Chapter Text
JASON
Thursday
Day four in the Manor
This place is like a different world, Jason thinks, feeling the smooth wall beneath his fingers. He’s silently moving towards the kitchen and he’s absentmindedly tracing along the wall, feeling various bumps and cracks with his fingertips. Time in Park Row with the lack of a steady schedule was painfully slow, making the days long and the nights even longer while time in the Manor by comparison was smoothly flowing like a river. Still slow, but not excruciating.
Jason thought the Manor like an island sealed in a bubble and separated from Gotham by an ocean that washed away the filth that seeped out of the dirty alleys and crime-infested streets. Wayne Manor existed as an odd safe haven, a rare flower among the asphalt.
Jason still found the sanctuary eerie, despite its comfort. It was too quiet, lacking the familiar sounds of people, traffic, police sirens, bar fights and the occasional gun shots. It was unsettling and kept him on edge constantly. Of course, it didn’t help that the two who lived here never seemed to make a sound either, with their ninja-ing around and all. At this pace, he’d die of a cardiac arrest they'd give him before turning fifteen. Unless he’s murdered.
Jason tip-toes the last feet to the kitchen door and peeks in to find it empty. Feeling a small rush of luck and relief, he sneaks over to the fridge and grabs various items, following his usual pattern of granola bars and pre-packaged sandwiches. The gala’s tomorrow so by Jason’s estimations, he’d be leaving tonight or maybe tomorrow morning depending on how guilty they feel. He’s bound to get kicked out soon so that good ole’ Brucie could go back to that sweet party life and the butler could hustle and bustle about without hindrances.
Jason had planned to wrap up his things and exit quietly that morning if the butler hadn’t stopped by yesterday after dinner and insisted that Jason had to throw away his food storage due to “a foul smell”. Jason wanted to argue that it was his food and throwing it away was a waste – but he didn’t. It smelled pretty bad and started to make Jason nauseous. (It wasn’t a problem on the rooftop, but maybe that was because of helpful wind, other city smells and it wasn’t cramped up in a closed room.)
Begrudgingly, Jason agreed to throw everything away (to avoid attracting ants, the butler had said), so a part of the evening was spent taking out the trash, something the butler insisted on helping with, which ruined Jason’s spur-of-the-moment emergency plan of sorting out the still edible from the rotten he could hide somewhere outside and pick up before he was sent packing.
“If you are hungry, Master Jason, I’d be more than delighted to make you something.”
Startled, Jason yelps and drops the granola bars to the linoleum floor. Slowly he turns to see the butler standing in the doorway, amused and with one eyebrow cocked.
“You certainly have an affinity for Master Bruce’s protein and granola bars.”
“I thought you were busy,” Jason mumbles. He can feel his ears getting red and he hates it, so he bends down to pick up the granola bars as slowly as he can before putting them back into the fridge.
“Master Bruce is doing an errand today, and even though I have my fair share of organizing to do, attending to guests staying in the Manor are my number one priority,” the butler smiles.
Jason closes the fridge and as Alfred moves closer between the kitchen island and the stove, Jason moves on the opposite side, making sure the island stays between.
“I don’t want anything,” Jason says stiffly. A horrible, blatant lie and they both knew it.
“I see. Well, I think I shall make something for when Master Bruce returns. A light lunch would be suitable. How about some creamy lemon chicken pasta? Or scrambled eggs and bacon, or maybe salmon and avocado wraps? What do you think?”
Jason pretends to think of something else than how all of the dishes mentioned didn’t make his mouth water and how all three sounded amazing.
These past few days Jason had been served meal after meal, and there was no doubt in his mind that the butler was an excellent chef, so no matter he picked it would be delicious. But Jason doesn’t want to pick. He’ll sound spoiled and - and what if he chooses the wrong thing? Wraps with salmon and avocado sounded demanding while creamy lemon chicken pasta sounded more like dinner-food than lunch-food.
“Maybe… maybe scrambled eggs and bacon would be nice…?” Jason says carefully. “Excellent choice, Master Jason,” the older man beams and claps his hands together. “Perhaps you would be so kind to keep me company while I cook? I do miss talking to someone while I prepare food.”
