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Jason knew he was screwed the moment he saw the pity in the store clerk’s eyes.
“Sorry kid,” the old man said not unkindly, “there’s nothing I can do about these.”
Jason’s heart sank and embarrassingly he could feel the slight prickle of tears behind his eyes. He dug his nails into his palms until his traitorous eyes calmed down. He refused to cry, he was not a baby. He was twelve years old and he could handle this. When he was sure he wouldn't burst into tears as soon as he opened his mouth, he tried once more.
“You’re sure there’s nothing you can do? Can’t you replace the blade or something?”
Jason wished he could go back and throttle his past self. How stupid do you have to be to actually break an ice skate?
This was his third skating shop and last chance. The next closest shop was in New York and if he couldn’t afford a Gotham repair, he highly doubted New York was going to be any better. At least this guy had actually looked at his skates. The last shop had taken one look at him and practically pushed him out the door.
This store was a lot smaller than the last two he had visited. Tucked away in a basement unit in Chinatown, Jason had walked by it three times before finally spotting it. Inside, the smell of oil and leather clung to the air, and skates of every size and color were scattered across any available shelf. Behind the counter was a tall man with a thin wrinkled face and soft grey hair. Jason had been prepared for him to try to kick him out too, but the shop clerk had only frowned at his appearance.
“Technically I could, but it's not going to be worth it. I’d have to replace both blades because the left one’s just as worn down as the right. And the blades alone are going to cost more than the whole skate is worth. And even if I did that, young kid like you is just going to grow out of these in a few months.”
Jason frowned. He didn’t mention the fact that he had already grown out of them ages ago. His socks stained red with blood were a testament to that.
“Sorry kid, there’s nothing I can do for them.” He slid the skates back over the counter. Jason stretched up on his toes to grab them and tuck them carefully back into his bag.
“How much would new skates cost?” he asked glumly but he already knew no matter what the man said, it was going to be too much.
The shop clerk studied him for a long moment before he sighed, “I’d give them to you for free if I could kid but business hasn’t been great and I honestly can’t afford to do it. Halfway decent skates that are going to support the kind of skating you’re doing are gonna cost you at least four hundred.”
Jason flinched. He wasn’t stupid. He knew skates were expensive but he used to just be able to pick up a few shifts washing dishes under the table to make up for what his scholarships couldn’t cover. But now he couldn’t risk someone at the restaurant calling CPS and he was too young to get an actual job that wasn’t hauling drugs for some gang.
If you did it, all your problems would be solved, said the little voice in his head, just a couple runs and you would have more than enough money for your skates. No. No. It wasn’t worth it. If he got caught, he could kiss his dreams of the Olympics goodbye. No one was going to want some gangster representing them on the international stage.
He thanked the store clerk for his time and turned towards the door. The sharp fall wind slapped him in the face as he stepped outside. It was getting cold quickly. Soon winter was going to be in full swing. Jason shivered and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up and tight so it covered as much of himself as possible. His plans to save for a new winter jacket were going to have to be pushed to the backburner for the moment. Getting new skates was more important.
Jason did the math in his head. It would probably take him about a month to save up enough money. And if he wasn’t going to be able to practice, he could afford to cut down on his food budget. His stomach rumbled in protest at the thought but he ignored it. The sooner he got the money together, the better.
His tire iron was a heavy weight in his backpack. It was risky but a few stolen tires could definitely speed along his timeline. One of the guys at the auto shop his dad used to work at would buy parts off him if he brought them in. He hadn’t been brave enough to try in months but he would have to make it work. Jason needed to get back to skating as soon as possible.
The sun had long set by the time Jason was ready to call it quits for the night. He was sure that somewhere up there God was looking down at him and laughing. Not long after he had left the shop a torrent of bitter rain had been unleashed upon the city, forcing him to seek shelter in a nearby empty shopping mall.
By the time the rain finally let up, the sun was setting and a nasty coldness was taking its place. The rain had driven all but the most hardened Gothamites inside meaning there were no easy marks whose pockets he could pick. But at least the empty streets meant Jason could stroll through relatively unbothered. Scrapping for metal wasn’t the most lucrative way to get cash but it was one of the more simpler.
But by midnight, Jason had gathered nothing near what he had wanted. His bag was full of dented aluminum cans and glass bottles but nothing that could get him any real money. He probably should have gone home to lick his wounds and get some sleep hours ago but the thought of returning empty handed made him want to vomit. It was only when he was about to give up that he noticed a glimmer of silver in the reflection of a puddle.
The car appeared to him like an oasis appears to a dying man.
