Sermon

by Midnight-inParis9

Jason Todd knows he's a black sheep. He understands, he get's it, really he does. He's Robin, the Boy Wonder - he kicks criminal butt on the nightly. He doesn't need "friends" or to "fit in". But no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to stop noticing the girl in his English class with the pretty eyes and dark secrets and wondering. Jason x OC, pre-death. N52/Rebirth

9. My Family Fed

Chapter Nine: My Family Fed

For full transparency sake, I want everyone to know that I have been riding horses since I was seven and have attended more than a fair share of these stuffy horse shows myself and desperately wanted to write in horses somewhere in this story. Here's my guilty-pleasure chapter for you all.

A quick shout out to Azure Vermillion who made FAN ART of Rory and Jason! I fully cried, guys. It's so good, go and check out her Instagram!

I'd also like to say that the show portion of this chapter, and the character of Andrea, is inspired by my late trainer, who passed away earlier this year.

She was a fantastic coach, and moreover an incredible person. She was a gifted horsewoman and truly one of the kindest people I've ever met.

I miss her every day.

So, this one's for her.

And off we go.

---

The Gotham Fall classic began for the Stathos household at five-fifteen sharp.

Rory's alarm blared to life on the bedside table, and after she had smacked the off button with a little more force than necessary, Raymond came bustling in with his hands full of her show clothes and necessities.

"Time to get up. Rise and shine, greet the day and all that." Raymond chirped, hanging her clothing on her closet door as she sat up in bed, hair sticking up every-which-way.

"Morning, Raymond." She yawned. "How are you in such a good mood? The sun's not even up yet." She grouched, rubbing her eyes.

Raymond had been their butler since Rory was five, and she could probably count the times on one hand she had ever seen him be anything less than wide-awake and ready to work. The man was approaching her father's age of fifty but showed no signs that he had lost the endless energy of a caffeinated-twenty-something. He was always chipper, and of all the people to see first thing in the morning, Raymond was definitely one of the best options.

The blonde-haired man gave her a shrug. "No time to be tired on show day." He grinned at her and made towards the door, "Augusta will be in to help you get dressed after you shower."

With bleary eyes, Rory stumbled into the en suite and had to practically slap herself to stay awake under the warm spray of the showerhead.

After she had managed to climb out of the shower and gone through her normal motions – wash face, brush teeth, apply minimal makeup, frown at her dark circles, apply more makeup - she changed quickly into the bare-minimum of her show gear, gratefully laid out by Raymond.

Tan breeches, check. White show shirt, check. Tall socks, check. Boat shoes, check. Hat to keep the now-rising sun off her face, check.

"αγγελάκι! Breakfast!" Augusta's voice came through the door, and Rory opened it to see the Grecian woman laying down a plate of fruit and oatmeal – anything heavier and she would be feeling sick before long due to the stress of the morning – at her vanity.

"Morning, Augusta." She greeted through a yawn. The maid waved her closer, petting her head fondly and ushering her into the vanity seat.

"Morning, my love. Time to eat – you can't hold up another pretty Champion ribbon if you don't have anything in your stomach." She preened over Rory's hair, swooping it up and laying it back into a French braid as Rory picked at her sparse breakfast.

Rory snorted. "We don't know if I'm going to win, it's a huge competition day."

Augusta tutted at her and lightly pinched her cheek. "There's no question – my αγγελάκι always wins." She declared with a finality. Rory hid her smile behind her cantaloupe.

"You'll all be there for the Derby tonight?" She asked and Augusta nodded her head, still focused on her braiding.

"Of course. Marcus is bringing his fancy new camera," she waved a hand, "He won't stop talking about lenses and memory cards. I've started tuning him out."

Rory smiled fondly at the woman's reflection.

It wasn't easy to get her father to come to her extra-curricular. Unless it was a chance to schmooze with people from their social circle, Haytham's schedule was far too full and busy to attend her theatre performances, her weekend horse shows or her recitals. It took months of careful planning and reminders to even get him to show up to her parent-teacher conferences, and that was still akin to pulling teeth.

When she was seven and newly missing a parent, someone, probably Augusta, had explained that her father focused on work so much so he could provide her with a good life – he had to stay away because he cared about her so much.

