anonymous prompted: Batkids orphanage/foster care AU.
My time this week is sparse at best for these first few days so, to try to fill as many prompts as I've got (gosh you guys are awesome _ so many things to do) I'm afraid my work at least until Wednesday won't be terribly polished. Sorry!
Batman and related properties © DC Comics
story © RenaRoo
I'll Take Care of You
"You'll be safe here. I'll make sure of it."
Dick stares at the ceiling and wonders why those words still cling to him like a wet shirt. There had been a lot said between them that night, the night Dick's world fell from the canopy of the circus tent and shattered forever. Promises, mostly.
Something had been said about making sure that Dick's parents' murderers would see justice. But the words are jumbled, especially far after the court rooms and guilty verdicts were gone.
Nothing is as distinct as the promise of safety. Here.
He sits up in his bed, tugging at the pajama top that has been twisted around him since he fell asleep the first time tonight. It hangs loosely on his frame once more after a few minor adjustments.
Drawing his knees up, Dick hugs himself, quiet and somber.
It's been two months since his testimony put away the people he had seen suspiciously messing with the aerialist equipment. And it's been fourteen months since his parents fell without a net to catch them.
Dick's nine now, no longer eight. The custody arrangement with Pop Haly and the circus fell through due to an inability to provide "stable living conditions."
Mr. Wayne looked sorry that Dick had to come here, and he's visited multiple times. But his sadness doesn't comfort Dick much.
Because the words of the little girl Dick met on his first day at the orphanage looked at him sadly and said, "Don't get older. That's when you have to stay."
He's nine now. Soon he will be ten.
This morning the only other boy staying in the seven-and-up suite left Dick. He was seven. Dick is not.
It's only a little surprising when the light turns on in the hallway and a large figure appears at the door entrance.
"Having trouble sleeping, Dick?" Mr. Wayne asks, entering the room near silently.
Dick realizes that he's been crying and quickly wipes his face. "I… I don't think anyone wants me."
"That's not true," Mr. Wayne says, sitting on the bed next to Dick. "Anyone who meets you for a moment or sees that smile wants you in their life, Dick."
Shuddering, Dick shakes his head, feeling tears gathering on his lashes. "Wh-what if I'm too old? Wh-what if I stay here?"
Silence falls over them, just as it often does when Dick is with Mr. Wayne. He partially expects the man to pat his head and leave him to his own devices, as usual, but instead he feels a gentle shift beside him. Large, warm hands hold to his shoulders and lifts him up just enough to pull onto Mr. Wayne's lap.
Dick feels a hug but is only aware of it once he returns it, his breathing evening out.
"I'll take care of you, Dick," Mr. Wayne promises instead of his old mantra. "Always."
The heaviness of Dick's own heart tells him, he believes the head of the orphanage. He believes the man with everything in him, even if it's for the simple desire to believe in something.
And it feels good.
If Jason had known whose car it was, this wouldn't have been a problem.
It is such a dummy mistake, though, that he feels more thrown off than anything else after rounds of questioning and the curious looks of red-haired girl sitting on the other side of the bench outside Commissioner Gordon's office.
She's more of a woman, really, but she's got her glasses on and a stack of books with legal jargon on the fronts that make Jason think maybe she's an intern. Or a lawyer. He isn't happy with either option.
He tries so hard to actively look away from the girl, he's taken by surprise when he hears, "Barbara!" yelled down the hall.
Jay looks to see a guy - teenager maybe - jogging toward them. He looks… athletic, maybe. But not in the jock way Jason is used to from school. He's all lean muscle. He's wearing a gray sweatshirt, damp from the rain outside, and jeans and old sneaker.
"Bruce still talking to your dad?" he asks, catching his breath as he stops in front of the bench, hands on his knees.
"Yeah," the red-head responds, uncrossing her legs and putting down her book. "You look like a drowned rat."
The man sticks out his tongue at her before shaking his head, sprinkling with water as she laughs and kicks out at him.
"I had to make sure Leslie and Alfred were okay, and then the little ones wanted a story before nap time," he explains. He waves his hand. "I might've gotten carried away with the theatrics toward the end there."
"Oh, that's hard to believe," 'Barbara' responds, smile genuine. "I think the person you're looking for is on this bench, by the way."
Apparently caught off guard, he raises his brows at her, mouth slightly agape. Barbara then nods her head toward Jason, and the man follows suit. The shock drops off very quickly to a large smile.
Jason feels immediately on edge.
"Hi, you must be Jason, right?" he asks, holding out a hand. "My name's Dick. I'm from Safe Harbor. How are you?"
