Chapter Text
It’s a cold night in Gotham City. There’s long-fallen snow on the streets, the roads themselves cleared days ago, and no one who doesn’t have to be outside is around.
Hence, why Bruce is currently here, in a well-heated suit.
There’s not much to look out for on a night like this. Even petty criminals don’t want to face the chill. Bruce will likely head home soon, an early night for once.
Early enough that Dick will be awake and eager to complain that Bruce didn’t let him come out tonight, despite his grades being up and it being winter break. Apparently “because the Robin suit isn’t heated” isn’t a good enough answer.
Still, Bruce held his ground. No child should be out on a night like this.
Bruce jumps off a rooftop, landing gracefully on the next to overlook the street. There’s not much to look at, until-!
“Hey!”
Bruce glances over to see a man trying to pull a woman’s purse away from her a few buildings down the street. He sighs, then runs and jumps until he’s on the building next to them. Just when the man manages to get the purse away from her, he drops down, landing just in time for the man to run into him.
“... shit,” the man curses.
“Return the purse. Now.”
The man nods, never taking his eyes off Bruce as he holds the purse out to the woman. Once it’s in her hands, he runs off before Bruce has time to direct him toward the nearest shelter, or the nearest vocational center. He sighs, resigning himself to chasing him down before he hears a sniff, then another.
He looks up just in time to see the woman burst into sobs.
Bruce presses his lips into a thin line, looking away for a minute before clearing his throat.
“Are… you alright?” He tries.
“No!” The woman yells between sobs.
Bruce tries not to grimace. He’s… not exactly great at comforting people he doesn’t know, but he’s always found it easier to comfort children. Adults tend not to be distracted by fruit snacks.
So instead, he waits until she calms down. She wipes at her eyes, then sniffs again.
“Sorry,” she mumbles. “I just… I’ve had a really crappy week. This is the first good thing that’s happened since I got fired.”
“I… I see.” Bruce tries to think of what Clark would say in a situation like this, then, failing that, decides to keep it simple. “I’m… sorry to hear that.”
She sniffs again.
“Thanks. I just… the only thing I liked about the job was that the client’s kid was nice, but it was all I had, you know? And poor Tim was devastated, too.”
Bruce blinks.
“Tim?”
“That’s his name.” Another sniff. “I just… he seemed so lonely, and I tried to be there for him, but now…”
“I see.” Bruce clears his throat. “Would you like me to walk you back to your home, Miss…”
“McIlvaine. Antonia McIlvaine, my- my friends call me Nia or- or Mac. And, um…” Nia swallows, brushing some tears out of her eyes. “Yeah, that- that’d be nice.”
Bruce nods, then waits.
“Oh, uh, it’s,” she points behind herself, “it’s this way.”
Bruce nods again, then moves to walk beside her on the snow-covered sidewalk.
“Thank you,” she says suddenly. “I- I didn’t thank you yet, that was rude.”
Bruce grunts.
“I don’t do this for thanks,” he replies.
“Yeah, but it’s nice to receive them anyway, right? I’d thank Tim for helping clean up his toys, even though he should do that-!” Nia stops, looking slightly pained.
“... you cared a lot about him,” Bruce says quietly.
“He’s a good kid,” she replies before glancing at him. “Actually, he’d probably be really jealous of me right now.”
Bruce suspects he knows exactly why the Tim she’s referring to would be jealous, but decides that slight obliviousness will play better in this particular situation.
“Because you nearly got your purse stolen?”
“Because I’m talking to you,” she corrects. “He’s probably the biggest Batman fan on the planet, save for Superman.”
She pauses.
“Actually, he might have surpassed Superman by now. Unless Superman owns pajamas with your logo on it.”
Clark in fact does own a pair of pajama pants with the bat symbol printed numerous times on it. A joke gift from one of his coworkers (Bruce thinks his name is… Stan? Something with an “St”) after he wrote a borderline effusive article on the Batman after the flood. Apparently they’re quite comfortable.
But Nia doesn’t need to know that.
“How long were you Tim’s nanny?” He asks instead.
Nia hesitates.
“I… on paper, I was just the Drakes’ housekeeper,” she admits, confirming Bruce’s suspicion about just who “Tim” is, “but they paid me extra if I stayed and watched him. It- I didn’t make a lot as just their housekeeper, but with the extra money I could make rent and have enough for food.”
Bruce frowns.
“They were underpaying you?”
“I mean, everyone gets underpaid at these jobs.” She snorts. “Unless you’re lucky enough to be working for Bruce Wayne, but he can’t employ everyone in Gotham, right?”
Bruce grunts. Nia sighs.
