Waste

Dick never enjoyed the evenings spent publicly as Bruce Wayne's ward in some high society event. Though he was quite the socialite, he complained at great length about how boring they were.

Bruce kind of expected it would be the same for Jason.

Even more so: he thought Jason would be at least a bit impressed, or embarrassed. The kid did come from the streets after all and neither his speech nor his manners corresponded to the place's standards.

He should probably have known better.

It's not that Jason didn't swear; but he did it with that quality of voice that made people laugh around him. He flattered the women, charmed their daughters, and listened to the men as if he grasped what they were talking about.

Had he tried, he would have been able to, but Bruce could see his eyes slightly unfocused, looking around the room. Not for the first time since they arrived, he wondered what Jason was thinking about.

Then, suddenly, Jason looked at the man who was talking to him and smirked. Bruce felt his muscles tense, ready to go and stop the kid before he hurt someone. But Jason didn't. Instead, he leaned over the man to whisper something in his ear – and to do so more closely, put his hand on the man's lap.

Horror climbed out of Bruce's gut to grab his throat. Jason's hand didn't move when he sat back in his chair and, after a few seconds, the man started smiling.

Bruce never remembered exactly what excuse he served to the people surrounding him. He just knows he crossed the room in straight line to Jason and put a – possessive – hand on his shoulder. Then smiled.

He's almost sure he didn't say anything threatening to the man. Who backed off in a split of second anyway.

Jason raised his eyebrows at him.

"Well?"

"I think we're going home."

"Fucking finally!"

So he hadn't enjoyed the evening, in the end.

They didn't talk at all during their ride to the manor. Jason hummed some tune heard earlier at the radio. Bruce found himself strumming his fingers on the door's handle.

He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to think. His brain was spinning in all directions, from "what the hell was Jason thinking" to "I'm going to break that man".

The car stopped and they got out, climbed the stairs to the manor's main door. In the hall, Alfred took their coats and Jason undid his tie with a satisfied sigh.

Why did you do that, Bruce thought.

Jason smirked at him, as if he said that out loud. His Robins always seemed to know what he wasn't saying.

"I kind of hoped you'd beat him into a pulp, but, hell, had he followed me, I could have done it myself, couldn't I?"

Bruce would have tensed if his muscles weren't rock-solid already. He put a Batman-level of warning in his stare. Jason only laughed.

"What? That place was just money and decadence. It fucking stank of it. I ain't nothing to do in there, 'xcept perhaps suck some johns, or freaking bite them."

Bruce was taken aback by the rage contained in his words. It must have showed, because Jason laughed again – and this time, it didn't sound joyful at all.

"Jesus, you don't get it. I should have known. Of course you wouldn't. You were raised as one of them. Don't worry, I know you're kinda different. You try, for God's sake, you act. But there's still some of that pretty billionaire in there, mh?"

Jason – Jay – walked towards him, smirking, aggressiveness written all over his body. Instead of punching, he put a hand on Bruce's chest, then let it slide, slowly, to his waist.

"Perhaps you want a piece of me yourself? I already offered. I was serious, y'know? It's not that I wouldn't mind. I would actually enjoy feeling those big, strong hands on me, God, it would be fabulous."

"Not today", Bruce answered, forcing himself to smile knowingly. "I already told you: we'll see about that when you hit 18."

"Aw, really? Come on, Bruce… Wouldn't you like to feel my mouth around your cock?"

"That lovely mouth of yours, however tempting, is still very much too young for my tastes."

Jason laughed and backed off. Bruce felt like crawling out of his own skin.

He hoped someday the kid would have relaxed enough with him that he could tell him that was a lie. He'd never touch him, never. But Jason was so much expecting him to do it that telling him otherwise would sound like a lie in the kid's ears. The truth, the fact that he was truly safe at the manor, Jason couldn't accept just yet.

Someday, he would.

And then, it clicked in Bruce's head.

Jason had been expecting the same from the men of the reception. He expected it so much he preferred taking the lead, so at least it would feel like he chose it himself.

Sometimes, Bruce really felt like punching whoever made Jason kneel the first time.

"I would have", he said to the kid at last. "Beaten him into pulp."

Jason's smirk finally disappeared from his lips, just a second, before coming back. But it wasn't as defensive as before – because that's what it was, that attitude. It was all about hiding he was scared, about hiding any weakness at all. About biting before being bitten.

Bruce put his hand back on Jason's shoulder. The kid trusted him enough to relax at the touch. He took the opportunity to push a bit further.

"What happened in there?" he asked.

Jason tensed again, then sighed.

"You really don't see it."

It was merely an observation.

"Help me see it."

Jason looked at him. He wasn't smirking anymore, all provocation gone. He looked tired, like a 14 year old kid should never be.

"Do you know what that whole room was worth?" he finally asked. "I mean, not the people, but… the furniture. The clothes. The fucking curtains. If I had had one fucking earring of one of those fucking old bitches six months ago, I would have been able to pay for Wendy's medicine. Give me a second pair and I would have given both Terry and Gillian some new coats. And all of us. Hell, I could have bought a flat. The food no one was eating, what will it become, afterwards? If they fucking throw it out I'm going to fucking kill someone."

Bruce looked back at Jason, at that kid who thought it would be a good idea to steal the Batmobile's tires. Perhaps he didn't do it for the money or the fun of it. Perhaps he tried it out of spite, for the vigilante who pretended to help the city without helping him.

Anyone else looking at him with such obvious despair painted on his face, Bruce would have kissed. He didn't have words for comfort. His body talked much more clearly than his mouth. But Jason he couldn't kiss, so he just – put his arms around him, like that – and hugged.

For once, Jason let him.