He almost missed it, the oil black paint blending in with the rest of the shadows cast by the blinking street lights. He probably would have walked right past it if it wasn’t for its shining silver rims which practically glowed where the light hit them. Jason closed his eyes and pitched his thigh but when he opened them, the car was still there.
As he crept towards the vehicle, Jason was half expecting someone to jump out of the shadows and grab him. There was no way someone could be stupid enough to leave a car like this sitting prettily in Crime Alley. Surely it had to be some sort of trap. But the street remained quiet and empty.
His hand hovered reverently over the smooth black body. It was gorgeous; some foreign sports car whose brand Jason didn’t recognize. The windows were tinted darker than what was probably legal and even the decals and parts of the car that were normally silver were painted a matte black color. Jason’s hands itched to be behind that wheel. This thing could probably reach speeds he could only dream of.
He crouched down to inspect the tires. They were basically flawless and polished so bright that his face grinned back at him in the rims. Maybe he wasn’t so cursed after all. These babies alone were going to be enough to get him exactly what he needed.
There was no time to waste. He wasn’t sure how long the car had been parked here and the owner could be back any second. He couldn’t worry about the consequences, he simply had to act. With his tire iron in hand, the bolts slid out as easily as a hot knife cuts through butter. It took him about six minutes to take off the first tire and roll it into a nearby alley. The next one took him five.
He would hide these away for the night and come morning he could roll them over to the auto shop. If he played his cards just right, he could probably get at least a hundred for each of them.
He was halfway through with the final tire when something pulled at his hood, jerking him away from the car. The tire iron slipped from his fingers and clanged harshly against the asphalt. Jason twisted around quickly to get eyes on his attacker. A tall man cast in shadows loomed over him, the little bit of his face that Jason could see bent into a frown. Shit, where had he even come from? He hadn’t heard him approach at all.
Jason squirmed and tried to break the hold on his hoodie, but the stranger's grip only grew tighter, drawing him up until he was on the tips of his toes. The man had pale white skin with blazing blue eyes and for a brief moment, Jason thought maybe it was a vengeful spirit come to punish him.
But then the man opened his mouth to speak and Jason didn’t think that ghosts typically had Jersey accents, “What do you think you’re doing?” he growled.
So not a ghost but a man, a very angry man whose very expensive car Jason had just desecrated. Still he knew how to deal with men angry or otherwise. Jason pulled back his left leg and with all his strength, drove his foot right where the man’s two legs met together. The man grunted loudly but whether it was out of surprise or pain, he couldn’t be sure. Either way, his grip loosened enough for Jason to tear himself away.
He dove for the tire iron and bolted towards a nearby fire escape. As he scrambled up the ladder, he called back to the man frozen with shock below, “Try and catch me, you big boob!”
A peal of shocked laughter followed him up towards the roof but Jason did not dare turn back around to look. He climbed until he couldn't climb any further, ducking behind a giant vent to catch his breath. His heart was beating out of his chest. That had been way too close for comfort. If the man had just a slightly tighter grip, Jason would have been toast. He took a few deep breaths to calm his thundering heart.
It sucked that he hadn’t been able to get the fourth tire off before he was interrupted. A full set would sell for so much more than a partial one. But beggars can’t be choosers. He’d probably have to hide out until the man got the car towed but there were worse places in Gotham. An overhang had kept this part of the roof mostly dry and the vent radiated heat onto him.
Maybe the man would just grab a taxi and go home and Jason could sneak down and grab that fourth tire. He had been stupid enough to park the car there in the first place.
He strained his ears but he couldn’t hear anything over the humming of the vent. The man had probably assumed he ran away by now. And even if he did spot him, Jason could get away easily by the time he made his way up there. It was safe, he told himself. Still, Jason slowly crawled over to the edge of the roof just in case.
The man was crouching and inspecting the holes where his tires used to be. He seemed to grow more distressed with each empty wheel well. A bubble of pride welled up in Jason’s chest. He had probably thought he would be fine just leaving the car unattended for a few minutes but little did he know that Jason moved quickly. The man turned towards the alleyway but Jason wasn’t nervous. The hidey hole he had stuffed the tires in was well hidden at night. The man would have to already know where it was or have crazy good eye sight to spot it.
Just as he thought, the man emerged from the alley a few minutes later empty handed. He resumed searching around the backside of the car for his tires. All Jason had to do was wait for the man to get tired of searching so he could climb down and move the tires to a safer location till he could sell them when the mechanics opened. He just had to be patient.
By the fourth time the man entered the alley where the tires were hidden, Jason was starting to get nervous. The man was relentless; searching the surrounding area again and again even when his previous searches turned up nothing. Each time Jason thought he was about to give up, the man found a new angle to look from or a new spot to check. It was exhausting just watching him.
