Chapter Text
This was a fantastic fucking plan.
Jason didn't know why he hadn't thought of it sooner. When all the rich people of Gotham travelled(and boy did they travel a lot), their big, fancy houses were big, fancy, and empty. Perfect for a bit of squatting.
And it wasn't really squatting, Jason thought as he tossed his small bag over the wall. It was a quick pit stop, if anything, an in-and-out for some food and things he could pawn off back in Crime Alley. Plus, he was getting pretty sick of his empty apartment and the landlord bothering him for rent. A nice change of scenery would do him some good.
The wall wasn’t too tall, maybe only five feet high, but Jason’s twelve-year-old body hadn’t reached that height. Yet. Any day now, he was sure he would get the growth spurt he deserved.
He had scoped the property edge of the Drake’s estate until he had found a low spot where the wall went down with the ground, but didn’t come up to the same height as quickly.
That was another reason why this was a fantastic fucking plan.
Rich people were cheap. Instead of paying for good contractors, they had skimped on cheap ones who had built this short brick wall for the aesthetic and hadn’t checked for any weak spots.
With one more heave, he quickly pulled himself up. Maybe a bit too quickly when his momentum carried him above the wall and over the side, his hands slipping on the wet stones. He tumbled over and landed with a splat on his back in the muddy ground below, rain dropping heavily on his face.
He lay still in the darkness for a moment, straining his ears for any dogs or shouts at ebing spotted. It was difficult to hear anything over the heavy rain and distant thunder, but after a few minutes of no alarms and flashlights being pointed at him, he rose to his feet, slinging his backpack over his shoulders.
There in front of him, looking like it came out of a gothic novel, was Drake Manor. Three stories tall, it was decked out with swooping dark roofs and grey brick. The hedges were all neatly trimmed with flowers planted outside the exterior. The poor plants were absolutely drenched in the downpour. And the flowers weren't the only ones, Jason thought, shivering as the cold water seeped into his skin.
He’d worn his warmest jacket, read: his only jacket, read: a red windbreaker that was too small and didn't reach his wrists or have the hood cover his head. The only reason he could probably fit into it at all was that he was so malnourished.
But hopefully, this heist would fix that. Jason shoved his freezing hands into his pockets, ducked his head from the wind, and began trudging up the hill to the manor. Now that he knew there wasn’t any security, Jason wasn’t worried about being seen by anyone in the house. The free computers at the library had said that Jack and Janet Drake had been gone to Malta for the last three months and had another flight to Brazil planned in a few days. They were hardly ever home and only hired some staff to keep up the landscape and a housekeeper every three days.
Making them the perfect targets.
When he had first gotten the idea, he had spent hours googling every house in Bristol til he had found the perfect home. He had originally wanted to hit Wayne Manor next door; Bruce Wayne seemed to go on a sabbatical or a cruise once a month, and his house was way bigger than the Drakes'. He could have hidden in there for months and never gotten caught. But now Wayne had a kid staying with him, and Jason's sure he hired a nanny or something for the kid whenever he went away.
Jason snuck up to the back door carefully. Through the large windows, he could see that all the lights were off in the house. With a bit more confidence, he walked up to the back door and pulled the handle.
It was locked.
Shit.
Jason groaned and thumped his head against the door.
He was an idiot. Bristol people may be rich and cheap and stupid, safe in the assurance that it’s twelve miles off the border of Gotham, but of course, they locked their doors when they left.
Normally, this wouldn't be too big a problem for Jason- he could pick locks before he could talk, but the Draked has some fancy keypad that Jason had never seen before. The storm must have knocked down a few power lines because it seemed dead.
Jason stepped back and frantically looked around for another way into the house. If they locked the back door, they’d most definitely locked the front ones too. All the windows that he could see on the ground floor were the tall, fancy ones that didn't open. The higher floors looked like you could pull them open if you tried, but there was no way to climb up there to try.
Jason could feel panic setting in as the wind blew harshly against him. The storm was really getting worse now, and there’s no way the buses were running to get him back to Crime Alley tonight. It was here or nothing.
His hands shaking, he set his bag down on the ground and pulled out a metal lug wrench. It was a heavy tool that Jason had brought with him for protection, and for something like this. Jason crept along the back wall til he found a smaller window next to a utility unit outside. The window was about three feet wide and two feet tall, and would be easy enough to slip in. Once he broke it.
