Chapter Text
Jason groans from the backseat of the Range Rover.
“Daaaaad. Why do I have to do this stupid thing? Why can’t Dickie do it?” he whines.
“Helping underprivileged children is not stupid,” Bruce says, taking a turn fast enough to accidentally push Jason against the car door.
Jason pushes himself upright.
“I never said helping underprivileged kids is stupid, B. I just don’t want to spend my day off teaching kids Karate. If I could teach them overhead flips and Robin style takedowns, I’d be down with that, but I’ve gotta hold back because I’m Jason Todd, not Robin and—wait a sec, how does Jason Todd know how to do Karate? I’m supposed to be some boring socialite, right?”
Bruce honks aggressively as someone cuts him off.
“There’s an easy answer for that, Jay. I’m an avid adventurist when I’m using my Brucie Wayne persona. I enjoy skydiving, mountain climbing, scuba diving, and mixed martial arts. I share my love of sports with both of my sons. Which is why my youngest son, Jason, is so eager to teach a self-defense class at one of Park Row’s karate dojos.”
“Bull,” Jason says, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re helping poor kids to get a tax write off. If there’s a reporter there, I’m gonna say I know karate because you beat me, and force feed me vegetables.”
“Jason,” Bruce yells, but the corner of his mouth is twitching upwards into a smile. “If anything, Alfred is force feeding both of us vegetables, and you know I’d never lay a hand on you.”
“Yeah,” Jason huffs.
Jason’s only been living with Bruce for a few months, and just days ago, Jason would have never been comfortable enough to make jokes like that, but he’s really starting to let his guard down around his foster dad. Every time he challenges Bruce, his dad never disappoints him.
Jason’s starting to think he might be safe living in Wayne Manor after all.
Bruce slams on the brakes, causing Jason to jerk forward. The only thing that prevents him from flying into the front seat is the fact he has his seatbelt on.
“Geez, Dad,” Jason hisses. He unbuckles his seatbelt so he can get out of the car before Bruce can do any other racecar maneuvers.
Jason climbs out of the car and opens the front passenger door. He sticks his head back inside to say goodbye to Bruce, but Bruce pulls him inside and gives him a kiss on the top of his head.
“Eww, gross,” Jason shrieks, struggling to get free, but Jason can’t help the warm feeling of happiness from the dad-move.
Bruce lets go and points a stern finger.
“I’m warning you, if I find out you taught the children Robin fighting moves—.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you in a few hours, Dad. And if you don’t take me to Batburger after this, I’m telling Gotham Child Protective Services that you make me eat garbage and clean the house all day.”
“You didn’t even make your bed this morning,” Bruce says with a chuckle.
“Double Cheese Batbuger. I’ll accept nothing less.”
Bruce laughs as he puts on his rich dude sunglasses and pulls away.
Jason adjusts the duffle bag on his shoulder and sighs. As much as he’s been teasing Bruce, he’s actually a little excited to be standing in front of the karate dojo. Park Row—or Crime Alley as Jason knows it—isn’t a safe area by any means. Teaching kids how to defend themselves is a worthwhile cause.
As Jason walks through the door, he tries to figure out a way to tell Bruce he wants to keep doing this every weekend without having to deal with Bruce’s smug I-told-you-so face.
The inside of the karate dojo is much bigger than it looked from the outside. All the kids are dressed in bright white karate uniforms. Jason reminds himself that a karate uniform is called a gi. (He has to show off some level of professionalism). The students all have belts around their waists in a rainbow of colors.
Jason looks around, suddenly feeling shy. His face is a flushed shade of red as he looks around for the owner. It’s probably best to tell someone he’s here.
“Jason Todd-Wayne,” a woman at the front desk calls out, causing Jason’s face to go a deeper shade of red.
The woman introduces herself as Lucy, and she introduces Jason to Sensei Carlos, the grandmaster of the dojo. They’re both really friendly and thank him numerous times. Which only makes Jason feel even worse about complaining about coming here.