Jason frowned. He wasn’t going to stop until he found those tires. That wasn’t good. His hiding spot was good but it wasn’t undetectable. Sooner or later it was going to be found, and Jason was going to be left empty handed. Looks like waiting the man out wasn’t going to work out. He had to come up with some other way to salvage this.
Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to stop as he slowly crept down the fire escape. The man grew larger as Jason got closer to the street. He had to be over six feet with arms seemingly the size of Jason’s whole body. His back was turned towards him but when he heard Jason jump to the ground, he spun to face him.
Jason tightened his grip on the tire iron, making sure to hold it up high enough where the man could see it. He locked his knees so they would stop shaking but he couldn’t hide the tremble in his arms. The man stared at him incredulously like it was Jason who was acting out of the ordinary.
This was definitely the worst idea Jason had ever had.
“Looks like you lost something,” Jason called out in a voice that he hoped sounded nonchalant.
The man studied him closely, “Looks like it.”
The clear irritation in his deep voice almost sent Jason scrambling back up the fire escape but he held strong. If he made a single move towards him, Jason would run. The man looked strong but Jason was fast. And if he got too close, well his dad had always wanted him to play baseball and Jason knew he had a hell of a swing.
“I could probably find them for you. I know this area like the back of my hand. There isn’t anything that I can’t find.”
The man squinted at him, “So you’re offering to find the tires that you definitely didn’t already steal.”
“Yep,” Jason smiled, “and I just so happened to have this tire iron right here on me so I could even re-attach them for you if you’d like. I’m real handy with it.”
Jason gave the iron a spin like he saw people do in the movies. He hoped he looked as cool as they did.
“And can I assume you’d like to be compensated for your efforts?”
Jason nodded quickly before realizing that it didn't look especially cool, “Think of it as a donation to disadvantaged youth.”
Jason Todd you are such a badass, he told himself.
The man only sighed and rubbed his hand against his forehead. He looked back at the car, at Jason, and then finally up at the sky like he was begging it for something.
“Fine, whatever, you got me. How much do you want, kid?”
Shit, he didn’t know how much to ask for. The obvious answer would be to get the whole four hundred dollars in one go. But what if that was too much and he said no or got angry. He should probably start smaller and ask for two hundred or something. That would be safer. But then again this man was obviously filthy rich and seemed game enough to play along with him as long as this ended quickly. He might even have four hundred on him right now.
Plus if he got the money tonight he could go back to that shop tomorrow and buy new skates. Ultimately that was the thing that pushed him over the edge. He needed to get back to skating as quickly as possible. And he had already gone this far, he might as well go all the way.
Jason straightened his stance and his most confident and authoritative voice told the man, “I’ll need four hundred.”
The man didn’t flinch at the amount like any normal person would. He only tilted his head like he was trying to work something out. He eyed Jason up and down like a mechanic looks at a broken engine before they take it apart. A shiver went up Jason’s spine under his heavy gaze.
“That’s a pretty specific number to just come up with,” he finally said.
“Think of it as a hundred per tire.”
The man looked at the car and then back at Jason, “But you only took off three?”
Jason did not stomp his foot in frustration because that would be childish and Jason was not a child. “I was about to get off that last one! I just needed like thirty more seconds.”
The man looked unconvinced.
“What do you need four hundred dollars for?” he asked, his voice now sounding more curious than angry.
“Its none of your business,” Jason snapped, “do you have the money or not?”
This wasn’t going like he thought it would be. Why was he so insistent on knowing what Jason was going to do with the money? It wasn’t like he was going to spend it on drugs or something.
“Its just most people would ask for five hundred before they’d ask for four. Asking for four hundred specifically makes it seem like there's something specifically you need the money for.
Jason was moments away from screaming. “Why do you care? Do you want your tires back or not?”
He was done with this man and his questions. It was getting late and the emotions of the day sat heavily on his shoulders. All he wanted to do was crawl up in the little nest of blankets he made for himself in the rink’s storage room and pass out.
The man finally seemed to catch on to Jason’s rapidly declining patience and dropped his weird line of questioning. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a dark leather wallet. Jason’s eyes practically popped out of his skull when he plucked out four crisp hundred dollar bills from a pocket that looked to contain what was presumably more crisp hundred dollar bills. Who just carried that much cash on them at all times? He guessed the same kind of man who left his very expensive car parked in a place nicknamed Crime Alley.
