Chapter Text
It felt like the most fitting way to end an already lousy day when Jason walked up to Manor’s front door and realized that his keys were not anywhere on his person.
While this normally wouldn’t even make it in his top 300 of Awful Shit that had happened to him in his eleven years of life, there were still a few reasons why it made him want to punch something out of pure frustration.
The first being that they were well into the coldest days of the year, as the half-frozen clumps of snow splattered all over the grounds could attest to. He was not looking forward to being stuck outside for any longer than was necessary.
The second being that Bruce and Alfred were away together on a business trip for the next few days. Again. And not even one of the fun, Batman kind that Jason would soon be allowed to help them with. No. It was the bland, boring kind you apparently couldn’t take your adopted street-rat on.
It sucked. Not just because it meant no one was nearby to open the door.
Mainly because Bruce had to ask Richard-holier-than-thou-Grayson to babysit.
(Jason wasn’t allowed to swear anymore and Reechurd conveyed the pompousness of the prick much more accurately anyway.)
And instead of doing something sensible, like refusing, Richard had nodded, a complicated but displeased expression on his face, and said-
“Sure. I’m needed at work on Friday, though. Do you think you’ll be alright staying home alone for a bit? I should be able to get there by midnight.”
Which really just meant: ‘I don’t give a single fuck about whatever stupid shit you want to do before midnight. Break your damn neck for all I care. But I better not see or have to deal with any evidence of it when I get there, or else...’. He was familiar enough with the whole thing.
It was also stupid and sorta smothering. Jason had been taking care of himself and some others for months on the streets, he wasn’t incapable of surviving a few days in a ginormous, well-stocked, heated mansion. The worst that could happen to him was probably something like getting lost and accidentally finding the place’s dungeons. Provided he had a bottle of water on him at the time, Bruce could come back and find him long before anything bad happened.
Bruce had been thoroughly unmoved by the argument. Alfred hadn’t been much better, and Superman – call me Clark, really, now – was on some sort of far away intergalactic mission.
Jason could have spent his weekend talking about ancient battles, mythology, and literature with the coolest of all the Leaguers.
But no. It couldn’t have been Wonder Woman, his luck wasn’t that good. It just had to be Reechurd.
So, Jason had used the opportunity not-so-thoughtfully presented to him to do something he’d wanted to do ever since he’d been taken in: Make sure some of his friends in Park Row were okay and spend some time with them. He’d gone accompanied and everything, because Bruce was a chump like that, and at first, everything had been fine.
But then things had gone downhill, to say the least. Partially because he hadn’t been alone. And some of his friends didn’t feel much like his friends anymore.
It felt unfair. It wasn’t even like Barbara liked him all that much, really. She’d made it clear she thought it was distasteful not to be Richard and still exist in Bruce’s general vicinity.
He’d gone back to the library with her. He’d stayed in the library with her. Then she’d dropped him by the front gate and had driven off to some appointment or the other.
Except it had been a couple of years since Jason had to be used to keys, and he’d, you know. Might have forgotten them a little bit.
In his defense, he’d never needed keys to get into the Manor before. Keys were outdated. Out of fashion. Annoyingly useless.
(His own set of keys were the damn best thing Bruce had ever given him, right up there with the adoption papers, and he hadn’t parted from them for months afterwards, even if he’d never had to actually use them.
But he had to have forgotten them; because if he hadn’t, that meant he’d lost them or that they’d been stolen and that was so much worse. His throat clenched painfully at the thought.)
So, yes, keys were entirely stupid and should be banned from society as a whole until he found his again.
His phone chimed with a text.
He checked the time and rolled his eyes. Bruce had insisted on having an irregular but very, very frequent check-in schedule drafted, complete with code for emergencies and identity verifying messages, that Jason was supposed to use at least until Richard was with him. He’d missed the 19.17 one.
It was now 19.18.
He typed back the agreed upon ‘Everything’s fine’ code, adding a small personal touch to the message he really hoped Alfred wouldn’t get to read, and waited for the inevitable call. Sure enough, about an entire one and a half seconds later, Bruce’s picture lit up the screen.
“Yeah?”
“Where are you?” Was bluntly asked.
“The Manor.” Jason replied, worrying his lip as he looked up at the outside of the building he was supposed to be in. “Definitely where I’m supposed to be.”
“Mmh.” Bruce hummed lightly, amused. The blatant affection in his voice warmed something in Jason. “Are you, now?”
“Check.” He challenged back. “Do it. You will then realize how you unjustly accused me of lying and feel great amounts of regret for your cruel, hurtful, actions.”
Bruce laughed and Jason bit back a grin. He wrapped an arm around his stomach to try to trap some of the warmth the freezing wind was trying to steal away from him.
“Your check-in text was late.” Bruce gently chided. He did that a lot, make reproaches bearable.
“Not even by a minute.” He protested.
“By an entire minute.”