Jason’s given a karate gi and a black belt. He awkwardly puts them on and goes to the front corner of the room to clear his head and plan out his lesson. The class starts in fifteen minutes, so he has time to plan what he wants to do.
He’s halfway through planning the lesson when a voice interrupts him.
“Hi Jason, I’m Tim. Oh wait, were you meditating? If you were, I’m so sorry. I just wanted to introduce myself because Mom and Dad say it’s rude not to introduce yourself, and first impressions are everything.”
Jason looks over at Tim and cracks his neck.
“I wasn’t meditating, I was just planning out the lesson. I should have done it last night, but procrastination seemed like a better way to handle it.”
(Technically Jason was punching Killer Croc in his leather face last night, which doesn’t really count as procrastinating)
Tim nods like Jason just told him the most correct statement he’s ever heard.
Tim bounces on his toes, practically vibrating in front of Jason. Tim looks like he wants to say something. He’s even whining a little to keep from speaking, and Jason’s not sure why.
Jason studies the boy closer. Tim looks about ten years old. He’s short like Jason, but probably from genetics, not malnutrition. Jason’s still a little more than a head taller than him. Tim’s wearing the same karate gi as the other kids, but Jason can tell he’s rich. Tim’s high Bristol accent is the first giveaway, but his expensive looking haircut (shaggy bangs that aren’t overgrown, but purposely styled that way) is another dead giveaway.
Jason had been quick to learn the number one rule of being a rich kid, don’t speak unless spoken to, when he attended his first black-tie affair. He promptly ignored the rule, hoping it would ban him from attending any further stuffy dinners, but unfortunately the butt kissers at all the fancy parties Jason was forced to attend gladly let Bruce Wayne’s son do whatever he wanted if it meant Jason would put in a good word to Bruce.
Jason gives Tim a sympathetic smile.
“Is there’s something you want to say?” he asks.
Tim’s face lights up.
“I’m really excited to take your class Sensei Jason.”
Jason feels the blush creeping back to his face, but Tim isn’t even close to done.
“Like I said before, my name is Tim. Tim Drake. I don’t live in Park Row, but I really wanted to learn karate and the dojo I used to go to in Bristol East closed down because the owner was arrested for tax fraud, like, arrested right there in the dojo. The cops came in with the handcuffs and everything, which I have pictures of if you want to see, because I really like taking pictures, well normally pictures with my camera not my phone, but the pictures of my old sensei getting arrested are on my phone. I have them saved in an album called evidence, in case the police ask me for the pictures when it goes to trial, but they probably won’t because they wear body cams on their uniforms.”
Tim blinks awkwardly, so Jason figures it’s his time to say something.
“Um, are you good at karate?”
Probably not something as dumb as that.
Tim scrunches up his face.
“Not really. My sensei said my parents were wasting their money. The money that was apparently going towards his offshore bank account in the Virgin Islands. Oh, speaking of money, I know this class is free, but I don’t live in this part of town so I should probably give like a donation or something. Mom and Dad are out of the country all the time so they leave me with a credit card for expenses, but they don’t know about Sensei Mike getting arrested so if they see a transaction for another dojo they’ll probably get mad. I was going to bring cash, but there wasn’t any around the house, so I brought an old vase my parents brought back from their last archeological dig. It’s in my bag in the changing room. If it’s easier I can take it to the pawn shop down the street and bring back the money. And don’t worry about me getting in trouble. I’ll make sure I save up enough allowance to buy it back and my parents will never know.”
That’s… that’s a lot for Jason to unpack.
Tim is obviously left home alone for long stretches of time with no one to talk to, which might be why he’s telling Jason his life story. Jason doesn’t mind, though. Tim seems like a friendly kid and Jason hasn’t made any friends since moving into Wayne Manor. Tim said he lived in Bristol. That’s the same town as Jason.
Tim’s bouncing on his toes again, waiting as patiently as he can for Jason to speak, and if it weren’t so sad, Jason would find it endearing.
“Okay, Tim, um, I’m pretty sure Bruce is throwing tons of money at this place. You don’t have to pawn your belongings.”