Jason inched over to where the man held out the money. Everything he had ever learned about stranger danger was blaring through his head but he needed that money. His knuckles were white where they were gripped around the handle of the tire iron. When he was close enough to reach, Jason snatched the money out of his hand and hurried back out of arms reach.
A bubble of giddiness rose up from through him. He had actually done it! He quickly shoved the cash in his shoe for safe keeping. Maybe the universe wasn’t out to get him after all. Jason glanced back at the man who was still standing dumbly by his car. He could probably make a run for it. Jason knew these streets better than anyone, the man would never catch up. But he had kept up his end of the bargain and immediately handed over the money instead of trying to hold it over Jason’s head.
Plus he also felt kind of bad for the guy. He seemed harmless enough and if Jason left him alone here with his tire-less car, he’d probably end up getting mugged or something.
“I hid them over there.” Jason pointed towards his hiding spot, pushing down his remaining doubts. He had made a deal, and now he had to follow through.
Jason led him to one of the dumpsters in the nearby alley which covered a piece of plywood hiding a portion of the wall where the bricks had crumbled at some point or another. Jason had found the spot months ago and had after removing a few rusty nails, the plywood could be slid up to open and close access to the dark cavity hidden behind it. It wasn’t super obvious at first glance and the space between the wall and the dumpster was small enough that most people would struggle to fit through.
The tires were waiting for him there, just as shining and beautiful as he left them. He was careful not to scratch them as he rolled them out towards the car. The man was his silent shadow as Jason brought over each of the three tires he had managed to take off. He had offered help early on in the endeavor but Jason waved him off. The last thing he needed was more hands getting in his way. Besides the man had paid four hundred dollars for him to put the tires back on, he might as well do it.
The night was quiet as Jason screwed each of the lug nuts back on. It was a meditative kind of work, simple and repetitive but requiring enough effort that his mind couldn’t just float away. If he hadn’t already planned on being a skater, Jason could see himself working as a mechanic. Maybe once he retired. He imagined it would be fun to take apart cars and put them back together again.
Of course the man decided to interrupt his tranquility with his invasive questions again, “So, what do you need the money for?”
Jason stopped what he was doing to shoot him a dirty look. Not this again. The man was leant against his car with his arms crossed watching Jason work with a steady gaze. Instead of flinching back at Jason’s glare, he only looked more intrigued. What was this guy's deal? Why did he care so much about what Jason wanted to do with the money?
“If I tell you why I need it, will you shut up?” Jason asked with an exaggerated sigh.
The man lifted his right hand up, “Cross my heart.”
If the man wanted to be a weirdo and insist on knowing why Jason needed the money, he might as well indulge him.
“I need to buy new skates.”
That obviously had not been what the man was expecting. His brow furrowed deep in confusion. “Skates? What, like a skateboard or something?”
“No. Like ice skates,” Jason stressed.
His clarification did nothing to ease the man’s confusion. “You stole the tires off my car to buy new ice skates?”
Jason made sure to nod slowly so the man could clearly see it. However he had earned enough money to buy this nice of a car, it obviously hadn’t been through his brains.
The man still looked puzzled. “You know you can buy a pair of skates from Dick’s or something for like sixty dollars right? You don’t need to spend four hundred dollars just to try out skating.”
Jason scoffed, “So I can break an ankle as soon as I try to do an axel? No thanks. That cheap shit isn’t worth it.”
“You’re jumping axels?”
He bristled at the surprise in the man’s voice. Just cause Jason wasn’t some rich fuck like him, didn’t mean he couldn’t skate. He was no amateur.
“I have my double axel!”
“Double axel,” the man repeated quietly to himself. He had some weirdly happy expression on his face that Jason didn’t quite like the look of. Jason pushed his weight off his heels and onto his toes. If this turned south, he was ready to spring up and flee in an instant.
The man was still looking at him with that strange sort of amused look on his face like he was suddenly enjoying their conversation a lot more. “When you’re done with this, would you let me buy you dinner?”
“I ain’t a hooker,” Jason immediately spat out. He jumped to his feet and moved away from the car. The tire iron shook slightly where he had it raised by his head. There were certain lines he had not been desperate enough to cross yet and that was one of them.
The man flinched back as if Jason had slapped him across the face. “What? No. That’s not what I meant. I’m not like that. I would never.”
He put his hands up in the air and took a few careful steps back from Jason. If he wasn’t so anxious, Jason would probably laugh at just how devastated he looked.
“It’s just that I’m a skater too,” he continued in a rushed voice like he thought Jason might run at any moment, “And it isn't every day you get your tires stolen by a kid who can jump double axels.”