With a deep breath, Jason stepped back and raised the lug wrench high. Lightning suddenly lit up the sky like a flashbang, startling Jason enough that he fell backwards, hitting the mud. The thunder that sounded afterwards muffled his squeal as the wrench clattered against the metal utility box. Jason quickly scurried forward and scooped up the wrench, wiping some of the mud from the tip when he noticed something odd.
Someone had put a stool out here. One of those nice stone slabs you would see in gardens and stuff. In fact, it probably came from the Drakes fancy gardens on the west side of the house. Why was it over here, tucked up against the back of the utility unit? You couldn't really see it from the main path. Maybe they had forgotten about it.
Jason stepped back and looked up at the utility unit and the second floor. The utility unit itself was about six feet tall and was positioned right next to some exterior piping. If Jason could get onto the unit, he could climb the piping to a window just nearby. All he needed to do was find a way to climb onto the unit.
He paused. His eyes flicked down to the bench.
A grin spread across his face.
A fantastic fucking plan.
—
After a few attempts, but luckily no serious falls, Jason had hoisted himself into a second-story window. They hadn't bothered to lock it, and it slid open easily into the end of a long, empty hallway. Jason pushed himself into the house, dropping his feet quietly onto the hallway rug.
The house was dark, the only light coming from the window he had just entered from. Jason grabbed his old flashlight, and it weakly flickered to life. It was a dull light that glitched, but it was better than nothing. Maybe Jason could find more batteries deeper in the house.
Jason took a step forward before he noticed the muddy imprints from his jacket and shoes that were left on the window and the rug. Jason winced and quickly slipped out of his shoes, hoping to minimize the trail that he left behind. His socks weren’t much better, also soaked through from all the rain and mud.
Even though he knew the house was empty, Jason crept softly through the hall. At the end, it opened above a staircase that led downstairs and up. He leaned over the railing and shone his weak light over the downstairs, spotting wooden floors and some furniture below.
His stomach growled. Kitchen first, then.
He walked down the stairs, holding the railing to ensure his damp socks didn't cause him to slip. It would be a shame if he had come this far just to die falling down the stairs. At the base of the stairs, he saw a room with a long table and chairs neatly tucked in. He crept towards it, idly flicking his flashlight at all the paintings and objects held around the room. There were countless tands holding vases, statues, artworks, each with its own shiny plaque. Jeez, was this place a house or a museum?
He pushed through a pair of double doors at the end of the dining room and stumbled into a kitchen. He flicked his light around til he spotted a foggy paneled glass door with, conveniently enough, ‘Pantry’ written across it in cursive. Just in case they forget, he guessed sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he marched towards.
And lo and behold, it was a pantry. Stocked to the brim with boxes of pasta, condiments, bread, and so much coffee. Like, actually so much. One wall was dedicated to different brands, flavors, and scents, top to bottom. Jason had only seen this much food in one place at the grocery store. And the most galling thing was that it was all unopened, barely even touched.
Well, not for long, he thought to himself with a sly grin as he grabbed the closest box of crackers. He set his flashlight down on the floor, the beam reflecting just enough off the back wall so he could see, and popped open the lid. He stuck his fist inside and jammed as many crackers as he could fit into his mouth.
Jason's eyes closed as he savored the salty flavor; each bite was heaven. He quickly took another handful, then another, before he lifted the box over his head and poured the rest into his mouth. Plenty of crackers fell to the ground, but Jason couldn't even bring himself to care. He was so hungry.
He tossed the empty box to the side and reached for another, but stopped himself.
'You're a growing boy, Jason, ' his mom’s voice echoed in his head, 'You need some grown food too.'
The pantry was mostly filled with preservatives and packaged food, but Jason pulled some peanut butter down from a higher shelf and scooped a few bites into his mouth. Maybe he could stop at the fridge in the kitchen next. Surely they had some fruits or vegetables that hadn't gone bad.
Just as he was licking his fingers clean, a bright, sudden light shone at him. Jason froze, his eyes darting towards the pantry door, where a bright light blinded him. The light was so bright he couldn't see the person holding it. But they could definitely see him.
There was a moment of silence before the person let out a sharp squeal, dropped the flashlight, and bolted.
Ah shit.