Maybe it’s just his way of saying that Jason’s not allowed out of sight or maybe he really wants the company. Either way, Jason doesn’t refuse so he takes a seat at the island while Mr. Pennyworth finds ingredients. Soon enough Jason’s leaning forward on the island, resting his cheek on his crossed arms on the counter, mindlessly listening to the butler chatting about everything and nothing mixing with the familiar sounds of bacon being fried and utensils being used.
Jason closes his eyes and thinks about the times Catherine used to cook and hum along to songs on the radio. She would almost dance back and forth between him, the stove and the fridge, swaying along with the music, bathed in the few beams of sunshine the kitchen window let through. Her hair long and shiny, her lips wide in a smile and exuding a joy Jason rarely felt from her.
“I have a surprise, Jason,” she teased, hiding something behind her back. Jason perked up and mirrored her glee expression.
“What is it?”
“You have to guess!” she sang. Jason hopped down from his chair and tried to reach behind her back to snatch whatever she was keeping hidden.
“Aw, are you so happy you’re hugging me?” she giggled and put one hand on his curls.
“No! I’m – ngh – trying to reach and – you’re cheating, cheater!” Jason stepped back, folded his arms and pouted.
“What? Me, cheating? I’d never! My arms are just longer than yours,” Catherine grinned and pinched his cheek. “If I see that frown turn upside-down, I’ll show you what I have?”
“Okay,” Jason giggled and poked his tongue at her, satisfied with his ploy.
“Ta-da!” From behind her, a blue pack of cookies emerged. Jason gasped dramatically.
“You – you bought me Oreos?!” He snapped the pack out of her hands and studied it as if it was sacred. “Oh, I’m sorry for calling you a cheater, Mommy! I didn’t mean it!” Jason cried, wrapped his arms around her again as high as he could reach, hugging her for real this time. Catherine laughed again and hoisted him up on her hip. “It’s okay, you little munchkin. But no cookies until after you’ve eaten dinner, ok?”
“Okay!” She pecked his cheek.
“Master Jason?”
Someone shakes him and Jason jerks awake, grabbing the island counter before he falls backwards. Mr. Pennyworth stands next to him, hand hovering not far from Jason’s shoulder.
“…The food is ready, Master Jason.”
“Mhm, yup, yeah,” Jason nods and turns as he rubs his eyes and wipes his cheeks. The butler is polite enough to pretend like he doesn’t notice. Jason wishes he could run away, hide somewhere in a corner of the library. Somewhere dark and safe, where no one will think to look, where he can be invisible for a little bit.
Instead, he and Mr. Pennyworth are sitting down at the kitchen table in what Jason thinks is a suffocating silence, each with their own plate of scrambled eggs and bacon strips. A modest two for him and four for Jason. The ‘Waiting for Bruce before we eat a light lunch’ plan was chucked out the window apparently, as the cook had helped himself to a serving.
Jason reluctantly did the same. He was hungry, still. Food over pride. It’s an unspoken ritual by now; Jason waits until the other eats before he tries a bite himself and Mr. Pennyworth takes the first bite, both bacon and eggs. Jason follows. It leaves an oddly bitter taste in his mouth, knowing he won’t be here after tomorrow and eat this good of food ever again. The butler resumes his chatting again, and Jason really doesn’t mind listening to the older man while eating.
The butler takes his last bite of scrambled eggs and folds his hands waiting for Jason to finish.
“Was the food satisfactory?” he asks.
Jason nods while chewing his last strip of salty, crispy bacon. “It’s delicious,” he says after swallowing. “I’ve never eaten bacon this delicious.”
Mr. Pennyworth chuckles. “You are flattering me, Master Jason.”
“Can I ask you something?” Jason pushes the last piece of scrambled eggs back and forth with his fork. Of course, the butler responds.
“Am I leaving tonight or tomorrow? Because If I can, I wanna do it now so that I can settle down somewhere before dark.” Jason regrets asking almost immediately, as the older man’s jaws clenches and he sighs heavily.
Mr. Pennyworth collects his plate and cutlery and walks over to the sink to rinse them. Jason clenches the fork and doesn’t look up from his plate. He takes a breath and turns to face him. “I promise to clean up after me, the bedroom and everything, and Mr. Pennyworth, I swear I won’t take anything again.”