Jason looked at the man with his wide shoulders and thick arms the size of tree branches. He was built more like a hockey player than any figure skater he had ever met. At Jason’s raised eyebrow, he chuckled and acquiesced, “Well former skater.”
Jason didn’t know what to think. Could it be as simple as he said it was? It seemed way too convoluted to be a trick. But he was still hesitant to trust the man.
“And you want to get dinner?” he asked carefully.
“Well you look like you haven’t had a good meal in a while, so I was thinking two birds, one stone.”
Jason squinted at him. What was his game? It would probably be smarter to decline the offer. His stomach grumbled in protest at the thought. The man had handed over the money easily enough and he wouldn't be able to try anything fishy in a public area. He lowered the tire iron to rest by his hip.
“Fine. But I get to pick the place and if you even think of trying anything, I’ll hit you so hard you’ll be seeing stars.”
He hoped he hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of his life.
The man left him alone during the time it took for him to reattach the remaining tires. When he was done, Jason told him where they would meet back up and sped quickly off before the man could raise a complaint. Getting into his car would have been a step too far.
Jason had chosen the nearby twenty four hour diner for their meeting place for several reasons. It was open, it was cheap, and the workers there had seen enough strange things that a child meeting a man in the middle of the night was the least of their priorities. He was proven right immediately when the exhausted looking waitress didn’t even blink at his appearance. She just ushered him over to a booth and went back to taking care of the rest of her tables.
He only had to wait a few minutes before the slick black car he was intimately familiar with at this point pulled up to the curb outside. Jason’s stomach twisted as he watched the headlights turn off and a figure step out of the car. You are fine, he told himself, remember you are the one in control here. You just have to sit here and nod along to whatever he wants to say. It will be worth it for the free meal.
Still that didn’t stop the nausea from rising in him when the bell above the door rang to signal his arrival. The waitress had to look up to greet him and after about a minute of conversation, she pointed to where Jason sat frozen in the booth. He took a deep breath and then another. He had gotten this far and he would get through this.
The man looked younger under the diner lights. The shadows from the streetlights had made his face appear sharp and cold but here he looked softer with the beginnings of wrinkles around his eyes. His face was smooth with the barest hint of a 5 o'clock shadow creeping across his cheeks. His eyes were a deep shade of blue that lit up in recognition when he spotted Jason.
Fuck. He knew that face. There wasn’t an American skater alive that didn’t know that face.
As he approached, Jason’s head was full of panic for a different reason.
Fuck. He had stolen the tires off a car belonging to three time Olympic Gold Medalist and figure skating super star Bruce Wayne.
Bruce Wayne slid into the booth across from him, the cracked leather creaking under his weight. With his dark suit jacket and tight knit grey sweater, he looked out of place in the admittedly dingy diner. Any traces of bravery Jason might have felt dissipated completely with his arrival.
The waitress walked over with a pot of black coffee and Bruce quietly thanked her as she filled up his mug. Jason could only shake his head when she offered the same to him. It was like someone had stuffed a rag down his throat, he couldn’t get a single word out. None of this made any sense. How could the man he had stolen tires from be the Bruce Wayne? What was he even doing in Crime Alley in the middle of the night?
Oh God, he had kicked Bruce Wayne in the nuts and then called him a big boob. He wanted to end it all.
“Feel free to order whatever you like,” Bruce offered, “it's on me.”
Jason busied himself with looking through the diner’s expansive menu so he didn’t have to look him in the eyes. He should probably greet him but the words caught in his throat. What were you even supposed to talk about with a legend? They say to never meet your heroes but what are you supposed to do when they're drinking probably burnt coffee across from you in the middle of the night?
Bruce Wayne took his coffee with a splash of milk and one sugar. That was a fact that Jason knew now. There were fan clubs that would kill for that kind of information. Hell, there were tabloids that could write a whole column about his coffee habits. But instead it was Jason who sat across from the man watching him carefully stir his drink. What had he gotten himself into?
“I never got to introduce myself, my name is Bruce.”
“I know who you are,” blurted out Jason, like an idiot.
Bruce was good natured enough to politely chuckle at his interruptions, “I guess you would. Though I’m surprised, I thought I would be old news by now.”
Just about every place Jason had ever skated had Bruce Wayne's face or name plastered all over it, but surely he had to know that already. As a beginner, Jason had spent countless hours trying to replicate Bruce’s Olympic routines based on fuzzy Youtube videos and old skating forums. Would it to be weird mention he used to have a poster of Bruce’s face on his bedroom wall? Luckily, the waitress came back over before Jason could embarrass himself.
“What can I get for you boys?”
