Chapter Text
Jason still felt deeply uneasy.
Five months earlier, he had stolen the tires of Batman. After trying to beat the vigilante with a tire iron and failing to escape, he had somehow ended up being driven in the Batmobile to Bruce Wayne’s house. Then, somehow, he had been adopted. And somehow, he had started attending Gotham Academy — a place he had never even dared to dream of as a child.
After repeated testing and provocation, Jason had finally confirmed that Bruce wasn’t a pervert. Though he had relaxed his guard a little, he had concluded that he had only been adopted as part of some bizarre charity game rich people used to boast to one another.
He had prepared himself to accept the handouts for that reason — to behave, keep his head down, and stay out of trouble until he came of age and could support himself.
But he gradually discovered, that Bruce seemed to be sincere.
He always tried to squeeze out time to be with Jason. Every Thursday, he went out of his way to pick him up after school and stop for ice cream on the way home. Back at the manor, he exercised with him, and Jason’s favorite part was practicing self-defense with Bruce.
Jason loved baseball, he was a loyal fan of Gotham Knights, but when he was younger, his folks had never been able to scrape together enough money to see a game with such expensive tickets. When Bruce heard about it, he had taken the day off and brought him to the stadium. After their catcher hit a home run, Bruce had even bought all the chili dogs from food stalls and handed them out to all the Knights fans. They had still lost in the end, but Jason had been so excited when he got home that he had thrown up all the hot dogs he had eaten. Both of them had earned a serious scolding from Alfred.
Even though he was already eleven and far more well-read than most kids his age, Bruce still read him bedtime stories whenever he wasn’t busy. And the best part was this: when Jason pretended to be asleep, he had discovered that Bruce tucked him in properly after he fell asleep and gently kissed his forehead.
Just like a dad.
Yeah. Jason had already begun to think of Bruce as his dad.
Jason didn’t know why he had been adopted. He knew there had to be far more pitiful street kids in Gotham who were weaker than him and less capable of surviving on their own. But he was selfish. Since he had been given the chance to go to school, given a home, given a father — he would never, ever let go on his own.
Yet whenever he lay alone on the soft bed, staring blankly at the ornate canopy above, that unease would twist into nightmares that clung to him, keeping him awake for a long time.
“I have to do something,” he had murmured as he drifted off to sleep.
***
Improving Crime Alley’s environment. That was the first ever request Jason had ever taken the initiative to make to Bruce.
Jason was selfish. He had made this decision only because he hoped that when his true nature was finally seen and he was thrown out of the manor, he would at least have a better place to return to.
For that, he had specifically asked Alfred for guidance. He had diligently written a proposal, meticulously put on a suit — the same one he had worn to the courthouse with Bruce for the adoption registration — tied his tie, and delivered a full presentation in the manor study with all the seriousness he could muster.
“So that’s why you should invest all of my allowance into the Crime Alley improvement plan. That concludes my presentation.”
Jason had pressed the remote, leaving the final slide — a summary he had carefully organized — on the screen. His fingers nervously twisted the hem of his clothes as he watched his adoptive father’s reaction from the corner of his eye.
When Bruce rose without a word and walked toward him, Jason had instinctively stepped back twice. But Bruce hadn’t raised a hand. Instead, he had slowly pulled him into a careful, yet solid hug.
“Jaylad, I’m very proud of you.”
The hug had felt incredibly warm. Jason had been unable to stop himself from wrapping his arms around Bruce in return.
And that had settled it.
Bruce didn’t follow Jason’s request to donate all of his allowance to charity. Instead, he had actually made use of the presentation Jason had put together — slightly naïve perhaps, but thorough, thoughtful, and grounded in reality — and established an entirely new program within the Martha Wayne Foundation, one specifically aimed at helping street children like Jason had once been.
Although the extravagantly flowery praise Bruce lavished upon him in front of Gotham’s elite at the charity gala of this program made Jason feel intensely guilty, he still refused to let Bruce’s expectations go to waste. At every meeting for the new program, he insisted on accompanying Bruce with diligent focus, inspecting each detail, listening word for word, taking careful notes, and bravely voicing his opinions. He tried to identify flaws, look for room to improve, and push things as close to perfect as he could.
Whether it was sincere or not, the members of the Martha Wayne Foundation spoke highly of him without end. One member who had grown up in Crime Alley, put herself through college by her own efforts, and dedicated years to social work, pulled him into a gentle, relieved hug.
“You’ve done so many good things for our people, kid,” she said.
Yeah.
He might be selfish. But he was a little proud of himself, too.
***
“Jay lad, How is your club going?” Bruce asked casually while slicing an omelet. “What role are you rehearsing lately?”
Jason’s fork paused midair.
“Huh, still a newbie. They won’t let me act too soon.” He kept his head down over his plate, chewing his bacon deliberately, to speak unclearly. “Mostly hammering boards, building sets, helping rig lights.”
That part wasn’t a lie.
“I’m looking forward to the day I see you on stage — does your club need funding?” Bruce took a calm sip of coffee while his mind spun: how much would he have to donate to Gotham Academy’s drama club to let his son shine on the Gotham Theater stage?
Jason rolled his eyes dramatically.
“Cut it, B. You do know how much I hate those nepotism craps, right?” He waved his fork in the air at his guardian, earning a frown from Alfred, who had come around him to refill the orange juice. “Spoiled rich ass kid.”
“Master Jason.”
“Sorry, Alfie.”
