Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jason Todd bounces around the Batcave. He cartwheels across the training mats with a beaming grin on his face. Even after first finding it, months and months ago now, it’s still thrilling every time he comes down here.

It’s not the, well, museum, really, of gadgets and souvenirs Batman has from previous missions and battles and adventures. It’s not the Batplane or the Batmobile or any of Batman’s other extremely awesome modes of transportation. It’s not even the giant penny that he still doesn’t know the story behind.

The best part of being in the Batcave is that Jason feels trusted. He feels like he’s part of a secret that actually matters. Jason, by virtue of knowing the Batcave’s location, is dangerous. He could take down Gotham’s vigilante and guardian with one sentence to the wrong — well, right, actually — person.

He’s a kid. 

He’s a kid with the power to completely shift the political and social landscape of an entire city. Honestly, the entire country. Possibly, the whole world. 

Batman’s secret identity is something villains, heroes, reporters, and average citizens have been trying to uncover for years and years. A slip of the tongue will bring the entire Rogue Gallery down on Bruce Wayne and Wayne Manor. It could lead to the death of one of the founding members of the Justice League.

Jason is just a kid.

Having that kind of power is as terrifying as it is humbling. Because he’s never better understood exactly how important it is to be responsible and watch his mouth. On the streets, when he was homeless and alone in the Bowery, if he foolishly spoke with loose lips, he’s the one who would pay the price. Now? Well, Jason hasn’t done the math to get precise figures. But given how many people Batman saves each year, and how many villains he takes down or gets off the streets, Gotham would be a living nightmare if Batman weren’t around to patrol night after night, week after week, month after month.

So while it’s exciting to be in the Batcave, to be in on the secret and know that Bruce trusts Jason not to betray him, it’s scary too.

A sound from the staircase draws Jason’s attention as he rolls out of a somersault.

“Hey, B!” Jason calls, a wide grin on his face.

Jason still can’t believe some days that Bruce brought him home and took him in. He still stares at the ceiling of his bedroom in Wayne Manor, not wanting to fall asleep, in case this is the dream and he wakes up in reality — cold and hungry and exhausted in the Narrows. Being saved from poverty due to kindness with no ulterior motives isn’t something he ever expected. It isn’t something he even wasted time daydreaming about in the past.

Yet, here he is. Here they are.

“Hi, Jaylad,” Bruce says with a fond smile as he crosses the distance between them and then ruffles Jason’s hair. “What’ve you been up to down here?”

“Tumbling!” Jason answers happily before performing a backflip. He lands on his feet and then waves his arms in a dramatic flourish.

Bruce chuckles and says, “You’re coming along well, I see.”

Jason’s chest feels warm. His cheeks hurt from how widely he smiles. That’s a compliment he values highly, given that Bruce is accustomed to witnessing Flying Grayson quality tumbling. Oh, Jason isn’t delusional. He’s seen videos of some of The Flying Graysons’ past performances. If they were standing on the same ladder, Jason would be on the second or third rung and Dick Grayson would be so high up the ladder that Jason would only be able to make out the bottom of Dick’s shoes if he squinted with all his might.

Still, he’s grateful for the comment. It’s always nice to hear Bruce acknowledging his efforts and hard work. Jason knows that he’s improved. That’s different from hearing Bruce say the same thing. The outside acknowledgment encourages Jason to keep going and to never give up.

He is well aware that even if he dedicates a decade to his training, he will never come close to Dick’s quality of skills. Despite knowing that, Jason is going to learn and do what he can. 

Because Jason saw adoption papers in Bruce’s office last week while he was sneaking around and snooping while bored out of his mind. And if … if those are for him — he’s been choking on hope since he found them — then Dick will sort of, in a way, be Jason’s big brother. Won’t he?

Jason has always wanted a brother. 

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, isn’t it? Except Jason doesn’t like the word flattery. That’s not what he means. There’s nothing at all insincere about his desire to imitate Dick. Jason just wants to follow in his maybe-brother’s footsteps.

“I’d hope so! I’ve been practicing a lot, B!” Jason says.

“I know you have,” Bruce replies before ruffling Jason’s hair again.

Jason leans into it like a kitten seeking more petting. It’s hard to remember he ever shied away from such contact when he first came to the Manor. He closes his eyes and sighs happily as the warmth of Bruce’s hand tousles his hair. It’s comforting and safe and—

“I’m proud of you for working so hard, Jaylad. I’ve got a surprise for you,” Bruce says with a small, pleased smile on his face.

“What is it?” Jason demands, wriggling in place, even as his whole body warms at the thought that Bruce is proud of him. No one ever said that to Jason before Bruce did. Hearing it now is still as precious to Jason as it was the very first time Bruce said it when Jason brought home a test with 100% marked clearly on the top.

Before coming to live in Wayne Manor, most of the surprises in Jason’s life were the awful kind. Now that he can expect good surprises, he hates waiting for them. He wants to know right away.

“What is it? What is it?” Jason asks.

Bruce chuckles and says, “Hold on a minute, Jaylad. Stay here. Let me get it.”