Bruce looked at him expectantly and the hunger suddenly resurfaced to paw at his stomach. Fuck it. He had already screwed up enough, he might as well get a good meal out of it.
“Can I get a Classic Burger with everything on it and an order of chilli cheese fries,” he looked over and searched Bruce’s face for any sign of displeasure, “and a chocolate milkshake with whipped cream and a cherry please.”
The waitress smiled and noted it down, “You got it. And for you sir?”
“I’ll have a Garden Burger with a side of fries please. And I’ll do a chocolate milkshake too, why not.” He said it like they were sharing a secret, with a glint in his eyes and a small smile tugging at his lips. Jason couldn't stop a matching smile from forming on his face.
The waitress gathered their menus and walked off, leaving them alone once again. But it was like the tension at the table had cracked just a little.
As the man fiddled with his empty sugar packet, Jason realized something else that the tabloids and the fan clubs probably didn’t know, figure skating legend Bruce Wayne was a bit lame.
“So you’re a skater right?”
Jason nodded quickly.
“Yeah? Well, are you any good?” Bruce asked with a smirk.
Jason blushed at the words. He couldn’t believe he asked an Olympic gold medalist if he was any good at skating. Bruce seemed amused by him at the very least. He did not know what he would have done if he had insulted him.
“You bet! I won first at the Metropolis Classic and the Boston Open. I even got an invitation to last year’s National Development Camp,” he boasted. Only 150 skaters in the whole entire country had been chosen and Jason had been one of them! Getting that invitation had been one of the best days of his life.
Bruce looked genuinely impressed, “The development camp is a big deal. Did you go?”
“Well no,” Jason stuttered, “Some stuff happened and I couldn't go, but I got invited. That's the important bit.”
He had been so excited to go to the camp. His club had fundraised the money for his flights and accommodations. He had marked off on his calendar as soon as he received the letter and had told everyone at school about it. It was his chance to make an impression on the national team coaches, to learn from the best and get his name out there. But a month before he was supposed to go, his mother had died and everything changed.
Training camps hadn’t been as important after that.
Bruce looked pensive for a moment and studied his face. Jason had to force himself not to squirm under the man’s intense stare.
“The Boston Open,” he mused, “Jason… Jason… Jason Todd? From the Park Row Club?”
Jason’s heart fully stopped for a moment.
“You’ve heard of me?” he croaked. It didn’t compute in his brain. Bruce Wayne existed on an entirely different planet from him. He shouldn’t even be thinking of Jason of all people, let alone enough to recognize him.
Bruce smiled, “I don’t really keep up with novices too much but I do try to keep my ear out for Gotham skaters. And a skater from a relatively unknown Gotham club doing triples as a novice tends to make a bit of a splash.”
Jason’s cheeks went red hot, “It’s no big deal. I fell on the triple anyway.”
“But you got enough rotations. That’s what's really important,” Bruce corrected.
If Bruce Wayne complimented his skating one more time, Jason was going to explode. Thankfully before they had to sweep up bits of Jason Todd off the floor, their food was being placed on the table.
The burger the waitress set down in front of him was almost the size of his head. He swallowed the saliva that was gathering in his mouth. It had been so long since he had a hot meal that hadn’t been heated up in a microwave. Jason waited only long enough for all their food to be placed on the table before he was tearing into it.
He had almost forgotten how good a burger and fries could taste. And that milkshake! He could write soliloquies about that milkshake. At one point he looked up to check on Bruce only to find him carefully cutting up his veggie burger into neat bite sized pieces. Jason stared at the man incredulously. Rich people were so weird.
Neither of them spoke while they ate, but it was a companionable kind of silence. It wasn’t until Jason had finished his burger and was making headway into his chilli fries that Bruce broke the quiet.
“You know, after you won the Boston Open, I decided to listen out for any news about you but it was suddenly radio silent. There was no mention of you placing in any competitions or even competing at all. It was like you had disappeared. What happened?”
Jason stared at a large ketchup stain set deep into the plastic table. He knew exactly what had happened and the thought of explaining his shitty life to Bruce Wayne of all people made him want to crawl up into a hole and die. Maybe Bruce had somewhat of an interest in Jason Todd the skater, the kid who could win gold and do triples, but he definitely wouldn't want to know the real Jason. He shoved another couple of fries in his mouth to avoid answering the question.
“Jason,” Bruce prompted gently, like how one might speak to a spooked animal, “What happened son? Why aren’t you competing and why are you stealing tires to buy new skates?”
Jason squirmed in his seat. The elation he felt upon Bruce recognizing him was gone, replaced with an emptiness that made his chest ache. Why couldn't they just have a good meal together? Why would Bruce want to ruin it by talking about Jason?