Over the years though, Rory figured he threw himself into his work as a way to avoid her; the living reminder of the woman he lost. When she mentioned her belief to Augusta, all of ten years old, the older woman had burst into tears and repeatedly assured her that wasn't the case.

By the way she kept crying that night while cleaning the kitchen, Rory knew neither of them believed it.

At her next play, however, instead of the empty chair Haytham usually vacated, Augusta's face beamed up at her, seated next to Gavi, Marcus and Raymond as Rory hopped and skipped around the stage as Alice in Wonderland. They all applauded far too loudly at the final bows and smothered her with bouquets practically twice the size of her in the lobby.

No one had commented on the steady stream of shocked tears she cried quietly in the backseat of Gavi's Suburban, clutching her new gift of a plush white rabbit.

After that, it was commonplace for the staff of the house to be her support at her shows and performances. If not everyone could be in attendance, there was at least one member of the household present when she took her final bows or entered the winner's circle.

Her first show in Gotham was to be no different – despite her father and stepmother's planned presence, Augusta and Marcus had promised to be ringside for at least one of her rides. The promise of their warm presence was enough to make her believe she could get through the day without wanting to ask Chatham to jump the perimeter fence of the venue and never look back.

"All done!"

Augusta's exclamation snapped Rory out of her thoughts, and she smiled at the clean braid running down her back.

"Perfect as always."

Augusta helped her pack the rest of her clothes; her helmet, her newly shined boots, and her show coats (one for the day and her Shadbelly for the derby rounds). A second bag was packed for her essentials; a book, her phone and charger, a huge bag of carrots for Chatham, a spare pair of breeches and a shirt and her water bottle. They had it down to a science.

By the time Rory had pulled on a sweatshirt to protect her white shirt from any mess (wearing white around horses was a magnet for dirt. It was known), it was already five-forty-five and Haytham was just getting back from his morning run.

"Morning, Dad." Rory said as she descended the stairs, bags thrown over her shoulder. Her father glanced up from where he was scowling at his phone in the entry way of the house, giving her a curt nod.

"Good morning, Aurora." He eyed her outfit and then turned his attention back to his phone. "Remember to send your stepmother a copy of the schedule for today – I don't want to be traipsing all over the grounds to find you."

"Okay." Rory nodded, shifting from side to side as Haytham's glower increased at his smartphone. He began angrily typing something and muttering to himself, shaking his head slightly.

"Everything okay?" She asked tentatively. Haytham paused but didn't look up at her, gnashing his teeth together.

"Nothing to concern yourself with. Incompetent associates who don't know how to clean up a failed investment." He bit out and continued typing. Rory nodded, rocking back on her heels. He seemed more agitated than usual, and she chose her next words carefully.

"Well, I hope it resolves itself." She said, sounding more like an employee than a daughter. "Andrea said she left four tickets with the box office, so you and Calliope just have to go to will call to get them."

Her father nodded, continuing to glower at his device. She turned, ready to find Raymond and get her things in the car when Haytham spoke again.

"Wait a moment."

She turned back to see he had looked up at his phone, his brow scrunched in confusion, an expression she didn't usually see anywhere near her father's face.

"Why did she leave four tickets, we only need two for the day." He asked. Rory blinked, taken aback by his sudden interest.

"Well…two are for you and Calliope, the other two are for Marcus and Augusta. They're coming after they finish work." She said slowly. Haytham's face morphed into sharp bewilderment.

"Why would Marcus and Augusta need tickets?"

"Because they always come to my shows?" It came out as a question.

Haytham frowned at her answer, then shook his head.

"No. They won't be coming to this one." He said, as casually as anything, and Rory's jaw dropped.

"What? Why?" Her voice bordered dangerously on a demand, but Haytham's attention had returned to his phone.

"This is the first outing at a major social event for us in Gotham. First impressions are vital – imagine what it would look like if we threw our hired staff in everyone's face. Gossip spreads faster than truth and bringing the hired help to attend us at a function paints a nasty picture." He snorted.

There was…so much to unpack in that statement, starting from the fact that Augusta and Marcus weren't just hired help, they were practically family, but Rory managed to school herself into a somewhat calm tone to respond.