“My parents’ belongings,” Tim corrects him, but winces as if he quickly realizes he shouldn’t have corrected Jason.
“Your parents’ stuff,” Jason agrees with easily, causing Tim to smile again. “But if you still feel bad because you’re not a Crime Alley resident, why don’t you help me assist the class? I could use a helper.”
Tim looks at Jason like he just bought him a pony. “Oh my God, yes!” Tim squeals.
Jason sits down with his legs folded crisscross and Tim sits next to him. Jason starts to write the exercises he plans to teach on a piece of paper.
“You’re the only Jason I’ve ever met,” Tim says randomly.
“Really?” Jason asks. “I know it sounds dumb, but I thought Bruce was going to change my name after he took me in, and when I told him that, he looked at me like I stabbed him in the heart. Then he cried.”
“Jason’s a nice name,” Tim says drumming his fingers on his knees. “Do you know why my parents named me Timothy? It’s because my dad needed to close an important business deal with a man named Mr. Dalton. Mr. Dalton needed an organ transplant for his son, Timothy. So, Mom got pregnant so I could be an organ donor for Mr. Dalton’s son because that was the only way for them to close the business deal. The hospital gave me a t-shirt that says, you saved a life, but it’s a baby sized t-shirt so I can’t fit it. I have it framed on my wall. I’m not sure what organ I donated. I’m guessing it was a kidney. I asked my mom, but she was like, ‘Why does it matter? You don’t have it anymore.’ Anyway, they got really lucky that I was a match. If I hadn’t been a match, it would’ve been a waste for Mom to have gotten pregnant in the first place. Or maybe she would have given me to Mr. Dalton because my name’s Timothy.”
Jason blinks. His brain shorts out and he’s goes into inner monologue mode.
What the hell?! Someone needs to adopt this kid immediately, and I’m nominating Bruce. If he doesn’t do it, I will. Okay, but what do I do now? I’m pretty sure Tim isn’t big on physical contact so a hug will definitely freak him out and as much as I want to kidnap him and tell him he’s living with me, Bruce, and Alfie, I’m also pretty sure that shoving a whole ass family at Tim will send him into over stimulation land.
Weighing those two options carefully, Jason opts for choice three: Continue to stare at Tim until the awkwardness reaches critical levels.
Jason startles when Sensei Carlos puts a hand on his shoulder from out of nowhere. Actually, Jason more than startles, he spins around with his fists raised about to deck the guy.
Sensei Carlos raises his hands in surrender.
“Easy Jason,” the sensei says, looking a bit concerned.
Jason quickly covers up his actions.
“See that Tim,” Jason says, clearing his throat. “That’s what you do if someone sneaks up on you or scares you. Make sure you get into a fighting stance and then if there’s an opening, you flip your opponent over your back. If they’re too big for that, you can trip them by sweeping the legs.”
The look of concern on the sensei’s face turns into understanding as he nods.
“That’s wonderful. It looks like Tim is going to be your helper for the day.” The man goes to reach for Tim’s shoulder and Tim’s eyes go wide. Jason steps between the two before Tim either flips the dojo owner over his shoulder or sweeps his legs out from under him.
The sensei doesn’t have Jason’s level of Robin training—even as short as that training time has been—so the man is oblivious to what just almost happened. Instead, the man keeps smiling as he says, “You two finish up. Class starts in five minutes.”
Jason watches the man walk away and turns back to face Tim. Tim looks red faced and flustered, as he chews on his bottom lip.
Surprisingly, Tim is the first to speak.
“Um, we should go over the lesson since we only have five minutes left. Well, technically 4 minutes, 37 seconds.”
----
“Alright,” Jason says, weaving his way around the gym. “The most important thing when you’re in a self-defense situation is to know your surroundings. Fighting should be a last resort. Your first option should always be to ask an adult for help if one is around. Like a police officer, a teacher, or any other adult you can trust.”
Tim waves his hand in the air and Jason nods at him. “Yes, Tim?”
“Batman and Robin can help!” he says eagerly.