Bruce kept a stern face, but the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. “You are also a spoiled rich ass kid now, Jay.”
“Master Bruce!”
Bruce had thought that would make Jason giggle (That boy loved hearing him swear) but instead, he had gone still.
“Jason.” Bruce studied the boy chewing silently. “What’s wrong?”
“Just suddenly recalled… I’m having math quiz this morning,” he answered as if it didn’t matter.
“I see.” Bruce hadn’t believed him, but he hadn’t dared to push.
“Yeah, better get to school early. Don’t want to mess it up.”
Bruce frowned slightly. “Jay, it’s just a quiz. You don’t have to pressure yourself this much.”
Honestly, Bruce had been amazed. Jason had dropped out of school for about two years, yet with only a few months of tutoring he had caught up quickly and was now even at the top of his class.
Jason shrugged. “I still want to do well, if I’m going to get into a good college.”
Bruce exchanged a helpless look with Alfred, and shook his head fondly.
***
At two in the afternoon, which is a time that students of Gotham Academy should have been for club activities, Jason walked out of the school gates with a heavy backpack and returned to his old hideout.
Out of habit, he always took a detour. What should have been a ten-minute walk took him a full half hour. Once he crouched down and crawled into a small but clean shelter built from wooden crates and sturdy cardboard, he quickly folded his uniform neatly, hid it in a clean bag he prepared in advance, and changed into the red hoodie he had stashed there. He had a particular attachment to the one he had worn the day he met Batman, convinced it brought him luck. He put on a mask, looked around to make sure no one had noticed, and set off again.
It was a run-down, desolate cluster of old warehouses—so remote that not even the lowest vagrants bothered coming here to get high, and passageway leading here was deliberately narrowed so much that even an adult woman couldn't squeeze through.
He stood where he was, waiting quietly, until he heard a shout.
“Irregular! Over here!”
He immediately quickened his pace toward the voice.
These twice-a-week extracurricular activities had never been part of Jason’s original plan.
At the start of the semester, before school clubs officially began, he had only intended to investigate privately, to see whether their program had truly helped those kids. That was why he had put on his old clothes and slipped in among them.
What discouraged him was that the help the foundation provided fell far short of the endless stream of homeless children on Gotham’s streets.
Watching the kids who were supposed to benefit remain deeply distrustful of this kind of unearned charity, Jason—who understood that feeling all too well—decided to come by a few afternoons each week to hand out supplies, improve their living conditions, and try to persuade them to accept the help from their foundation.
He hadn’t expected that “a few afternoons” would turn into a few months.
At first, they had, of course, not trusted this strange boy who acted mysteriously, refused to show his face properly, spoke with their same accent, and yet somehow had access to a ridiculous amount of supplies.
But he had done everything he could to build relationships with them. He had even lied, claiming he was an informant to Batman. Even though kids from Crime Alley didn’t exactly idolize Batman, they were still willing reluctantly to believe he genuinely wanted to help Gotham. And Jason’s vivid retellings, loosely adapted from the adventures of the Baker Street Irregulars, had completely captivated the younger members of them.
Jason helped them come up with new, and technically illegal ways to make money (he silently apologized to Batman in his head), used tricks to chase off drug dealers and traffickers who tried to lure younger kids away, and listened to their doubts about this program.
Only after they saw that the issues they had hesitantly pointed out actually began to change did they relax their guard, even just a little.
Besides persuading them, he also taught the younger kids survival skills, self-defense techniques Bruce had once taught him, and used his still-considerable allowance to buy and modify secondhand appliances to help build shelters for the other homeless kids… Right now, he was holding a hammer, putting together a temporary structure that could be dismantled easily.
While joking around with nine-year-old Colin—Jason felt he was just one final push away from convincing him—Dana, a girl a year older than Jason, tugged at his hood from behind and leaned in close to whisper in his ear.
“A kid I know needs your help.”
The words made him nervous, but Jason couldn’t help feeling a flicker of pride.
Dana was known around here for being tough and hard to deal with. Back when he had run the streets himself, he had crossed paths with her before. If even Dana trusted him, then he really had earned everyone’s trust.
He nodded, still focused on hammering the plank securely into place. After finishing up, he said a temporary goodbye to Colin, whose resolve had already begun to waver.
The older girl walked behind him, quietly guiding him through the streets. When they reached the area near Ma Gunn’s School for Crime, she disappeared in the blink of an eye.
He had worried it might be a trap.
But from behind iron bars like a fence, a boy cautiously poked his head out. He wore cracked glasses. His uniform was faded yet neat, but the skin barely visible beneath the fabric was covered in bruises and scars. His voice trembled slightly.
“They said you could help.”
“I can,” Jason said, swallowing, forcing firmness into his voice.
Numbers, this boy his age, told him a truth so painful it made his chest tighten.
Ma Gunn’s School for Crime, this so-called charity institution was a complete scam. Ma Gunn hadn’t been helping these kids turn their lives around at all. She abused them and forced them to assist in crimes.
Deep down, Jason knew Batman had once considered sending him here. The car had stopped at the entrance for only a minute before Batman chose to turn around and take him to Wayne Manor instead.
Everyday, Jason had been grateful to Batman for that decision.
This fear but hopeful boy standing before him now was what his own fate might have been.
Jason clenched his teeth.
Could he really do this?
***
That night, he made a call to Alfred, telling him that for the next few weeks, the club had rehearsals, and he would have to come home late.