"It's not throwing anything in anybody's faces – it's not like they'd be serving me hand and foot; they're coming to watch like anybody else." Rory protested. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Raymond peek around the corner and then quickly retreat.

"It's not appropriate, Aurora. You can show Marcus and Augusta the photos the show photographer takes when they come in the mail." Her father replied.

Rory didn't argue often with her father. He was always focused on work, and there was an unspoken rule not to add onto his stressful schedule with her trivial problems or issues. Usually, things cycled through Augusta or, if unavoidable, Calliope, if she wanted to voice an opinion about something going on in the household, or a personal issue.

But she was nervous, and she needed her support system.

"Dad, it's my show – you can't just say who I can and can't invite." She argued, feeling pressure behind her eyes warning of oncoming tears.

Her father's head rose slowly from his screen and immediately Rory wished she could reach out into the air between them and take her words back.

"I can't?" He parroted.

Shit.

"I don't know if it slipped your mind," he snapped, now completely abandoning his phone to focus his wrath on his daughter. "But the signature on the paychecks to your trainers, your riding school and the person who sold that four-legged money-eater to you is mine, not yours. The only reason you are doing anything at that show other than shoveling horse shit is because I cut a check for it. So yes," he finished, his voice so loud Rory was shocked it didn't rattle the windows, "I can, and I will decide who gets to be in attendance."

Rory kept her gaze firmly on her father's running shoes, obsessively counting the stitching of the laces as he finished his lecture.

She heard her father push a frustrated breath out of his nose.

"Nothing else to say. Typical. It's like I'm parenting a five-year-old; one little thing doesn't go your way and you go straight to the silent treatment." Haytham threw his hands up into the air and let them smack down against his sides. He looked at his phone again and made another sound of discontent.

"And now we're all behind schedule. Fantastic." He brushed past her, headed upstairs with a huff.

"Go get in the car, Raymond is waiting for you. And send that damn schedule to Calliope or we won't be there either." He threw over his shoulder before reaching the landing and disappearing around the corner towards his room.

Only when she heard the distant sound of the door to his room close did Rory let herself sit down on the stairs and cry.

---

Rory didn't give Raymond the chance question her when she climbed into the car, red eyed and sniffling. She put her headphones in and promptly closed her eyes, already exhausted from her outburst with her father. She could feel his concerned gaze shifting from the road to her every few minutes, but both of them knew better than to speak on what had transpired. What was the point?

Word had probably already reached Marcus and Augusta that their attendance was not welcome. There would be no arguing with Haytham, no protesting and no sneaking around his iron will.

When the head of the house spoke, he spoke with the thunder and smiting power of God in his voice. His word was law, and final. Raymond knew this, Rory knew this, so there was no point in discussing it further.

It took them less than twenty minutes to arrive at the showgrounds, just outside of the city limits on what could comfortably called a country club, save barns and show rings instead of a golf course.

The Gotham Fall Classic was held at the Gotham Showgrounds, which was one of the premiere show venues in the Northeast. Despite the city's long history of being a gritty, working town full of harsh people and even harsher crimes, the Gotham Showgrounds were elegant and timeless – the signature darkened oak wood stables, the perfectly manicured lawns, the elegant clubhouse with its dining terrace placed to overlook the main arena – it was equestrian luxury at its finest.

Rory wished she could take it in with the awe and excitement show days normally brought, she really did. But all she felt was a leering sense of dread as Raymond pulled up to the front gate, showed the security guard their Exhibitioner's pass and meandered down the drive until they reached a barn with a deep purple banner hanging over the entrance: Autumn Fox Farm.

Raymond helped her carry her things into the barn and find her assigned stall and trunk. She peered over the stall door to see her horse, Chatham, wrapped up like a present in his protective blanket, mane and tail wraps, snoozing lightly on the ground.

"Morning, Chatham." She called out to him softly, and his sleepy blink and equally sleepy groan told her to give him another few minutes.

She turned back to Raymond, who was standing in the aisle, fidgeting with the car keys and throwing reluctant glances back towards the SUV.

"Thanks for dropping me off." Rory tried her best to give him a genuine smile, and he brought her in for a tight hug.

"It was my pleasure. I'll tell Augusta to run a bath for you when you get home tonight."