Alfred says nothing and continues to wash the plate with his back turned. Jason imagines a deep frown on the older man. He continues, “The things I took the last time – I’ve already put them back so I’m not – I don’t have anything of yours anymore.” Ok, that one was a half-truth; he’d sold the old tiepins the first hours he’d been back in Gotham to get rid of them as fast as possible. He probably would have sold the ring, the watch, the necklace and the cufflinks too if he hadn’t gotten paranoid and followed his guts; an icky feeling had told him GCPD or maybeMr. Wayne himself would get him so he just went into hiding instead. Ironically, Batman was the one who found him. Mr. Pennyworth turns off the water and places dried cutlery and plate back to their respective places in the cabinets.
Jason doesn’t look up, even when Mr. Pennyworth returns to the table and sits back down. “Master Jason,” he says calmly, “I must thank you for your honesty and your dedication to being such a wonderful and polite guest, but believe me when I say that under no circumstances – absolutely none – are you to go back to live the way you used to. You are going to live in this house for one month, and then we – you and me and Master Bruce – will find out what the next step will be, together. And I swear to you, on my name and reputation as well on Master Bruce’s: it will not be for you to return to sleeping in cardboard boxes. That chapter of your life is over, and it will never happen again. Now if you excuse me, I have business to attend to regarding tomorrow’s catering. I am sorry to say I must ask you to wash your dishes when you are finished.” Then he gets up and leaves.
Jason feels his eyes burn, staring at his hands before he picks apart the skin next to his nails until he starts bleeding twice. Then he does his dishes and places them in the cabinets. When done, he goes back to the bedroom, picks up his old disc player and one of his CDs (Rumours by Fleetwood Mac) and hides in the attic. Curled up and hidden away in an old wardrobe with old coats, tears begin to drip down his cheeks, although he doesn’t know why.
You and me and Master Bruce.
It’s not until very later Jason jerks awake for the second time that day. He rubs his eyes in the dark space of the wardrobe with musty fur coats and regrets a little that he didn’t pack his things up and left quietly before sunrise.
But it felt good to get some sleep. He has to pee, so he listens for any sign of anyone nearby before crawling out and sneaking back to the bedroom where he tosses the disc player and headset on the bed. 21:24 glows in big red numbers on the digital clock on the nightstand. Jason closes and locks the bathroom door and rests his head against it for a second.
“If nothing happens before midnight, I’ll pack my bags and leave quietly,” he promises himself. “Things will go back to normal and everyone will be happy again.”
Five minutes later, his head hits the pillow that never stopped being perfectly fluffed. He closes his eyes and wraps his elbow over his face, to shut the world off while he thinks about how he’s gonna get back to Gotham this time. Alarm systems and distance aside – walking around with loot in Gotham at night? He might as well shout obscenities at grown drunkards and waft thousands of dollars in cash around in the open.
Fuck.
He has to be smart about this. If not, he will get jumped and in worst case scenario end up dead. He could fight one on one or maybe one against two, but he didn’t have a chance if there were three or more and then he wouldn’t even be able to get away while carrying his shit.
Maybe… maybe if he took things slow. There wasn’t any rush to be in Park Row tonight, was there? He could potentially crash somewhere else for one night, maybe in Otisburg or in the outskirts of Burnley – but the risk about being homeless outside of Park Row was cops were more likely to get involved.
We’re gonna help you, they would say, but it was really just to chase you away and making sure homeless were kept quarantined in Park Row like a pack of cattle.
God fucking damn it.
Even with all the difficulties and stress of going back, he couldn’t stay here anymore. The silence was maddening and he didn’t know what the pair wanted from him, making them the worst type of threats, the ones he couldn’t run from or bribe or work for – he was just stuck here at their mercy. There was honestly nothing that prevented either of them from calling social services and hand him over or the police and press charges for thievery or waiting until he was asleep and slit his throat before selling his organs on the black market. He needs to get out before that happens.
Two sharp knocks interrupt him. Jason jumps out of bed, straightening his shirt and presses down his hair.
“Jason?” Mr. Wayne's voice asks.
“I’m here.” A beat.
“…Can I come in?”
It’s your house, Jason thinks. Weirdo. “Yes,” he says.
Mr. Wayne opens the door and smiles, holding what looks like a - a fucking body bag in his hand and Jason’s fight or flight response kicks off – until he realizes it’s not a body bag. It’s one of those bags that protected and contained fancy clothing to avoid from the fabric being wrinkled and messed up. Jason had seen this on TV, on reality shows, where rich people would walk around with their dress or suit or whatever hanging from their arm and cried that their party was ruined when the clothes were wrinkled. It made Jason laugh.