“Oh no, an entire minute.” Jason said. “A whole, full, sixty seconds of me without supervision. Who knows what I might get up to?”
“Dreadful trouble.” Bruce agreed solemnly. “Gotham might not be left standing by the end of it.”
“I resent that.”
“Do you, now?”
“Yes.” Jason stressed. “You need to have more faith in my abilities. I’m hurt. All torn up. Wounded. Crushed.”
“Well, we can’t have that. I’ll ask Leslie to prescribe you some strict bed-rest, then. A few weeks might do the trick, I think.”
“I-” He looked up the length of the building again. This conversation was his chance to tell him what had happened. But he was training to be Robin, what good was he if he wasn’t able to handle this? And Bruce had said that the trip he was on was very important. Multiple times even. What if he was pissed at him? Disappointed? Worse. What if he had to cancel because Jason had screwed up? No, he’d be fine. “Sorry. I can’t hear you over the sound of the Manor being on fire.”
“I’m sure Alfred will be very disappointed to learn that you remember so little of his cooking lessons.” His voice softened into something far more genuine and a little more stern. “All joking aside, Jay-lad. Be more attentive next time. The check-ins are important.”
“Sorry.” Jason said in a small voice. He was having a very long day and the caring in the voice Bruce was using was almost overwhelming to his frayed temper, now. He was also maybe feeling a tiny bit guilty. “I’ll be more careful.”
“That’s all I ask. At least until Dick’s with you. That’s just two more times.”
“Right.” He agreed as cheerfully as he could. Whether the act would fool Bruce or not, however, remained to be seen, as he sounded like a mix between the day he’d discovered maths, and that time he’d found a dead spider floating around in his favorite cereals.
Two more check-ins and then the weekend from hell would continue. Or begin, depending on how you looked at it. Richard really hated his guts. He didn’t like Bruce much either at the moment. Two days with somebody that hated your guts was a long time during which plenty of things could happen.
“Tell Alfred I miss him?”
“Of course.”
“And, Bruce?”
“Yeah, kiddo?”
He hesitated, voice wavering.
“Nothing. Just come back quick, okay?”
“Monday.” Bruce promised him. He sounded certain. “We’ll take the night off. I’ll cook us dinner, allow Al to rest some.”
“Then the Manor will really be on fire.” Snorted Jason a little wetly. He scrubbed under his eyes with the heel of his palm quickly because no one out here needed to see that and he was much too old to be crying anyway.
“I’ll order dinner.” Bruce amended. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, ‘course I am.” For now. After midnight might be another thing entirely. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Silly of me to believe otherwise.”
“Really is.” He agreed. He threw a stick at the old wall, then, when nothing happened, pushed lightly against it to test whether it was electrified or not, while he still had Bruce on the phone to call 911 for him. He knew no security measure of his would be deadly, but you never knew what could happen either. He didn’t get shocked and let out a little breath of relief.
There were a few unintelligible words from the other end of things.
“Right, give me a minute.” Bruce said to someone else, muffled. “I’ve got to go.” He told Jason. “Take care, Jay, okay? I’ll call you again later. Tomorrow at the latest.”
“You too, B.” Jason replied and hung up quickly before his adoptive father could deduce much more about his situation based off his tone. Jason was perfectly calm. He’d never had an emotion in his life. Never even seen one.
A prickling of unease shot up his spine.
It was the familiar sensation of being watched, so he looked around. Jason listened to his gut, usually. His gut had kept him alive for a long time.
He didn’t see anything, but the feeling didn’t go away either, so he stayed on guard.
Being watched meant he couldn’t use the Cave’s entrance, though. He looked up at the Manor, thoughtfully. Under the gloomy moonlight, it looked like it might be haunted, maybe. Almost like it was looming, like its owner did all the time.
But it was Jason’s home now too, really not that scary, and it was warmer inside than out here, haunted or not.
Something moved. A flash of green, lighter than the pine needles, out of the corner of his eyes.
He spun around.
Nothing. A few rustling trees, and the moving shadows they cast on the snow-covered ground between him and the wall separating them from the Drake property.
The feeling of unease grew.
He scaled up the side of the Manor all the way to the roof and its dormer windows. He tried to jimmy one open, but it was firmly stuck, what looked like years and years worth of grime keeping it in place. He tried for a good minute until he was pulling and pushing as hard as he could.
He didn’t want to be stuck up there until Richard showed up.
And no way was he willing to climb back down.
“Shit.” He winced, giving it one last pull. “Open, damn it!”
‘Recognized, B13.’ Replied the window as it unlatched with an audible click.
Jason yelped, yanking his hand back, before grinning.
Living with the Batman was the coolest, sometimes.
He scrambled through the window. The fall was short and he rolled with his landing on the floor of the attic, springing back up with dust-bunnies all over his hair.
He dragged an old chair under the opening, then climbed onto it and pulled until the window closed. It made another click-like sound, so he tested it to make sure it was locked.