Jason cranes his neck, trying to keep Bruce in his line of sight as Bruce leaves the training area with tumbling mats and heads over to where Bruce keeps the Batsuit. Well, Batsuits, actually. He has more than one, of course, in case of damage and such. 

There are even a few older versions of the Batsuit and Robin’s uniform in glass display cases. Jason likes looking at them. They remind him of museum exhibits of ages or eras of time. Except Bruce doesn’t have little placards next to them saying things like: worn during the successful evacuation of an orphanage full of children from a fire, or, helped defend the planet from an alien invasion in the year whatever.

Maybe, someday, if he trains hard enough, Jason will get to have a vigilante suit of his own behind glass in the Batcave. If that ever happens, he wants his to have a placard.

“Hurry up!” Jason begs, his nerves getting the best of him. He wants to know what the surprise is. He wants to know right now! What kind of surprise is kept in the Batcave and not up in the Manor? What—?

Tugging his hair to try and control his impatience, Jason spins on his heel and almost falls over his own feet. There’s a man — older teenager? — walking down the staircase from the Manor into the Batcave. He’s tall and lean and muscular. He has black hair, like Jason, and blue eyes, like Jason, and Jason recognizes him instantly from the videos he’s watched and all of the photographs that are in Wayne Manor.

It’s Dick Grayson! Dick Grayson is here! Jason’s sort of, maybe, possibly-will-be big brother, who he hasn’t met yet is here!

“What should I do? What should I say?” Jason whispers to himself.

Is it all right if he runs across the room and tackles Dick in a hug? Or is that not okay since they haven’t been introduced? Is he supposed to introduce himself? Or is that rude and he should let Bruce do it? Can Jason tell Dick how many times he’s watched and studied the videos of The Flying Graysons? Or would that be callous and remind Dick of his dead parents and hurt him? How is Jason supposed to act? What is he meant to say? How can he make a good first impression on his hopefully-soon-a-brother?

Dick’s watching Jason with something that looks like confusion on his face. Which … why? Doesn’t he know who Jason is, even if they haven’t met yet? Didn’t … didn’t Bruce tell Dick about him? Didn’t—?

Bruce comes back into sight, seemingly without noticing Dick on the last step of the staircase behind him, with an unmistakable red, green, and yellow uniform in his hands. Bruce smiles fondly at Jason and says, “I think it’s time for you to be Robin. You’ve been training so hard and—”

Jason’s brain tunes out what Bruce is saying because he can’t look away from Dick.

As soon as Bruce said, “I think it’s time for you to be Robin,” Dick staggered and grabbed his chest as if he had just been shot at point-blank range. Even from this distance, Jason can see the tears in Dick’s eyes and that his golden-bronze skin has paled several shades.

Dick stares at the back of Bruce’s head with such raw, aching betrayal that Jason’s chest burns.

This isn’t right. This is … this is wrong. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. It’s wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong!  

Jason is supposed to make a good impression so that Dick will want to be his big brother. Jason is supposed to smile and be polite and be likable enough that he will have a second person who wants to ruffle his hair and maybe, if he’s lucky, give him hugs. He’s supposed— This isn’t— 

Dick slumps down the wall he collapsed back against without making a sound. He slides down it to sit on the stairs as if his legs no longer possess the strength necessary to support him. He grinds the palms of his hands against his eyes as if he can force the tears back inside of himself. He curls over his knees and hangs his head as if that’s all that’s keeping his heart inside of his rib cage.

Jason knows, intellectually, that words can be weapons. But he’s never known until right now.

Because Bruce’s words might as well have been a rocket launcher that ripped right through Dick’s torso and destroyed everything in its path.

“—what do you say?” Bruce finishes.

“No,” Jason rasps out so softly that not even he can hear it.

The smile on Bruce’s face fades slightly as his brow furrows. “What was that, Jaylad?”

Jason watches Dick shake and repeats himself in a yell that echoes through the Cave so loudly it disturbs the bats. “No!”

Dick goes painfully still. He doesn’t move an inch. His hair isn’t even swaying where it hangs upside-down below his knees. Is he … is he even breathing right now?

Bruce’s eyes dim in Jason’s peripheral vision as he says, “But I thought—”

“No!” Jason repeats himself.

He finally manages to rip his gaze away from Dick when Bruce takes a step closer and puts a hand on Jason’s shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. “Are you all right, Jaylad?”

Jason’s hands ball into fists at his sides. He wants to punch Bruce. He wants to pound uselessly against Bruce’s chest and scream and cry. Because Jason cannot believe that this is something Bruce doesn’t understand! How can Bruce be the World’s Greatest Detective and so utterly stupid at the exact same time? How?

“How do you not understand? You have no right!” Jason screams. “You can’t—” He shakes and glares up at Bruce, tears burning his eyes.

It’s a rich people thing, isn’t it? That’s why Bruce doesn’t get it. That’s why he doesn’t understand. That must be it. Because Jason doesn’t believe for a minute that Bruce would ever intentionally hurt Dick like this. Jason doesn’t believe for a second that Bruce would purposefully stab Dick in the heart with words that cause emotional bleeding so intense that a tourniquet will be necessary to stop it.