“My mom died,” he offered up quietly. He refused to look Bruce in the eyes but he could his posture shift as the man leaned towards him. This was the part Jason hated, when he transitioned into something others should pity.
“Oh I’m sorry Jason. Losing a parent is something no kid should ever have to experience.” Bruce’s voice was so gentle and genuine that it made Jason want to run away and hide. “You know when my parents died, I couldn't even look at the ice for almost six months. Grief presents itself in strange ways.”
Jason shook his head. No, that wasn’t it. He had never stopped wanting to skate. Even as he had knelt in the pews during his mom’s funeral, all he had been able to think about was how badly he wanted to get out of there and skate until his feet bled.
“After she died, they placed me with some family in Crown Point. They wouldn’t let me skate,” Jason pushed the fries around on his plate, his appetite gone, “It was stupid. The club had been covering my lessons and coaching fees for years cause I won for them. I would have figured out money for my skates and costumes. But they wouldn’t even let me practice.”
Tears welled and Jason dug his knuckles into his eyes to stop them from falling. He refused to cry. He was twelve years old and not some cry baby wuss who sobbed at every inconvenience.
“I kept telling my social worker that I needed to skate and that I needed to be with a different family but she didn’t give a shit as long as I was breathing. So I got myself kicked out to be placed with other families but each one was worse than the one before.”
Bruce’s eyes locked with his and Jason searched them for some sort of understanding, for some level of comprehension. Surely if anyone in the world was to understand what he meant, it would be Bruce Wayne.
“But I needed to skate.”
He needed it as desperately as he needed to eat or drink or breathe. This wasn’t a sport where you could afford to stop or fall behind. There were thousands of skaters just as desperate and hungry as he was, all with infinitely more resources and money than he could ever imagine. If he fell behind, he was as good as dead. Jason couldn’t afford to stop.
“You needed to skate,” Bruce agreed and somehow he made Jason’s desperate need sound normal.
He had not realized how relieving understanding could feel until he felt it. It was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Everyone else had said he was obsessive or delusional but Bruce got it. And that mattered more than anyone else’s opinion.
“The last house wouldn't even let me near the rink. So I left. At least on my own, I could practice.”
“How?” Bruce asked.
Jason hesitated, adults didn’t tend to take it well when you admitted to committing crimes. But then again, they had started this whole interaction with him stealing Bruce’s tires so maybe they were past that point.
“One of the windows going into my rink’s backrooms has a busted lock, so after they close up I just slip in to practice.”
“I’m really careful though,” Jason insisted, “I always make sure to put everything back where I found it. And I always leave in the morning before anyone gets there. It's just temporary anyways. My dad is supposed to get out of prison next year and then I can make him be my guardian. I just need to keep practicing till then.”
In all honesty, Jason was sure the owners of the rink knew he was there each night. He was careful but he was also human. And there was nothing he could do about the grooves he left in the ice each night. But they never fixed the faulty lock or installed cameras. It was just one more debt he owed them.
Bruce frowned, "It's dangerous to practice on your own. If you had gotten hurt there would be no one there to help you.”
Jason shrugged and sipped on his milkshake. He would have rather gotten hurt at least trying to skate rather than let his muscles and skills atrophy. It had been an acceptable risk.
“I am a bit impressed though,” Bruce leaned back in the booth with his arms crossed, his half eaten meal abandoned on his plate.
Jason’s head shot up, “Really?”
There was a small smile on Bruce’s face, “Really. Most people would have given up if they were put into your position. Though I’m sorry you were put there in the first place. It must have been really hard.”
Jason swished his straw through the melted shake searching for his cherry hidden amongst the whipped cream. It had been hard. Really, really hard. There were so many days where all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry until everything was better. But he was going to go to the Olympics one day. He was going to stand up on that ice in front of the whole world and fulfill the dream he had shared with his mom. Then all of his and her sacrifices will have been worth it.
The table was quiet again after that. Long enough for Jason to locate his buried cherry and for their plates to be cleared off the table. Bruce was strangely quiet. He had gotten the impression that the man wasn’t exactly talkative but it looked more like he was searching for something to say rather than just being quiet.
Jason wondered what he could be thinking about. Their dinner was ending. Soon both of them could go back to their own lives. He didn’t know why the thought of that made him sad. Jason had gotten more out of this than he could ever have wished for, enough money to buy a pair of nice skates and recognition of his skills from the best skater in the world. That should have been enough for him.
But selfishly it wasn’t.
The check had been placed in front of Bruce when he spoke again.
“Do you know Dick Grayson?” he asked hesitantly.