Over his shoulder, Rory choked out a watery laugh. Augusta's usual remedy for a bad day was a long soak in the tub, and she applied it liberally across the household.

"Thank you."

He left her with another tight squeeze and then turned, walking briskly back to the car and then down the driveway as the fog began to dissipate over the manicured lawns of the showgrounds.

Rory took a measured breath, the smell of fresh grain and leather oil invading her senses.

"Show time." She whispered to the empty air.

---

Chatham, thankfully, was his normal chipper self once he had an extra five or so minutes of sleep.

"Okay," Rory laughed as she undid his protective mane covering, "you did that on purpose."

Chatham turned his great chestnut head to look at her and – while making full eye contact – swished her in the side with his long tail once more.

She bit back an exasperated laugh and poked him gently in the side, her rebuttal in their non-verbal back and forth.

"What am I going to do with you?" She asked once she had successfully stifled her laughter.

Chatham, once again, said nothing, but his large, dark eyes conveyed all the mirth she figured a horse could feel.

Rory had never been a particularly competitive person on the show circuit. Riding was, for her, less of a means to show off and more of a way to relax.

But once her father had heard she had a talent for the sport – ripe at the age of thirteen – he had purchased for her, her first pony – a sassy little bay Welsh named Dollop – and she had been off on her show career.

From there she had shown around Coast City, and then the greater area of her home state of California, collecting a chest full of trophies and a wall full of ribbons. But even the sweet smell of the Champion rosette couldn't dampen the bitter taste on her tongue.

Her mother had loved horses, almost as much as she'd loved putting on little plays for herself and Rory to act out before dinner. One of her first memories was her mother lifting her onto the back of a pony in her grandmother's backyard, her hands warm and steady around her toddler-chunky waist.

That was back before she'd withered away. Before when her father had smiled.

When she had outgrown Dollop with a sudden growth spurt at fifteen, they had purchased Chatham, and he had been a blessing she couldn't have seen coming, as later that year her father had told her they'd be moving within the year.

To where, she had questioned with a thick throat.

His reply over his business papers; Gotham city.

"It's an ideal move for the company. And besides," he had brushed her bubbling protests back into nothing as he spoke. "You'll have Chatham and a new school to focus on. It will keep you plenty busy."

That had been the end of that, and they had shortly begun the process of packing up the only home Rory had ever known.

Chatham had become her lifebuoy in the raging storm that became most of her sixteenth year, and she thanked whatever lucky star was shining down on her that she had him to help navigate the hell storm that was becoming the normalcy that was life in Gotham.

She took her time preparing her horse for the long day they had ahead of them – he had already been groomed and braided the night before, but Rory flicked her soft brush over his coat until it gleamed like a bathed pearl.

The sun was just rising over the manicured lawn when Rory took Chatham out of the barn and swung onto his back – the showgrounds were slowly filling with other competitors, trainers and spectators.

She still hadn't seen her trainer, Andrea, and assumed she was somewhere organizing up the gaggle of pony riders – and overzealous parents - who showed with the farm.

She had gotten a previous text telling her which warm up ring to start at for her pre-show coaching, and therein – reluctantly – relayed that message to Calliope.

Under her, Chatham yawned, large plumes of steam wafting up from his comma shaped nostrils.

"You and me both, buddy." She muttered and tapped her heels gently against his sides. They walked leisurely towards the warmup ring, the grounds coming alive around them as the day began.

By the time they got to the arena, Andrea was already there with several other competitors schooling around the large grass footed ring. She gestured Rory over with a wave of her coffee-laden hand, a large sun hat flopping into her face as she turned to address her.

The tall woman was dressed immaculately in a pair of tan breeches, shiny tall boots and a sun shirt that read "AUTUMN FOX FARM" across the shoulders in golden font. Rory could see a few smudges of dirt on her face, a clear sign she had spent most of her morning readying horses along with her staff.

"Morning, kiddo. Ready to get started?" She chirped. Andrea was almost as chipper as Raymond in the mornings; Rory figured it was something that just happened to tall, blonde people when they reached fifty.

"Yep." Her answer was accompanied by a tense jerk of her head in affirmation, which Andrea didn't miss.

She stepped closer, and even with the sunhat Rory could see the inquisitive quirk of her eyebrow.