Blinking, Jason turns his head slightly. "Your name's really 'Dick'?"
"Yes," Dick says, apparently not noticing the way Barbara covers her face with a book while her shoulders quake. "But I can go ahead and promise you, if you think you've got a nickname for me I've not heard before, know that at this point I've proudly had forty-eight little brothers at Safe Harbor. All about your age or younger. I've heard-"
"I don't think you have, Dickface," Jason huffs in return.
That actually causes Dick's face to drop. He blinks owlishly. "Uh…"
Jason feels his grin grow. "Did I get it?"
After regaining his composure, Dick smiles, almost knowingly, and puts his hand back on his knees, looking Jason right in the face. "You're going to be trouble, aren't you, kid?"
"Maybe," Jay responds, giving his toothiest smirk in return. "What are you going to do about it?"
"The same thing I do with everyone else," Dick says, sincerity coming from his every word. "I'll take care of you, Jason."
For a moment, Jason feels his breath catch, his eyes locked with Dick's. He can't breathe, and Dick's smiling is simply there and so real. He's looking at Jason with that same acknowledgement and understanding he hasn't felt since the last time he saw his Mom awake.
Shaking it off, Jason folds his arms and looks away. "No one takes care of me, I take care of myself," he says, ignoring how childish it sounds even to his own ears.
"Maybe that's been true in the past, but you don't have to do that anymore, Jason," Dick says, more softly now.
When Jason shifts and finally looks Dick in the eyes once again, he sees that hand extended once more, Dick's eyes glistening.
"Trust me," Dick says, patient, quiet. Almost like it's a secret between them.
Slowly, for reasons beyond his own comprehension, Jason takes the offered hand.
He isn't very sure what to do with his hands, so he allows them to remain prone on his lap. He studies them, noticing lines and folds he had never paid attention to before. The way his pale skin makes his veins seem apparent.
Mr. Wayne has been arguing to the point that his face is red on the phone, but his words are… noiseless almost. They don't compute.
Tim wonders, idly, if he's in trouble on his second day at Safe Harbor. If there was some sort of schedule he was supposed to be keeping to rather than sitting in the room assigned to him. If there was some sort of regiment.
He's not really sure. He hasn't had much inspiration to do anything for himself after Drake Industries "declined" to allow a thirteen-year-old to supersede his parents after the trip to Haiti ended in a tragic accident.
And it was discovered that, for all their business savvy, the Drakes had apparently not thought to make a will for themselves or, at the very least, take measures to ensure anyone knew of its existence.
Tim hopes it's the latter. He can't search his home, though. It is repossessed by the company that shares his surname.
Mr. Wayne's conversation has ended, and he's leaning against his desk, palms splayed out, head hung. His shoulders spasm from their tenseness.
"I'm… sorry you had to hear all of that, Tim," he says, genuinely, sadly. He looks up, eyes sympathetic. "We're doing everything we can to get your inheritance back in your name."
Slowly, Tim nods but then stops, taking a breath. "I… still won't have an appointed guardian, though."
The man looks tired, sad. He replies softly, "No. I'm sorry. You are a ward of the state as of now, Tim."
"Even if I get my parents money and stuff back," Tim says, slowly, his brain seeming to be catching up with the thoughts as they tumble out of his mouth, "I'll not possess it… any of it until I'm eighteen."
"Yes."
Tim takes a breath before getting to his feet, feeling shaky all over. "I… I understand. Th-thank you, Mr. Wayne."
It's five more years until he's eighteen. Five more years.
And it's not guaranteed they will untangle anything from the mess caused by the company and his parents and Tim being too young
"Tim," Mr. Wayne calls out, rounding his desk and looking highly concerned as he approaches Tim. "That's a lot to take in, son."
"I-I need air," Tim tries, not bothering to look to Mr. Wayne, aiming for the door instead. He ignores the way his eyes sting.
He's at the door when it swings open, shocking both of them.
The elder teen Tim was introduced to when he arrived, Jason - Tim's very good at names - who shares their room and Tim isn't sure has slept in the bed even once - is standing there.
"What's all the yelling?" he demands, defiant, looking directly at Mr. Wayne. He chances a glance to Tim then back to the head of the orphanage. "What the hell, Bruce?"
"Language," Mr. Wayne says warningly. "Things got heated with the lawyers on the phone, Jason. But right now I'm trying to talk to Tim-"
Without warning, Jason's arm swings out and around Tim's shoulders before dragging Tim out into the hallway. Tim, confused and shocked, doesn't resist so much as he becomes a spineless sack of potatoes.