Jason nodded. Of course he knew Dick Grayson. If Bruce was the king of American figure skating then Dick was its prince.
“He just won gold at the last Olympics. Youngest ever man to win the title, right?”
Bruce grimaced when Jason said that last bit for some reason. Was there some sort of bad blood between them? Maybe Bruce was mad about Dick’s new title. He was pretty sure Bruce had previously held that record.
“And you know I’m his head coach, right?”
Jason nodded again. Where was he going with this?
“Well, we actually met before I started coaching him. I took him in after his parents died.” Bruce sounded tentative and awkward, nothing like the smooth talking man Jason had grown up watching on TV.
“The coaching came later but first I was his guardian. I could do the same for you.”
Jason was terribly confused by this whole conversation, “Do what?”
“Be your guardian so you can skate.”
It was as if whoever was piloting Jason’s brain suddenly took a sharp turn straight into a tree. His thoughts went blank. The steady background noise of the diner faded until all he could hear was Bruce’s increasingly worried ramblings.
“Of course I’m not trying to replace your parents and if you wanted to go back into your dad’s custody when he gets out, I could help you do that. And if you wanted to stay with your original coaching team, that would of course be more than okay but if you wanted to I could help coach you in some capacity—”
“You want to be my coach?” Jason interrupted. His throat was tight enough that he had to struggle to push the words out. He couldn’t comprehend what he was hearing. The word repeated over and over in his head, “Coach, coach, coach” like a parrot screeching back what it has heard. Surely he had to be dreaming this time. Things like this were supposed to only happen in books and not to people like Jason. But just like the car parked on the street, Bruce didn’t disappear either when he pinched himself.
Bruce had a fond look on his face when he answered, “Yes Jason, I would love to.”
Jason immediately burst into tears.
Bruce was kneeling by his side in an instant, frantically shushing Jason. He was obviously completely out of his depths when suddenly faced with a crying child.
“Shhh, I’m sorry Jason. I’m sorry. Please stop crying. That was too much, I’m sorry.”
His hands hovered over him before awkwardly landing on his shoulders. In any other situation, his clear discomfort may have made Jason laugh but all it did this time was make him wail louder.
They were creating a scene. Their waitress was giving Bruce a dirty look from behind the register and heads craned over the other booths to see who was making such a disturbance in the middle of the night. All of their eyes beating down on him were too much and Jason crashed forward, burying his face into Bruce’s chest and probably ruining his sweater with his gross tears and snot. Bruce stiffened at the touch but then Jason felt his hands carefully settle around his back.
“Shhh,” he whispered, "it's all going to be all right. Just let it out.”
And let it out he did. It was as if the past several years had caught up with him all at once. His mom getting sick, his dad getting locked up, picking up odd jobs to feed them both and supplement his skating scholarships, the pressure of always having to win lest the club changed their mind and pulled his funding, finding his mom dead on their coach with the needle still sticking out of her arm, running from the cops and CPS and foster families cause he needed to skate like he needed to breathe, skating round and round an empty moonlit rink until his muscles ached and burned.
“I’m so tired,” Jason sobbed.
Bruce squeezed him tighter, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Jason cried until his eyes went dry and he couldn't force out any more tears. His throat felt scratchy and thick, and his eye lashes stuck together like glue. A large wet spot had grown on Bruce’s sweater and his head pounded from the effort of crying. But Bruce’s arms never wavered. No doubt his knees had long grown sore from kneeling on the sticky diner floor and he probably ached from supporting Jason’s body weight for so long, but he never once faltered. He just kept whispering to him quiet assurances and slowly rubbed his back.
This was all too good to be true. He must have tricked Bruce somehow or made himself look better than he was. Why else would he still be kneeling there with his arms wrapped around Jason.
“I’m not even that good,” Jason hiccupped, “I’m not like Dick Grayson or you. I can’t get things right the first time. I have to do it again and again just to get it kind of right. I’m impulsive and shortsided, and I always try to do the things my coaches tell me not to. I can win now but there are so many people better than me in juniors and seniors. You shouldn’t want to be my coach.”
Bruce laughed softly. He was rubbing soft circles into his shoulder and for a brief moment Jason felt like it was his mother who was holding him instead.
“I don’t want to be your coach to win medals Jason. I have enough of those on my own. And I don’t want another Dick Grayson. One of him is more than enough. It wouldn’t matter if you got last in every competition. I just think you deserve to be able to skate.”
That would have made him start crying all over again if he had any tears left to shed. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Bruce affirmed, “I promise you will skate as long as you want to."
Jason dug his face further into Bruce’s chest and let himself believe him.