"Everything okay?" She murmured, dipping her voice so any passing riders wouldn't eavesdrop.

Rory dropped her gaze and shrugged, fussing with the braid at the base of Chatham's mane.

"It's just going to be Dad and Calliope coming to watch today." She chose to answer carefully, her voice heavy as her chest felt.

When she looked up, Andrea had carefully schooled her features into a neutral expression. But her eyes were sad as she realized what that meant.

"I see." She said evenly and stroked down Chatham's neck. "Well, we'll miss Marcus and Augusta. But we'll just have to tell them all about the fun they missed the next time around." Her emphasis on the word fun made Rory smile genuinely for what felt like the first time that morning.

Andrea had welcomed Rory and Chatham into her barn as if they had been there from the start, and quickly became one of Rory's favorite people. The tall, blonde woman was a nationally ranked and respected coach, but unlike most professionals Rory had encountered in the sport – who were in it for the money and the flare – nothing had ever eroded Andrea's kind heart.

She had told Rory that she was like her when she was younger – she hadn't started riding in competitions because she wanted to win; she did it because she loved horses.

She understood Rory's feelings towards competing and encouraged her casual attitude, while also managing to placate her father's overbearing need to see results in the form of blue ribbons.

Speaking of her father, after Andrea had sent her back out and Rory had begun warming Chatham up around the arena, her father and Calliope had arrived at the fence line.

Her father, now changed out of his athletic attire and dressed smartly in a gray seersucker suit, had his sunglasses on top of his head despite the early morning sun blinding most others in the area. His eyes tracked her like a laser, and Rory could feel her throat tightening.

"Rory," Andrea's voice rang out over the din of the assembled riders, "loosen your hands, you're choking him. Breathe, kiddo." She reminded gently.

Rory looked down and winced as she noticed how tight her grip had become on her reins – she was holding on far too tight on the leather connecting to the bit inside Chatham's sensitive mouth.

He snorted in relief when she loosened her fingers from their death grip, and she took a deep breath, sneaking a glance at her father from the corner of her eye.

He was pacing the fence like an anxious dog, arms crossed and a set scowl on his face. Even Calliope, dressed in a pale pink Chanel number and a large hat, had stepped more than a few paces away from him, staring straight ahead as not to acknowledge the waves of tension radiating off of Haytham.

Rory pointedly turned away from the two of them and steeled herself to focus on her riding.

He won't take any more from me today. Not my focus, not my attention. She scolded herself.

Andrea ran her through a practice course of jumps, and then dismissed her to get ready for her first class. She took hold of Chatham's reins from the ground and gestured for Rory to lean over from the saddle.

"Remember what we talked about – this is your show. You're the one riding the course on his back – nobody else."

With that last sentiment and a fond pat on the leg, she sent Rory off towards her father and stepmother.

When she pulled Chatham to a halt in front of them, her father was the first to speak.

"Is he ready?" He gestured at Chatham; no hello for Rory or inquiry as to how she was feeling. She swallowed the barb and nodded.

"Andrea said we look great." She fussed with Chatham's mane again, and he turned his great head to nose at her left boot. She leaned over to stroke down his forehead. Thank god you're here with me. The waves of tension rolling off her father were almost suffocating.

"You were rushing the first few jumps – you know you cannot let him rush the jumps and get too excited; it completely derails the rest of your round." Haytham scolded her in a snap.

Rory blinked, not quite sure what to say. Sometimes she forgot her father had been at her mother's side when she had shown early in their relationship – and therein was knowledgeable when it came to horses, more so than most emotionally turbulent fathers, at least.

"I-We cooled down once I got the first few nerves out, that always happens." She replied, her eyes falling back to Chatham's neck.

"We do not have time for nerves today!" Haytham snarled. He looked as if he was going to say more, but from his pants pocket, his phone began to ring shrilly.

Chatham pinned his ears at the sound and stepped back a few paces – Rory couldn't really blame him.

Haytham growled something unintelligible and stomped a few yards away to begin shouting something into the phone.

Calliope and Rory exchanged nervous glances as Haytham had a very animated argument with some poor soul on the other end of the line.