“Yeah. That would be the best choice,” Jason says with a laugh.
After giving the class a few more rules on self-defense, Jason pairs up the students. He had planned to be Tim’s partner so he could demonstrate, but there’s an even number of students so that won’t work. Jason pairs the kids up as best as he can, but Tim is the shortest one by far, so even the guy he matches Tim up with is still a few inches taller than him.
Jason starts with punch and duck drills, making sure the students aren’t actually punching, but just going through the motions. When Jason is comfortable a pair has mastered the skill, he taps them on the shoulder, and they can move on to the next skill.
Tim has prior experience, and his partner must have some too, because the pair is consistently the first one Jason taps each time.
Tim and his partner—who Jason has learned is named Kevin—are up to the part where skills are linked together. First blocking a kick, then ducking a punch, and then letting your partner sweep your leg for an assisted take down.
Tim goes first. He’s slightly uncoordinated, but he grabs onto his partner’s shoulders—making sure to grab the fabric in his hands—and sweeps the guy to the floor, kneeling down without letting go to cushion his fall.
“Good, job Timmy,” Jason says.
Tim’s face lights up as he struggles to help Kevin up.
When it’s Kevin’s turn, Tim blocks his kick, and ducks the punch, and that’s when things go wrong.
Kevin grips onto Tim’s shoulders and sweeps his leg, but Tim gets too much height and goes airborne, causing Kevin to lose his grip on him. Tim’s way too high off the ground to land safely, so Kevin tries to regrip him again so he doesn’t go crashing to the wooden floor head-first. Kevin grabs Tim around the waist, but the momentum is too much and instead of slamming to the ground, Tim slams into the wall behind them.
Jason and Kevin both use the same four-letter word as they surround Tim. Jason holds up four fingers in front of Tim’s face.
“How many fingers, buddy?” Jason asks, trying to raise his voice above the panicked repetitive, “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” coming from Kevin.
Tim reaches behind his head as he winces, “Four?”
When he moves his hand back down, his palm doesn’t have any blood on it. Jason starts to breathe again.
“Seriously, kid?” Jason says with a shaky voice. “Bruce would’ve killed me if I let someone die on my first day teaching.”
Tim shakes his head and mumbles something before passing out.
Jason could have sworn Tim had mumbled, “… his number one rule… is no killing…,” but that’s impossible. There’s no way Tim said that. Jason blames what he misheard on his increased adrenaline or fear.
----
All Tim can see is the bright white ceiling of a room that he knows all too well. Tim’s vison comes into focus, and he sees a giant light blocking most of the ceiling and causing the flood of almost blinding white light. Tim’s in an operating room. That fact is solidified when Tim jerks his hand to shield his eyes from the light, but the restraints hold him back from moving.
Tim groans, knowing what comes next in this particular nightmare. He has it at least once a week. He mouths the words in time with the surgeon leaning over him.
“This is so sad. The kid’s already missing an organ and here we are yanking out a second one. This isn’t how I though my medical career was gonna go.”
A second voice—Tim guesses is a nurse—answers the surgeon.
“Medical career? You don’t have a medical license, dipshit. And if you’re trying to make me feel guilty, I refuse. Blame the parents. The Drakes are the ones selling their kid’s spleen for a stack of cash to that creepy Al Ghul guy. Although the kidney removal doesn’t look like it was a hack job, there’s some real skill there, so I think that removal was a legitimate one.”
“Still,” the surgeon argues back, “You gotta admit, this Timmy kid’s parents are huge pieces of—whoa, wait a minute. I think the kid’s looking at me. Holy sh—the kid’s eyes are open. He’s looking at me!”
The white room goes black after a large, gloved hand wipes over his face, sweeping his eyelids closed. The darkness is paired with shouting and rattling of metal tools. Tim can never understand what the two are saying. He can only make out the words ‘anesthesia’ and ‘he won’t remember when he wakes up’.
Tim’s arm burns as something way too hot shoots through his veins. His whole body feels like it’s on fire. He screams and struggles against the restraints, but he can’t move. He can’t make a sound.
