vigilante was going anywhere anytime soon. The man had his car, the Batmobile, parked in the alleyway, and he had the trunk open. A hidden layer had unfolded upwards, turning into a table for the man to run whatever lab experiment he was doing; it looked like he was monitoring a vial’s acidity, to Jason’s eyes, but what did he know? He was a fourth-grade dropout. The science he knew he learned by sneaking into the science museum for kicks when the schools had field trips.
Batman’s shoulders were relaxed. His stance was relaxed. Jason could maybe convince himself that he was just a normal person who happened to be wearing a funny costume. He definitely wasn’t an undead creature of the night, the way Willis used to say, and he probably didn’t feed on children who didn’t behave.
God, Jason was sweating. How he was sweating and freezing at the same time, he didn’t know.
“Suck it up,” Jason whispered to himself, swallowing, and he watched Batman pause - only for a single heartbeat - before carrying on with his task. Okay. He knew he was there. Jason squeezed his eyes shut, counted to ten in his head, and stood up.
“Hey,” he said, his voice far too loud and brash for the silence of the Alley. It was hoarse, too - fresh water was hard to come by, and Jason wasn’t a fan of botulism. Hoarse or not, though, his voice carried enough to reach its target. Batman’s shoulders moved, shrugging up before slumping, and he finished whatever he was doing before setting down the vial and turning to face Jason.
“What is it?” The man asked, the tone all grumbling and deadpan, and Jason blanched. His words were scattered; having Batman’s eyes on him, directly on him, was intimidating, and the way the man crossed his arms over his chest made Jason want to sprint in the other direction.
He didn’t, which he celebrated later.
“I have information,” Jason finally managed, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. The very good thing about this was that the adrenaline was keeping his body warm. The very bad thing was that Jason was trembling, head to toe, and stuck in a defensive position - poised to start running if Batman made any movements.
The vigilante was not impressed. He waited for a beat before hefting a sigh, his shoulders shrugging up to his chin again before dropping. “About?” He prompted, arms tightening in front of his chest.
Right. Jason was trying to give him information. “Penguin,” the boy said, and if he stuttered slightly, Batman didn’t mention it. An eyebrow arched under the cowl, so Jason sped ahead, not wanting to be cast aside so quickly. This was his chance to get warm, after all. “He has this, uh. Plan. Plot? Plot. To replace store eggs with, uh, explosive ones.” Jason rambled the sentence in a messy, stringy heap, and then shoved his hand in his pocket to pull out a small scrap of paper. Batman had both eyebrows raised, watching silently, and the silence made Jason’s heart pound. “I have an address for the warehouse,” he said, holding up the paper. “But I need something from you first. A fair deal.”
“A fair deal,” Batman mimicked, deadpan, and Jason nodded once. The vigilante’s expression flattened. “What do you need?”
Here it was. It was Jason’s chance. Batman had taken the bait and all Jason needed to do was reel him in. “One of your thermal blankets,” the boy said, with all the false bravado of someone who believed they won the argument. “I know you keep some in your car. At least two. I want one.”
Batman stared at him. It was a tense standoff; Jason's entire body was taut, ready to start sprinting if the man breathed the wrong way. Batman was perfectly still with his arms folded across his chest, expression blank. It was as though the vigilante expected Jason to crumble, to turn tail and run, to rethink what he was doing and decide it wasn't the best idea.
It wasn't the best idea. It wasn't even a good idea. But it was the only option, so Jason planted his feet, quivering hand still holding up the slip of paper. His eyes didn't leave the cowl, the bright white film hiding the gaze underneath.
Batman made a sound like a snort and abruptly turned away, and Jason jumped at the movement. The vigilante had his back turned now, reaching into the car, and Jason wondered if he should be running. In the fifteen seconds it took for the man to find what he was looking for, Jason's mind went through twelve different scenarios; Batman throwing a huge net over him like in one of those dumb old movies, Batman pulling out a taser and leaving him twitching on the ground, Batman pulling out Jason's own personal file and reading him to filth -
Something hit Jason in the chest, and he stumbled back with an oof . His hands came down instinctively to catch it, and he blinked down at a thick woolen rectangle, neatly folded.
"Leave the address on the dumpster lid," Batman said, his back once again turned to the boy as he went back to his vials and acids. "Don't make a habit of this."
Jason, cowed, nodded. "Won't," He promised, hoarse voice cracking on the syllable, and he scrambled to set down the paper and run before the vigilante changed his mind. He darted down the alley, to the dead end, and up the fire escape, clambering into his apartment. Safety.
He hadn't even noticed Batman turn to watch him leave.
In Jason's apartment, there wasn't any electricity. That was okay, for the most part; In the darkness, the boy maneuvered his way through the living room, listening carefully for the dull thud of a rotting floorboard. Once he heard it he dropped to his knees to pull it back and retrieved the small backpack he'd stashed there. It had been a miracle find at the end of the school year; A licensed Wonder Woman backpack, only one strap broken, and with the use of the small sewing kit Jason kept on him it held up nicely. He replaced the floorboard before flopping onto the couch, still holding the blanket close, and rummaged in the bag until he found his flashlight. He turned it on and set it on its end, the light dimly illuminating the room, and finally, he let himself unfold the blanket and wrap himself in it. It was huge; big enough that he could pull his legs up into the warmth, and pull it over his head, and he couldn't resist a breathless laugh of relief. It was warm. It was life-saving. He'd probably be able to make it through the winter, so long as he kept the blanket dry.
Most canned goods were okay to eat cold, and he had become an expert at prying back the aluminum with a pocket knife. He had searched every abandoned apartment in this building for left-behind goods and had acquired a small pile of cans; things that wouldn't go bad for years, not that they'd get the chance. Jason carefully selected the least favorite of his; canned spinach, one of the small ones. He had eaten one of his favorites two nights ago, the pork and beans, and he tried his best to ration out the good stuff as best he could.
Jason sat in the darkness, balled in his blanket, and ate his canned spinach. It was gone too soon like it always was, but Jason didn't let himself think about the gnawing in his stomach; it had been a good day. He had done a scary thing, and it had turned out good.
Jason fell asleep to the flicker of his flashlight, cocooned in a blanket, and warm.