Jason dropped the peanut butter and lunged after them. He had to stop them before they called the cops, or at least get out of the house. The person had ducked behind the kitchen counter the second they'd left, and the dining room doors flying open was Jason’s only sign of where they had left.
He darted forward, pushing open the doors to see a body duck around the corner. “Wait!” he shouted, knowing it was stupid, and ran after them.
It was hard to see where he was going. They had both abandoned their lights in the pantry, so he followed the small figure the best he could from the windows. The person must have been running bent over with how short they seemed and how quickly Jason was gaining on them. He’d always been a fast kid, but he was still twelve at the end of the day.
As the person went to turn another corner, Jason lunged and grabbed at them, but he overestimated his own strength, or lack thereof, and caused them both to tumble to the ground, Jason's fist clenched around a jacket. He looked up to see the person’s face, and his jaw dropped.
It was a kid.
Like a full-on, younger-than-Jason kid, with black hair and blue eyes wide with fear. He was wearing shoes (inside? Come on, man) and the black jacket that Jason was holding.
In Jason’s shock, his grip loosened, and the kid ducked out from his jacket. He pulled away and stood up unsteadily, and his sudden speed made him uncoordinated. He tripped over his own feet and slammed into a display stand nearby, knocking both himself and an antique vase to the ground. It shattered across the ground, and Jason leapt to his feet.
“Shit! Are you okay?” He called out, quickly running forward to look at the kid. The vase that had shattered seemed to have missed him for the most part, only a few small pieces stuck to his sweater. The kid was not fine, though, groggily blinking up at him from where he had hit the floor.
From where his head had hit the floor.
“Oh god, please don't have a head injury,” Jason muttered, sitting down next to the kid and reaching out to- to what? Aren't you supposed to move anybody with a head injury? But he can't see if it's bleeding! He can't see anything in this lighting.
The kid winced, his eyes closing tightly, and groaned, a hand reaching up to hold his head. Jason caught the hand quickly but gently.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He murmured in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. “You just hit your head a little. Let’s not try to move too much.”
The boy nodded before wincing again. Jeez, that was not a good sign.
“Can you tell me your name?” Jason asked, as he furiously tried to remember what a symptom of brain damage was.
“‘M Tim.” The kid mumbled.
“Tim, that’s a great name!” Jason cheered softly, hoping he was hiding the tremor in his voice. He ran his hands through the kid's hair softly, trying to feel for any blood, but his hair was already wet. From the rain, his mind supplied, begged to be true. He still couldn’t see anything in this dark.
“Tell ya what, Tim, can you open your eyes for me? It would be really helpful.” In the movies, they always looked at the pupils for a concussion. God, Jason hoped it was just a concussion. He really didn't want to be responsible for murder.
Tim squeezed his eyes shut before slowly cracking them open, blinking at the dark room before turning to look up at Jason. His eyes widened.
“Robin,” Tim said.
Jason looked down at him, bewildered. “What?” He asked.
“Robin…” Tim mumbled again before, horrifyingly, his eyes rolled back in his head.
Jason sat there for a moment, confused and terrified. Because A, the kid thought he was some masked vigilante who ran around Gotham (but not Crime Alley) in a leotard, and B, because he may have just passed out.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Jason hissed, quickly getting to his feet and dashing back to the kitchen. He grabbed Tim’s flashlight, which was much better than his, and started shining it around the kitchen frantically, looking for a phone.
He spotted a landline on the far counter and quickly grabbed it, punching in 9-1-1. Who cares if Jason got arrested for breaking and entering, as long as the kid didn’t die from Jason jumping him? But the call didn't pick up. The line didn't even ring. Jason went numb as a horrible realisation hit him.
The storm. It must have knocked down the power lines or something, that's why all the lights were out and why the kid had a flashlight too.
Jason swore under his breath and ran back to the kid. He was thankfully (or unthankfully?) exactly where Jason had left him. With the flashlight, he could see that the dampness from Tim’s hair was water, not blood, leaving Jason with a sigh of relief and a stark thought.
He could leave. The front door was right there, and with the power down, he wouldn't be spotted by any cameras or guards. He could double back for his bag, take the better flashlight, and be back in Crime Alley before Tim even woke up.
If Tim woke up.
He glanced down guiltily at the boy, lying on the ground surrounded by a broken vase.
With a heavy sigh, Jason kneeled down and gently- so very gently scooped the young boy into his arms.
His mom always said he had a bleeding heart.