Just for the Night
Tim Drake didn’t think he was a bad kid, but the evidence was mounting. Parents of good children could stand to be in the same room with them without it dissolving into a screaming match about an A- on a spelling test. Parents of good children don’t have to fly around the world for ten months out of the year to get away from their kids, leaving their multi-million dollar company unattended.
And lastly, Tim thought as he dabbed his bloody lip with a square of toilet paper, if he wasn’t a bad kid, then they wouldn’t have to hit him.
So really, a rational mind could only come to one conclusion.
Tim’s eyes watered in the mirror, and he gave up on the lip. It was swelling now and most of the blood was trapped under the skin. Chapped lips and a backhand to the face is a recipe for disaster.
Heading back to his bedroom, he moved quickly and silently, inching the door closed behind him. In the wake of their family fight, the house had gone completely quiet. Even the sound of a nine-year-old’s slippers on hardwood was like a gunshot to Tim’s ears. His nerves felt like live wire, like every little noise and sensation was grating on him with a serrated blade.
After settling in under his comforter, Tim’s eyes didn’t close. His face ached fiercely, making him too uncomfortable for sleep. Even without the pain, his mind kept the events of tonight rolling through his thoughts on repeat.
He could see his mother’s hand swinging for his face. Beside her, his father had pulled off his belt and was brandishing it in the air. Both of their eyes were alive with a hate that Tim could hardly believe was directed at him.
He never thought he’d long for the days when they left him alone for months at a time while traveling. Six months ago, when they told him Drake Industries was in trouble, and they’d have to stay in Gotham semi-permanently, he’d leaped for joy. They finally had the chance to be a loving family living under one roof. It was his fantasy come to life.
And now Tim had to leave.
As quickly as he’d gotten into it, he slid out of bed. His school bag was stuffed with books and a school tablet. He placed it all neatly on his desk. Hopefully, Mrs. Mac could return it to his teachers.
Instead of books, Tim filled the bag with a few sturdy outfits, toiletries, a granola bar, and his camera. He knew the latter was probably a bad idea, but he couldn’t bear to part with it. His parents had given it to him for his seventh birthday.
He took a step back and stared at the half-full bag that contained what would soon be his only possessions. He bit his lip out of habit and winced as the gash opened, blood dribbling down his chin.
After wiping the blood away, he reached under his bed and pulled out his Batman blanket. His last nanny had given it to him years ago, sewing it herself. He knew he shouldn’t take it. It was childish. Something for babies. His parents had tried to throw it away, but he’d begged them to let him keep it.
After a moment, he hastily shoved the blanket into the backpack. He quickly zipped it closed, though there was no one around to see his moment of weakness.
_____
Jason Todd didn’t consider himself a good kid, but he’d definitely met worse. He may do what he has to to survive, but that never involved hurting another person. No gangs, no drugs, and no supervillains. That was more than he could say for most of the homeless middle school dropouts in his neighborhood.
His relatively clean conscience wasn’t the only reason why he stuck mostly to petty theft. Jason didn’t want trouble. If he wanted to stay alive and out of the foster care system, he couldn’t afford it either. He kept his nose in his own business, and people left him alone for the most part.
His personal rules went out the window, however, when he came across the batmobile, idling unsupervised in Crime Alley, just a few blocks from his squat. As soon as Jason got a good look at those custom, sleek, black tires….
Well, he considered himself a decent kid, not a fucking saint.
He’d already removed two bolts from the first tire when he realized he wasn’t alone. At the movement from the corner of his eyes, he jumped up from his crouch, brandishing the tire iron.
“Come out from behind the dumpster, creep,” he growled, expecting some two-bit thug or maybe even Batman to step into the dim light of the street lamp.
Instead, it was a little kid with dark hair, blue eyes, and a hell of a fat lip. Even from a couple yards away, Jason could see how his hands gripped the straps of his backpack like a lifeline, knuckles white. The bag was almost as big as him.