It was.
An hour, some cartwheels, three batarangs, and the contents of his desk ending up all over the floor later, his keys were found in the pocket of a sweater he’d planned on wearing today, before he’d had to say goodbye to Alfie and Bruce. He clung to them so tightly pain flared, sharp, in the palm of his hand.
Jason’d never even seen a feeling before in his life – real men never cried – but if he ever stumbled onto one, one day-
It might as well be relief.
__________
Midnight came and went with absolutely no sign of Richard.
Jason wasn’t sure whether to be pleased at that or not. He spent a good three, bored, minutes debating the point, then decided he was.
When the clock struck one, he started wondering whether or not to text Bruce about it.
On the one hand, Bruce coming back early and Richard potentially ending in trouble.
On the other, he was having a shi– awful day. He’d already worried for nothing over the keys. Maybe he was just late. Maybe he’d ditched them. Freedom for the weekend. No openings for the prick to hurt him or find a way to sabotage Jason’s current living situation.
Back onto the first hand, Bruce only ever talked about Ree-churd with something angry in his voice, until he forgot to keep up the facade and went all soft tone and warm words. Similarly, for all that they only ever yelled at and fought with each other, Richard had never broken a promise before.
Jason bit the inside of his cheek.
Worry started to pool in the pit of his stomach.
Maybe something had happened to Dick.
He unfurled from the corner he’d tucked himself in, putting his book down on the bag next to him to retrieve his phone. He shot Bruce a quick ‘Richard’s a no-show. Manor still not on fire.’ and went back to reading; the dim glow coming from his bedside lamp the only source of light in the room.
Comfortably snuggled in his warm sweater and scarf, he dozed a little. When he startled awake, fifteen minutes had passed and the doorbell was ringing.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The last ring seemed to echo for a few more seconds, painfully loud against the silence of the empty Manor.
Jason’s heart tried to beat its way out of his chest.
‘No, thank you.’ He thought to the potential murderer/ghost/child-eating demon waiting for him just outside the front door. He dragged his get-away bag closer to him and palmed a batarang, just in case. He was way less pleased with Bruce’s radio silence than he’d been with Dick’s.
What was the correct procedure for child-eating demons, anyway? Aside from calling John Constantine and hoping for the best?
They used holy water with exorcisms for demons, and salt and fire for ghosts in Supernatural, he was pretty sure. Jason looked up an exorcism ritual on his phone. It always paid to be prepared.
The doorbell had stopped ringing, but loud, frantic, knocking started up instead.
If this was Dick’s idea of a joke, Jason was using a stake – exactly as detailed in the article – on him. He got up, grumbling. Keys and batarang firmly in hand, backpack shouldered, he peered into the pitch-black, empty corridors, then walked out, taking the cold stairs two at a time.
Knock, knock, sang the darkness between him and the front door. Knock, knock, knock, it echoed.
Knock, Knock, Knock, knockknockknockknockknockknock-
To the attic. They lived isolated away from the city and it was one in the morning. He wasn’t going to hand himself on a silver platter like a moron. Dick knew how to get into the house. Anyone else could fuck right off. While the Cave had been declared off-limits, the attic had easily accessible exits, that were still locked. Worst came to worst, Jason had a pilfered grappling gun in the bag. Among plenty of other things.
The more he climbed, the less he could hear the person(?) knocking, until finally, he couldn’t hear anything at all.
The silence was not the welcome relief it should have been.
It wasn’t that Jason was too far away to hear the knocks. It was that they had stopped altogether, and now he couldn't be sure where the person was and what they were doing.
He ran the rest of the way.
Jason burst through the attic’s door, determined to at least catch a glimpse of whoever that had been. Mostly to see if they were still there. Determine whether they’d managed to get into the Manor or not. Maybe escape to live as a hermit in the woods until Bruce came back from his trip if they had. He jumped on the old chair, ordered the window to open.
He crawled half-way through it, and standing there – on the roof – drowning in the ugliest, brightest, Green Lantern sweater he’d ever seen was an underfed scrap of an eight years old. He was red-faced, panting, covered in snow, and had a wild look in his eyes, like he’d ran all the way from the docks to the Manor without even bothering to breathe on the way.
“I need to talk to Batman.” Came rushing out of the kid’s mouth as he clung to a camera the size of his head. His knuckles were torn open.
“Try murdering people, like everybody else.” Jason said and went to close the window in his face, acting on panicked instinct.
“Wait!” Wailed the kid. He tried to stop him by throwing himself bodily through the opening. He botched his landing, so Jason got to deal with all of twenty pounds of bony child stabbing him in the stomach with his knees. “I need to talk to Mr Wayne. Please. Please. Nightwing’s hurt.”
That was when he noticed that his sneakers’ original color was not, in fact, the brownish-red he’d first assumed they were.
No, the dried flakes and the bloody snow that’d fell down with him indicated to that being something of a recent development.