“Guess it doesn’t matter anymore, though. Mr. Drake’s paranoid ass probably told everyone I stole from them or something.”
Bruce raises an eyebrow.
“Why would he do that?”
“I tripped and jostled some crate while I was cleaning in the basement. I thought I heard something break, so I opened it up to check.”
Right, the crate full of jars Tim told Clark about.
“What was in the crate?” He asks her.
“Some big jars. They had figures painted on them, but I didn’t get a good look before Mr. Drake came down and yelled at me.” She grimaced. “He was a total dick to me, but honestly right up until I got fired I thought he’d let it go.”
Bruce hums. If Jack felt comfortable firing her, then the evidence must already be gone- no way for her to prove her claims. He’ll need to find another way to bring him to justice.
“Like I said, though, it doesn’t matter. I’m probably never gonna find another job in housekeeping, and I only got that job because my aunt vouched for me.” She huffs. “And Wayne Enterprises never got back to me either.”
“Wayne Enterprises?”
“I applied for their vocational program a while ago, but like I said, I never heard back.”
Bruce frowns, making a quick note to look and see if he can find her application himself.
“I see,” he says as they turn the corner. “That… sounds difficult.”
Nia sniffs.
“Yeah…” She looks up just as they reach a somewhat rundown-looking building, which is still one of the nicer ones in the area. “This- this is me.”
Bruce nods, watching as she walks up the steps and gets her keys out of her pocket. She pauses, glancing over at him.
“Hey, uh, Batman?” She asks. “I… know that this isn’t really your area, but… is there any way you could check on Tim? Just… I worry, y’know?”
Bruce hesitates, then nods.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
She smiles, then opens the door to her building and walks in. Bruce exhales, then pulls out his grapnel and rappels up to the roof.
Given his detour, the mugger is likely long gone. It may serve Bruce’s time better to simply do one more round, then return home. He sighs, then begins running toward the other end of the neighborhood. A few roofs later, he runs over the alley he parked in, which is when he pauses.
He doesn’t remember seeing a flash of red next to one of the wheels when he parked it.
Bruce slinks along, angling himself to see the red again. Now, he can tell it’s someone’s coat.
Someone who is clearly trying to steal Bruce’s tires.
Bruce narrows his eyes, then quietly makes his way down toward the nearest fire escape. His years of stealth training allows him to creep down silently, his eyes never leaving the figure in red.
The figure in red, who is… much smaller than Bruce thought, actually.
“... c’mon, c’mon… this is supposed to just- slip in, why isn’t it working?”
Bruce freezes.
That voice…
That voice is far too young to be out in the Narrows this late.
Bruce jumps off the fire escape into a pile of snow, still soft enough to muffle the sound. He creeps toward the (small, young) figure, coming to a stop and looming over them.
“What are you doing?”
The child- a boy, as it turns out- shrieks, scrambling to stand up and hold up the tire iron as if to swing it.
The kid is… it’s hard to tell how old he is. Could be anywhere between seven and nine, his hallowed cheeks and small stature making it hard to pinpoint his age. His tanned skin, probably around the same shade as Dick’s, is covered in dirt and other assorted grime, and his dark, wavy hair has grown out unevenly, as though he hasn’t had a haircut in a while. His clothes are threadbare and patchy with the exception of that red parka that looks more like it would belong to an adult.
And he’s glaring at Bruce with dark blue eyes full of fear and anger.
“Don’t… don’t come any closer!” The kid says, holding onto the tire iron tightly. Bruce eyeballs it for a minute, then turns his gaze back on him and takes a step forward. The boy tenses, raising the tire iron higher. “I-I mean it!”
Bruce raises an eyebrow, then steps just a foot away from him, undeterred. As expected, the kid takes a swing, one that Bruce easily catches. He pulls the tire iron out of the kid’s grip, and the kid stumbles back as he tosses it away.
“Ah…”
“Just what do you think you’re doing out here?” Bruce asks.
“I-I…” The kid swallows, then glares at him. “I don’t gotta explain myself to you!”
“You just attempted to steal my tires.”
“What, are ya goin’ after kids now?”
Bruce inhales, then exhales through his nose. He then kneels down in front of him.
“Look, I’m just trying to help-!”
“I don’t need help,” the boy insists, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m fine on my own, so just let me leave and we’ll call it even.”
“That’s not how this works.” Bruce sighs. “Do you have somewhere to go? If not, there’s a shelter-!”
“I ain’t goin’ to a shelter!” The boy yells. “You can’t make me!”
“You can’t stay out here in the cold. The shelter will be-!”
The boy takes a swing at him. Bruce easily dodges it, but the boy takes the opportunity to try and run, at which point Bruce grabs onto the sleeve of his parka.