“That’s the batmobile,” the kid blurted out.
Jason raised an eyebrow, and the young boy’s ears went slightly pink. “I noticed. What are you doing out here, kid?”
Because it was obvious he didn’t belong. The kid was a little skinny for Jason’s taste, but his clothes were quality, and he’d definitely been bathing on the regular. There wasn’t a single speck of dirt under his nails.
Instead of answering Jason’s question, he eyed his shoes as he scuffed them against the dirty pavement. “You shouldn’t take Batman’s tires. He’s a hero. He fights bad guys and makes the city a better place.”
Definitely hadn’t been on the streets long, Jason thought.
The older boy rolled his eyes. “Since he’s such a great guy, I’m sure he won’t mind donating his tires to the cause.”
The other boy didn’t have anything to say to that, so they lapsed into silence. Instead of picking up the tire iron and finishing the job or heading for the hills, Jason eyed the kid.
“Your parents do that to your face?”
The younger boy’s hand drifted up to his bloody lip, seemingly without his permission. “N-no.”
“Lemme guess,” Jason drawled, “you fell.”
The boy’s eyes went wide, and Jason snorted. “Word of advice, kid: come up with a better excuse before child services catches up with you.”
“I don’t want to go into foster care,” the kid mumbled.
“Yeah. You, me, and every other kid in this city. It’s the stuff of nightmares.”
There was a rustle of movement on the roof above him, and Jason froze. He’d been perfectly willing to risk Batman’s wrath when it was only his bacon getting cooked.
“Run, kid,” he ordered, eyeing the roofline with suspension.
“Why?”
Internally groaning, Jason grabbed Tim by the elbow and pulled him along. The kid didn’t put up any kind of fight, which would get him killed or worse pretty quick on these streets. Jason put that out of his mind for the moment, though, running down the unlit alley with the younger boy in tow.
The kid kept gasping something about not needing to run from Batman. When Jason finally stopped to catch his breath, he said, “Second word of advice: Batman is not your friend, kid.”
A stubborn line in the other boy’s jaw appeared before Jason’s eyes.
“Yes, he is,” the boy said mulishly. “He’s a hero.”
Letting the matter drop for the moment, Jason appraised the boy again. He was painfully small and would be easy prey for predators, traffickers, and all manner of bad guys that roamed Crime Alley. Honestly, he’d be surprised if the kid lasted the night.
But that wasn’t Jason’s problem, he reminded himself. His squat was only a block or so away, and there was half a can of tomato soup and a few cheetos waiting for him. He could barely keep himself alive and fed. He couldn’t go involving himself with every runaway he happened across.
Jason heard himself ask, “You have somewhere to stay tonight?”
The kid glanced back the way they’d come, and Jason remembered he’d found him behind a dumpster. There were worse places to spend the night. The smell kept most people away, and it’d be warm enough on a September night.
Jason had certainly had worse, so why did the thought of this kid curled up on the dirty ground all night make his chest hurt?
“I’ve got a place,” he said slowly, regretting it even before the words were out of his mouth. This kid was undoubtedly trouble. “Nothing fancy. Four walls, roof, whatever. If you wanted--”
“I could stay with you?” The kid finished eagerly.
“One night offer only,” Jason amended gruffly.
There was a wetness to his eyes, and Jason hastily looked away before it could tug anymore at his heart. But instead of crying, the kid smiled.
“That’s ok! One night would be great,” the kid said brightly. “People don’t usually want me around longer than that anyway.”
Jason swallowed at that. “What’s your name anyway, kid?”
“Tim,” he said, and then stuck out his hand like a miniature of a businessman on TV.
Despite himself, he laughed. “Jason.”
The answering smile was blinding. “Nice to meet you, Jason.”
He finally gave in and shook the boy’s hand, if only to get him to put it down. “Let’s go home, kid.”
“Home for the night,” he said, walking along Jason without complaint.
“Right,” the older boy said doubtfully. “Just for the night.”
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