It wasn't often they were on the same side of an altercation with her father – usually, it was Calliope and Rory trading digs and her father stepping in to restore peace once either of them had an obvious advantage – but this morning they seemed to both be walking on eggshells.

Misery loves company, I guess. Rory pondered bitterly as her stepmother broke their tense silence.

"He's been like this all morning." Calliope murmured gravely.

"I sort of noticed." Rory said, thinking back to her father's explosive anger in their foyer earlier.

"He said there is a very important target investor that's rumored to be showing up today. He's at his wit's end about it." The black-haired woman told her seriously.

"Who could be that important?" Rory wondered aloud. She had never seen the mere idea of someone make her father so nervous, it was more unnerving than she wanted to admit.

Before Calliope could respond, Haytham marched back over to them.

"We have to get to the box – you have to be at the ingate soon." Haytham directed the latter part towards her and with that, spun on his heel and marched back towards the Exhibitor's tent, leaving both Rory and Calliope to shudder in his wake.

They traded one last look of mutual dread before Calliope trotted off after her husband.

Rory stared after them, confusion and dread swirling in her stomach to a nauseous combination.

Just who exactly could shake her father like this?

---

"I look like a nautical penguin."

Jason heard Bruce sigh from the other end of the car, and he didn't have to raise his head from its slumped place against the window to know he was on the receiving end of a Wayne trademarked flat stare.

"You look very nice." Bruce said in a carefully measured tone. Jason was pretty sure he said it half to try and placate Jason's bratty attitude, and half to remind Jason that they were dressed near identically.

Jason crossed his arms across his blazer – a navy, double breasted number that Alfred almost had to tie him down to get him into – and glared harder out the window. At least he didn't have to wear a tie this time.

It wasn't that he didn't like doing things with Bruce one on one – in fact, some of their non-vigilante activities as just Bruce and Jason were pretty fun – Wayne Enterprises had made contributions to the Gotham City Aquarium the year previous, and Jason had actually gotten to feed a Whale Shark.

But things like these – the galas, the endless amounts of charity dinners, the speeches and honoree tables – they made Jason's skin itch.

High society events with the horde of Gotham's elite were never pleasant. Bruce had revealed to him years previous that he didn't even like going to the stuffy, boring parties, but as the head of the Wayne family – and more importantly, someone who needed to have such a loud public persona that no one could fathom something deeper – it was expected.

The Fall Classic was a little different. Firstly, it was, for Jason at least, a way to reprimand him for being reckless on patrol. Bruce had gotten his and Dick's number when it came to negative reinforcement – anytime they acted up as Robin, a gala appearance or charity event usually followed.

Secondly, Jason knew that Bruce's mother – Martha – had loved the Fall Classic. The Waynes had been a force of nature in the attempts to preserve the arts and culture of Gotham, and equestrian sport was no exception. Apparently, Martha had grown up riding, and had encouraged Bruce as a child to ride himself. Jason was pretty sure he knew his way around a polo mallet, but he had never actually seen Bruce sit on a horse before.

Nevertheless, every fall at least one person from the Wayne household was present at the Classic. Usually, it was just Bruce and possibly Alfred for company, but this year Jason had been enlisted to make an appearance.

He rubbed his hands on his cream linen pants, glaring down at the brown loafers on his feet. He knew how this day was going to go – they were going to sit in the illustrious Wayne Family box at the showgrounds, Bruce was going to schmooze with members of the horde, they were going to watch a bunch of horses run around in circles jumping over brightly painted sticks and then after an excruciatingly dull dinner, they'd be able to go home.

If he didn't throw himself in front of a four-legged animal in an attempt to die via trampling, it would be a miracle.

"The usual spot, Master Bruce?" Alfred piped up from the front seat, and Jason looked up in time to see the car passing under two great iron columns with the letters GSG emblazoned in cursive iron on the top arch.

"That'll do, Alfred. Thank you." Bruce affirmed and set his paper down, adjusting the lapels of his blazer as the car rolled to a stop. Jason felt the first prickling of dread stir in his gut as Alfred got out to open Bruce's door, and a small pack of nearby paparazzi noticed their arrival.

Jason slid himself out of the car after Bruce as the first flashes of the cameras began to go off.