“Let go of me! I’ll scream, I swear!”
An obvious bluff if ever there was one. There’s little-to-no police presence in Crime Alley- the closest thing they have is Batman.
“I’m not letting you run off. You can’t stay out here by your-!”
The boy slips out of the parka, running out of the alley as it falls to the ground. Bruce swears under his breath, then gets up and runs out after him…
Only to find him collapsed on the sidewalk just a few feet away.
Bruce’s heart thuds in his chest. He quickly jogs over to him, kneeling next to him and turning him onto his back. His eyes are glassy, his face drenched in sweat despite the temperature, and he’s shaking slightly.
Bruce doesn’t hesitate for even a second. He touches the release for his cape, then uses it to wrap the kid up. The kid is limp in his arms as he picks him up, only able to groan a little as he carries him over to the Batmobile. He gently places him in the passenger seat, then buckles him up before closing the door.
“Computer, call Leslie,” he says once he’s buckled in.
The boy groans again just as Leslie picks up.
“You better not be driving while injured again.”
“I’m fine, but I need you to meet me at the Batcave…”
Bruce hears Leslie sigh, turning away from the missing child reports on his computer toward the mini-infirmary.
“Any idea why he collapsed?”
“I’d need to run more tests to be sure, but it looks like hunger to me,” she answers as she steps away from the examination bed. “I’m willing to bet he hasn’t had a good meal in a while. How exactly did you find this kid?”
“He tried to steal my tires.”
Leslie blinks at him.
“He wouldn’t have gotten very far. He only had a tire iron, and he didn’t seem to know how to use it.”
“Not really what I’m concerned about,” she replies. “Why was a kid who’s probably less than ten years old trying to steal your tires?”
“He wouldn’t tell me,” Bruce answers as he gets up and walks over to her. “He tried to run off, then collapsed on the sidewalk.”
Leslie exhales, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“You realize I have to report this,” she says.
“The Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic has a special exception about reporting suspected crime-!”
“Which does not apply to children. You know that, Bruce.”
Bruce grimaces, then takes a breath.
“Just… give me a week.”
“Bruce-!”
“He’s a flight risk right now, Leslie. And as much work as Bella and I have put into the foster system over the past three years, a kid who doesn’t want to be there is going to figure out a way to run. Give me a week, and I’ll get him used to the idea.”
Leslie grimaces, then sighs.
“Fine. But end of the week, you’re bringing him to me for a full work-up.” She pulls something out of her pocket- a granola bar. “Get him to eat this when he wakes up, and get him some water. A full meal would be better, but something is better than nothing.”
Bruce nods, taking the granola bar from her.
“Thank you.”
Leslie gives him a look.
“I better not see anything about you having another brightly-colored child running after you, got it?”
Bruce nods again, and she sighs before walking toward her car.
“Keep me posted.”
“I will,” he calls as she gets in. He watches as she drives away, then turns to where he keeps his water bottles. He grabs one just as he hears the kid groan, slinking over to the side of the examination bed.
The boy’s eyes slowly flutter open, unfocused at first. He furrows his brow for a minute, eyes widening when he realizes that Bruce is standing next to him.
“Jesus!” He exclaims, scrambling away. He seems to recognize that they’re no longer in the alley, or on the street. “Where- where did you take me?”
“The Batcave.”
“That’s kidnapping!”
Bruce frowns.
“You passed out on the sidewalk.”
“It’s still kidnapping! And you stole my tire iron!”
“You tried to hit me with it.”
“So what, it was mine!”
Bruce rolls his eyes, then holds out the granola bar and bottle of water.
“Here. The doctor said you should have these.”
The boy’s eyes narrow.
“What doctor?”
“A friend of mine. She left already.”
The boy still looks suspicious, but takes what he’s offered. He inspects both objects, then, finding them to his liking, unwraps the granola bar and takes a tentative bite.
Then another. And another. He practically wolfs the whole thing down, then drains half the water bottle in one go. Once he’s done with it, he puts it to the side.
“... thanks,” he says quietly, not looking at Bruce.
Bruce grunts.
“What’s your name?” He asks.
The boy doesn’t answer.
“I need to know if I’m going to help you.”
Still nothing. Bruce exhales.
Normally, he doesn’t press too hard with street kids. It’s a painful truth that some of them are simply not going to be cooperative, and the best he can do is let them go and keep them under careful observation.
But this kid…
Bruce doesn’t know why, but he has the distinct impression that if he lets this kid go, the next time he sees him will be in an autopsy report.
But he’s not going to get anywhere like this. This kid is clearly at least mildly terrified of him, and even if that works for getting info out of mooks, children are a different ball-game entirely.