Bruce has hundreds of photographs of Dick on display in the Manor. Bruce talks about Dick every day. His love for his oldest son — lack of legal adoption aside — could not be more apparent to Jason.

So, this—

“You can’t!” Jason pants through his tears.

“I can’t what, Jaylad? What’s wrong?” Bruce asks with love and concern in his voice as deep as an ocean.

“You can’t give away someone’s name!” Jason yells.

Bruce pales whiter than the finest Wayne heirloom china and sways slightly, his grip on Jason’s shoulder tightening as if he will fall to the floor without Jason’s support. “I…”

Jason scrubs the back of his arm across his face, but it does little to dry his cheeks from the tears that won’t stop falling. “The only” — Jason hiccup-sobs — “the only things I had when you took me in were my name and the raggedy clothes on my back. And the clothes went in the garbage the night I got here.”

Bruce wets his lips and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“People take stuff. All the time. They take food and money and clothes and, and, and … whatever! People take stuff that doesn’t belong to them and then they have it so it does belong to them, even though it doesn’t really. But, but” — Jason trembles with frustration and anger and glares up at Bruce — “but there are some things that people can’t ever take away from you. Because it’s yours! It’s yours in a way that means they can’t take it away from you. Not, not really.”

“Jaylad, I—”

“My mom was a drug addict and died from an overdose, but she named me Jason. And my dad is a piece of garbage and I won’t cry a single tear if he gets shanked in prison, but Todd is his last name. I” — Jason pounds a shuddering fist lightly against Bruce’s chest; it doesn’t make a sound as it lands — “I don’t care about that bastard’s name. I don’t. But no one has the right to take it from me without my consent. It’s … it’s part of me. It’s who I am. You can’t— B, how are you so stupid?”

Bruce flinches and sways again, his grip tightening even further on Jason’s shoulder.

“I saw the adoption papers, B,” Jason chokes out, chest heaving. “And I will drop that bastard’s last name for Wayne in a heartbeat if you ask. But I will throw myself head-first back onto the streets without a second’s delay if you try and take away the name my mother gave me. She’s” — Jason’s body is wracked with sobs as he hunches down and falls on the floor — “she’s the only person who ever said ‘I love you’ to me. B, you can’t—”

“I’m sorry, Jaylad. I’m so sorry,” Bruce says, hands sliding under Jason’s armpits and pulling Jason back upright and against his chest.

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to, you big, stupid idiot! You should be apologizing to Dick!” Jason yells, frustrated and disappointed and heart-sore. “I’ve seen those videos over and over again! You just tried to take and give away The Flying Graysons’ family colors and the name Dick’s mother called him in that one interview. Dick was raised in a circus, B! They were constantly traveling. There’s no way they had room for a bunch of stuff. You can’t— You can’t just—”

“I didn’t mean to … I wasn’t thinking—”

“That’s obvious, B,” Dick interjects, his voice raspy and wet and full of grief and rage.

Bruce spins around with Jason in his arms and flinches at the sight of Dick. Jason isn’t surprised. Dick looks awful. His eyes are puffy and red and his whole body is shaking like a junkie in desperate need of a fix.

“Dick, chum, I’m so sorry. I never meant to—” Bruce snaps his mouth shut, inhales shakily, and closes his eyes. When they snap open again a few seconds later, he’s seemingly in control of his emotions and reactions again. “I am sincerely sorry for my actions, Dick. There is no excuse for what I did tonight. I hope you will be able to forgive me for it at some point in time.”

“Not tonight,” Dick bites out.

“No,” Bruce says, pained and tired, “nor any time soon, I suspect.”

“At least part of your brain still works,” Jason mutters.

Dick laughs, all bitter and dark like the smell of the disgustingly expensive coffee roast Bruce drinks every morning. He wipes away the remaining tears on his cheeks and then stands up. His gaze sweeps over Jason from head to toe, sharply and intently. “Jason Todd, was it?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jason replies as he uses his shirtsleeve to dry his face.

“You clearly already know who I am,” Dick says, an edge of teasing in his voice that falls short of hitting the mark.

“My bro—” Jason snaps his mouth shut and wishes the Cave floor would open up and swallow him. His cheeks burn and he doesn’t doubt for a second that his whole face is bright red. He coughs into his fist and then says, “Dick Grayson. You’re … Dick Grayson.”

The first smile Jason’s seen on Dick’s face all night appears. It’s small, barely-there really, and it feels fragile. He’s worried it’ll shatter and fall to the ground. But there’s also something incredibly warm and genuine about it.

Dick walks over, hooks an arm around Jason’s shoulders without touching Bruce, and folds him into a hug. “Thanks, Little Wing,” Dick whispers, his arms warm and strong and safe around Jason, “but you had it right the first time.”

A name. Dick … Dick gave him a name!

Jason burrows closer into his brother’s arms and never wants Dick to let go.