"That can wait, Bruce. Jeesh. This kid's letting everything in one ear and out the other right now anyway," Jason says casually. He shakes Tim slightly. "Right, kid?"
Intelligently, Tim responds, "Uhh…"
"That's what I thought," Jason says before pulling Tim down the hallway.
Mr. Wayne doesn't protest any further, and if Tim dared to be so bold (which he does not feel like being) he would even say that he saw a wink pass between the older men. So Tim is pulled across the hardwood floors.
"You're going to love the kitchen," Jason is promising once Tim's feet begin moving of their own volition. "It's where I work. And I'm awesome. But Alfred's cooking today so you're going to get the wrong impression that our talents should be compared."
Tim looks at Jason, wondering if something has happened in these moments that has caused the roommate he never saw to mistake Tim for someone he cared about, when they pause just outside of the bedroom they share.
A little roughly, Jason spins Tim around and holds him at arm's length, securely by the shoulders, eyes serious.
"Hey, stuff's really scary right now, huh?" Jason asks, serious, meaningful. "You don't know what's going on."
Frowning, Tim shakes his head. "I… I'm here. No matter what. I'm here… until I'm eighteen." His voice becomes smaller, weaker. "In five years."
Jason slowly nods, squeezing Tim's shoulders. "Okay… but that's not what's going on here. At Safe Harbor, okay? Do you know what's happening here?"
Slowly, Tim shook his head.
With a sigh, Jason shakes his head before making eye contact with Tim again. "No one will ever hear of me doing this. Especially that goofy guy with the obnoxious smile that comes in on the weekends and afternoons, okay? Got it?"
Not sure what either response would get him, Tim stands there, staring blankly.
Groaning, Jason releases Tim's shoulders before shaking his body from hands to shoulders, as if shaking cobwebs off of himself.
Then, the older teen reaches out and pulls Tim against his chest, squeezing him in a hug.
Not sure what to do in this position, Tim goes limp, hairs standing on his neck. "Wha…?"
"This is how we do things here, like it or not, kid," Jason says, chin digging into Tim's scalp. "We're brothers now. Nothing else to it. And you? You don't need to worry 'bout anything now. 'Cuz as long as you're here? I'll take care of you."
Tim blinks rapidly, the stinging returning to his eyes. He holds onto Jason's shoulders and gives a small squeeze of acknowledgement.
"Okay," Jason says softly. "That'll do."
Stephanie punches Tim's shoulder, but he bobs back, hitting her side with his again as they sit on the steps of Safe Harbor.
"You didn't think I was serious when I said I was only here for the short haul, huh?" she says, laugh in her voice.
"No, no, I believed you," Tim laughs. "I didn't think it'd take just a week, though."
She looks at him, watches as Tim stares distantly at the buildings of Gotham around them. His hair is too long. No wonder Jason and Dick are always nagging him about it.
Which reminds her…
"Tim."
"Hmm?" he responds looking at her.
Stephanie frowns, tilting her head to the side and letting her loose curls fall across her shoulder. "You're not that much younger than Jason, right? And him and Dick are always all over the place - on the playgrounds, the kitchen, the playrooms - playing with the younger kids."
Tim shifts uncomfortably. "Yeah…"
"You only ever hang out with them, Alfred, Bruce, or me, though," she presses, looking at him seriously. "You're… nice. You read to the younger kids. But…"
"I don't help," Tim finishes flatly, dropping his gaze to his lap.
"No! Don't put words in my mouth," she warns, turning to face him more directly. "I just.. I guess I wanted to know why. Why me?"
Tim takes a breath, slow, steady. "I… I used to try. To be like Dick and Jason. I really wanted to be them. To help. But…"
Stephanie reaches out, puts a hand on his knee.
"But… I'm not good at saying goodbyes," Tim continues, softer. "And… there's only Dick, Jason, Bruce, and Alfred who stay."
"Oh, Tim," Steph responds, feeling her heart break as she squeezes his knee. "You… you thought I'd be staying, too? I-I told you. My mom isn't in trouble like my dad is. She's cleaned up. She got custody again. No problem."
He looks at her, shaking his head. "No, no. I believed you, Steph. I knew you'd leave… but… you seemed like… like a person worth meeting anyway. Even if we say goodbye. I wanted to be your friend."
For a moment, they stay quiet, reflective as they look into each other's eyes. It's a breathtaking moment of sincerity for both of them.
Stephanie leans forward, kisses Tim. She feels the way he goes rigid, frozen up out of surprise before it melts and he kisses back right before it ends.