“What’s that?” Jason nods to the mystery item. Mr. Wayne laid it out on the foot of the bed, and smiled, a hand on his hips and satisfied with himself. “Well, since the gala is tomorrow, I thought that you might want something to wear.” Jason’s eyes go wide. No way.
“If you want to, of course,” Mr. Wayne adds hastily, and pulls back a zipper to reveal a crisp, clean suit for someone Jason’s size. It had a snow-white shirt and handkerchief stuffed in the pocket of a deep blue jacket with matching pants. The tie was a soft, golden champagne.
“I, uh, I’m not sure if it’s your taste, but the owner said this one was very popular right now. I have to admit I’m not sure I got the measurements right. If it’s the wrong size I can go back tomorrow morning to fix it. Try it on,” he says.
Jason looks from Mr. Wayne to the suit and back to Mr. Wayne again. Reluctantly, he accepts it and holds it gently, like a glass figure, as he carries it to the bathroom to change.
When he comes out, Mr. Wayne is accompanied by Mr. Pennyworth and upon seeing Jason, both break out in smiles. Jason knows his ears are getting red again, feeling like a monkey on display and they were the zoo visitors, poking him with a stick to do stuff.
“…The sleeves are a little long,” he says quietly, fiddling with the tie he held in his hand. The sleeves weren’t really long. The silence was just uncomfortable.
“It suits you, Master Jason,” Mr. Pennyworth smiles. “No pun intended,” he adds with a wink. The butler's hands are on his shoulders, here and there, straightening the jacket out and seeing if it's too wide or too tight.
Mr. Wayne pulls a shoe box out of a bag that wasn’t there before, and whips out a shiny pair of black dress shoes. “Try these on,” he says and places them in front of Jason’s feet. Jason slips the shoes on and ties the laces. Wiggles his toes. They’re a bit too big and broad. He doesn’t mind, he can probably grow into them. “Do they fit?” Mr. Wayne asks. Jason nods. Mr. Pennyworth backs away. Mr. Wayne takes his place and it takes everything in Jason’s power to not step back into the bathroom and lock the door and just wait until they leave.
“I’ll just tie your tie, is that all right with you?” Jason clenches his jaws and nods, tilting his head up and tries to not think of Mr. Wayne tightening the knot and crushing his windpipe. He counts seconds and when he reaches sixteen, the large hands are off of him.
“Come on then,” he encourages. “Take a look in the mirror.” He gestures to the full body mirror. Jason walks to it, half expecting to see himself in a suit that is too big and baggy for his awkward, skinny body with sleeves that barely hides his bony hands accompanied by a tired and sad face with even more tired and sad eyes topped by hair that sticks out everywhere.
He doesn’t. His lips part in a quiet gasp at the sight of seeing someone he doesn’t know. Looking back at him is a boy that looks like he’s sleeps a little more, maybe gained a pound or maybe two and doesn't look like corpse. It’s a boy that looks like he has a normal life, like he could fit in somewhere. Someone who’s not a street rat.
He’s stylish and proper, like he’s used to wearing expensive clothing - which makes him appear older and more confident. The white and the blue complement each other, as well as Jason’s eyes and skin tone, while the champagne coloured tie and messy curls adds a playful gleam to it all, breaking from an appearance that would be stiff and monotone otherwise. The shoes are discreet but still eye-catching beneath the hem of the pants. They make him a little taller as well. He straightens his back as much as he can and huffs his chest a little bit to look bigger. With a pang of melancholy, jealousy and a small sense of pride, he realizes that the boy in the mirror doesn’t look scared or weak or like he despises himself. He likes it.
“What do you think, Master Jason?” Mr. Pennyworth pops up behind his left shoulder, brushing over his shoulders again, fidgeting with whatever fold of fabric he could find.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” Jason admits.
Mr. Wayne too walks up behind Jason and stands behind his right shoulder. Both are so close Jason can feel their warmth, and somehow he doesn’t mind that either. “If you want, I could go back to the tailor tomorrow and get another one.”
Jason shakes his head. “No, no, Mr. Wayne. It’s, uhm…amazing. Thank you.” Looking in the mirror again, it strikes him that they look like an old fashioned family photo. He dismisses it.
Don’t be stupid.