So, there’s only one thing for it: he has to give the kid some leverage.
“Hey.”
The kid looks up, eyes still narrow.
Bruce takes a breath, then takes off the cowl.
The boy’s eyes go wide, his lips parting.
Bruce puts the cowl down, pulls up a chair, then sits down across from him.
“My name is Bruce Wayne. I’m thirty-one, and I was born in Gotham.”
The boy hesitates, then looks away and draws in on himself.
“... Jason Todd. I’m eight. I was born here too.”
Eight.
Eight years old.
The same age he was when his parents-!
Bruce takes a breath, then lets it out.
“Why were you out on the street at night in the cold?”
Jason shrugs.
“I gotta eat, don’t I? Tires like those, they’d buy me at least a week.”
“I know I asked you before, but why didn’t you go to a shelter? There was one just down the street from where we were.”
Jason scoffs.
“Shelter workers’ll call the cops on you.”
“Jason, you’re eight. You’re not going to get in trouble with the police.”
“We don’t talk to cops,” Jason stresses. “Dad said.”
“And where exactly is your dad now?”
Jason shifts.
“... dunno,” he admits. “He said he was goin’ out on a job, but that was two months ago.”
Bruce exhales slowly.
“And your mother?”
Jason goes very still.
“... Jason. Where is your mother?”
Jason swallows hard.
“She… she said she was goin’ to the store to get some medicine cause she didn’t feel good, but she… she didn’t come back.” Jason bites his lip. “She… she didn’t come back, and… and I got hungry, and there wasn’t any food in the house, and I didn’t know what to do, and-!”
“Jason,” Bruce interrupts, “Jason, it’s alright. You’re not in trouble.”
Jason sniffs, wiping at his eyes as surreptitiously as an eight-year-old possibly can.
“How long has your mom been gone?”
“Um… since the week before Christmas, I think. A couple of the people I know around the neighborhood gave me food and let me sleep in their houses, but it’s- they don’t have a lot of space or food for themselves, and I don’t want to be…”
Bruce’s heart aches in his chest. He inhales, then exhales, then moves to grab his phone off the counter.
“Alfred,” he says when he picks up, “come down to the cave. I need your help with something.”
“Is everything alright?”
“I’ll explain when you get down here,” Bruce says before hanging up. He then turns back to Jason.
“Who’s Alfred?” He asks.
“My butler.”
Jason’s eyes widen, then narrow.
“Right, you’re like, super rich.”
Bruce raises an eyebrow.
“Most people don’t forget that.”
“I’ve had a long day,” Jason deadpans.
“Hn.” Bruce gets up and grabs the clothes that Leslie left, presenting them to Jason. “Here.
Jason furrows his brow as he takes them.
“You just… had these?”
“No, a friend of mine brought them when I called her over here to look you over. The doctor.”
Jason’s eyes widen.
“Right, you mentioned her.” He hesitates. “Is… she’s not gonna call the cops, is she?”
Bruce sighs.
“I convinced her to hold off, but we will need to talk about that later,” he says just as the elevator dings. Alfred walks out, but just as he opens his mouth he catches sight of Jason. He closes it, then glances over at Bruce and raises an eyebrow. If he’s surprised to see Bruce without his cowl, he doesn’t show it.
“Am I going to be presented with a child every time I come down here?”
“That’s only happened twice,” Bruce points out. “Including this time.”
Alfred gives him a look, then looks over at Jason with a warm smile.
“Hello, young sir. May I ask your name?”
“... Jason,” Jason mumbles.
“Alfred, could you get Jason something to eat?” Bruce asks. “Then once he’s eaten, show him to one of the guest rooms.”
“Of course. Come along, Master Jason.”
Jason furrows his brow, looking over at Bruce.
“‘Master’ Jason?”
“S’a butler thing,” Bruce explains as he helps him down from the examination bed. “Go on.”
Jason looks at him for a minute, then quietly walks over to Alfred, following him toward the elevator.
“What would you like to eat?” He hears Alfred ask.
“... grilled cheese? And, um, maybe some tomato soup?”
“That sounds like an excellent idea. What kind of cheese would you like?”
“Um… do you have colby jack? Or swiss?”
“I’m sure we have both, if you would…”
The elevator door closes, cutting off the conversation. Bruce exhales, letting his shoulders drop a bit.
Then, he turns around, walking toward the computer. Once he’s sitting down, he pulls up his database and starts pulling missing persons and arrest records for the past few weeks from all over the state. Thousands of files pop up, and Bruce glances at the clock.
After a moment, he pulls up the console and gets to work. A simple function to try and find any records with the surname “Todd” should do it.
How long could it take, really?