When she opens her eyes again, Steph can't help but laugh. Tim's entire face is the color of a beet.
Reaching forward, Steph twines her fingers with his. "I'm not living here, but we don't have to say goodbye," she tells him gently. "I hate goodbyes, too. Besides. Dick's - what? - gotta be twenty, twenty-two? Looks like you guys haven't gotten rid of him yet. Maybe you could use an extra hand after school or something."
Tim is quiet before squeezing her hand back. "Steph."
"Mmhmm?"
"I… we say this to each other around here," he begins, shifting awkwardly. "It's… it's something we mean. I… I didn't say it to you before because I knew you'd go but… I'll take care of you. Always."
Stephanie looks at Tim, smiles and pulls him into a hug. "Thank you, Tim."
It's a very… noisy place.
She likes it, though. It's warm and inviting. here are people who smile and strike up small, one-sided conversations. They don't know what to do with her, which is understandable. She's never quite figured out what to do with herself yet.
The streets were difficult. But coming off of them after so long - after drifting and coasting without boundaries or conversations or directions - people were turning out to be the hardest trial of them all.
The big brothers are very concerned about her. She appreciates that, even if she doesn't know what to do with it.
She likes Mr. Wayne. He takes it slow with her, but he has never once treated her dumb. Same with the Barbara, the woman at the police department who found her.
Barbara visits a lot, not as much as Dick, who is both a big brother to the children and a police officer apparently, but she does. She visits with Cassandra specifically. It's pleasant.
Of course, they are not the only ones who visit.
Stephanie is so different from everyone at Safe Harbor. She is warm in a different way, she visits in a different way, and she generally feels differently.
"Hey, Cass," Stephanie says as she enters the hall and kicks off her shoes near the shoe rack but never on it. "What're you doing today?"
Frowning slightly, Cass looks down to the workbook Barbara gave her during the visit yesterday. "Alphabet."
"Oh, hey, cool!" Steph says, genuine, smile on her face. "We can go to Tim and Jason's room. He'll be doing homework anyway. The bum. I can help you out!"
Cassandra shakes her head, rubbing her arm absently. "I… should do it. Alone."
"Hey, hey!" Steph responds, quickly coming to Cass' side. "No you shouldn't. You've got all of us here, why would you do it alone?"
When Cass didn't have an answer, Stephanie slings her arm around Cass and pulled her along to plop onto the hallway bench. Cassandra allowed herself to be led.
"You don't have to do this alone," Steph presses. "We're like sisters now, Cassandra! No one in this world could make sisters judge one another! We're awesome like that. And, hey."
Feeling the squeeze of Stephanie's hand on her shoulder, Cass looks up to meet her friend's gaze.
"I'll take care of you. So. Give me anything you've got. If you've got boy problems or you're hungry or you need help with work. You've got me. You're stuck with me. 'Til the end of our days, got it?"
Smiling, Cass nods. "Yes. Th-thank you," she sniffs just before Stephanie pulls her into a tight hug.
"Good."
Damian leers at the other children on the playground, taking Grayson and Todd's attention from him as the two grown men allow themselves to be used as human jungle gyms.
Even Drake and Brown have begun pushing swings for the lined up boys and girls.
It makes him uncomfortable.
These are the children who have spent more time with his father over the years than he has, and the last few months of staying with his father full-time has really not assisted him in figuring out why.
Why does his father's face light up upon entering these doors? Why does he refer to these grown children as his? Why do they seem to possess a security that Damian has never known for himself?
He has pondered these questions for what feels to be hours when he finally realizes he is being approached by the last child, Cain, who invites herself over to the grass Damian is sitting on and sits right next to him.
"Lots?"
It takes a moment before Damian understands what's being said and he huffs, looking off.
"These screaming heathens are not intimidating," he says firmly, receiving only a hum from Cain in return. "They're not!"
"Nope," she agrees, turning her chocolate eyes on him. "You're scared. Though. … why?"
Snarling, Damian points his thumb at himself. "I am not scared. By anything. Or anyone."
She smiles but says nothing.
"Stop that!" he presses, turning quickly from her. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Mm," she responds before nudging him. "If you're scared. Don't be. Everyone here loves. And we love you, too."
Damian glares at her, wondering what powers she possess for seeing through him so clearly.
She opens her arms, smile still soft. "Come here."
He obeys, scooting forward, and is met by her closing arms. She squeezes him once. "I'll take care of you," she promises.
Sniffing, Damian looks to her. "Why?"
"Because," she responds, kissing his brow, "it's what we do."