He screams as loud as he can, hoping the sound in his head will somehow break through the barrier. He screams over and over, but one hears him.
No one ever hears him. Except…
“Easy. Take it easy Tim. You’re alright. Just open your eyes.”
That’s Jason’s voice.
Tim forces himself out of the nightmare and pulls his eyelids apart. When Jason comes completely into focus, Tim whines because he’s too close. He’s too close.
It’s like Jason reads his mind—or more likely he reads Tim’s panicked expression—and scoots back to a more breathable distance. Breathable. Right. Tim needs to remember to breathe. That must be why Jason keeps repeating the word.
Tim blinks away the embarrassing tears that have built up in his eyes. The back of his head hurts really badly, so he can’t move much, which spikes another wave of panic, but Tim’s eyes are open so he can at least see some of his surroundings.
He’s still in the dojo, but it looks like everyone else is gone, other than Jason and Sensei Carlos.
Tim takes a deep breath and wheezes, “What happened?”
“You hit the wall and the wall won,” Jason says.
Tim tries to laugh, but it comes out as a whimper and Jason winces.
“Easy, kid. I’m pretty sure you have a concussion. The ambulance is on the way.”
“Can you come with me?” Tim asks. “You can talk to me the whole time, so I don’t fall asleep again. I don’t want to fall asleep because I don’t want to have another nightmare.” Tim’s breathing starts to pick up speed.
“Nightmares suck,” Jason says with a look that sends chills down Tim’s spine. “And of course, I’ll stay with you. Your concussion is at least ten percent my fault. I have to ride along, buddy.”
“You don’t have to. Percentage wise, it’s five percent the wall’s fault and the wall isn’t coming with me.” Tim says, looking up at Jason with his eyebrows scrunched together in deep thought—which isn’t good for a concussion at all. “Kevin is twenty percent at fault—but I’m not mad, he’s an awesome partner and I want him as my partner for the next lesson—I’m just giving the statistics. So, the wall 5%, you 8%, Kevin 20%, me 45%.”
“What about the other twenty percent?” Jason asks.
“Twenty-two percent,” Tim corrects him. “That’s due to fate or the great unknown or whatever you want to call it.”
Jason nods. “Okay… are those statistics actually real? And like, how did you do that?”
“I really like math and computers. I like to do calculations,” Tim says with a shrug. “Also, I have a concussion so all of those numbers might be completely off.”
“Yeah,” Jason says as the sound of ambulance sirens get louder. “You’re way off when you gave yourself the highest percentage of the blame. I’m pretty sure an accident means that fate takes the biggest bite out of that pie graph.”
Tim smiles at Jason’s joke, but his smile fades quickly.
“Are you allowed to come back to teach? Did my head injury mess that up? Is Kevin in trouble? Please don’t yell at Kevin. I like Kevin. Please come back and teach more karate lessons. I won’t come back if that’s the problem. I won’t tell my parents about this because they’d probably sue since all they really care about is money. And I won’t come back if means you can keep teaching. The kids from Crime Alley need to learn self-defense skills and I’m not saying that as a rich, stuck-up snob that lives in the Crest Hill township of Bristol, because crime happens there too. There was a guy that was throwing rocks at people and Batman stopped it, which is kind of overkill, but there are rumors that he’s good friends with Mr. Wayne so I guess that’s why he showed up to stop a rock throwing guy. Anyway—um, I forgot what I was talking about.”
“You wanted to know if I was getting fired from my volunteer gig, and if Kevin was gonna get yelled at. The answer to both questions is no, and as for the idea that you’re banned from coming to karate class, that’s a hard no. No offense, but if tripping causes you to almost knock your brains out, you need more self-defense skills than anyone here.”
Tim giggles at that.
Jason hovers a hand over Tim’s shoulder. Tim nods and Jason puts his hand on Tim’s shoulder. Jason’s hand feels warm and grounding, and a little part of Tim hopes he never removes it.
Jason must read Tim’s mind again because he keeps it there for the whole ambulance ride.