"Mr. Wayne! Mr. Wayne!" They squawked, walking backward as they scrambled to get their beady eyes into the sight view of their cameras. "Look here, Mr. Wayne! Are you excited for the show today, Mr. Wayne?"

"I'm looking forward to a pleasant day." Bruce said smoothly as they walked along the path towards the gates. Jason stayed behind Bruce, keeping his head down as much as he could without getting himself labeled "sullen" by the tabloids.

"Jason! Jason, look here, please!" They began barking at him, and it took one look from Bruce that he roughly translated to I Know They're Awful But Keep it Together for Jason to manage a flat acknowledgment of the cameramen.

"Looking sharp, Mr. Wayne! Welcome to the Big Boys club!" The cameraman gave him a toothy thumbs-up, and it took all of Jason's physical restraint – and the sudden, heavy presence of Bruce's hand on his shoulder in warning – not to launch himself at the man.

He instead settled for a flinty glare and stalked inside the gate, closely followed by Bruce.

Once inside the gates of the showgrounds, the din that had arisen due to the paparazzi's attention dropped off to a slow trickle of whispers behind hands and subtly pointed fingers. The Bruce Wayne was amongst them, now wasn't the time to act undignified.

Jason shoved his hands into his pockets, his tongue itching for a cigarette.

If Bruce noticed the tension – which dollars to donuts, he likely had – he knew better than to comment. Instead, he pulled Jason to a stop.

Expecting a lecture, Jason steeled himself to be told the obvious – behave, keep your wits about you, don't punch anyone but especially don't punch anyone with diplomatic immunity.

Instead, Bruce simply took ahold of Jason's shirt collar and fussed with it a moment until it lay flat.

"Chin up, you never know - you might even have fun." Bruce said quietly as he led Jason down the path towards the box stands beside the clubhouse.

"Highly doubt it." Jason grumbled, mostly to himself, but kept with Bruce's pace as they continued on.

The Gotham Show Grounds were, in essence, built like a country club with added venue space to accommodate the equine participants – white-fenced pastures, riding arenas and barns replaced tennis courts, swimming pools or a golf course.

All around them, well-dressed patrons of the horde mingled with people in equestrian attire – some with full riding gear while others seemed to be half-dressed, content to lounge in tennis shoes and knee-high socks. He could feel their stares as he and Bruce strolled towards the largest of the arenas and the stands that climbed above them.

Several people attempted to stop Bruce along the way, practically throwing themselves at his feet as they groveled for a morsel of his attention.

"Mr. Wayne, we are so glad you're here with us this year!" A woman in a gigantic yellow hat and bright red lipstick simpered as they passed a group of what Alfred would politely call "the more enthusiastic of gentry society".

"Where else would I ever want to be, Patrice?" Bruce laughed with the charm and suave of a man who could buy the world and continued on their way. The woman – Patrice – seemed to swoon while her female companions glared enviously at her for capturing a crumb of Bruce's attention.

Sometimes it took Jason a minute to remember that the rest of the world didn't know Bruce like he did. That places like this, with people like this, were usually last on Bruce's list of Places He'd Rather Be Right Now.

The Bruce he knew and saw every day would rather bury himself under a stack of case files for hours on end or study some ancient tome on fighting techniques of jujitsu than socialize with anyone in a twelve-mile radius of here.

Jason didn't know how he did it, sometimes.

They climbed the stairs of the stands without further fanfare. They breezed up to the top level where other socialites were already milling about in their boxes.

The Wayne Family Box was tucked into the far side corner of the stands – close enough to the front to have a good view of the arena, but far enough away to still be "exclusive". The boxes themselves were polished mahogany wood with enough room for two small tables and several chairs inside them, walls coming up to waist height so not to separate the elite from each other too much.

Their box had a velvet rope clipped to the small opening – Jason guessed to make it even clearer they were to be separated from the plebeians - and white tablecloths covered the tables that sat inside.

The seats had plush purple cushions with GSG embroidered in gold colored thread to match the banner of the showgrounds. A bucket of ice sat on one of the tables, champagne chilled and waiting for them along with several crystal flutes and an assortment of fruit, cheese and crackers on a wooden charcuterie board.

The Classic Welcomes you back, Mr. Wayne – Staff was written in elegant script on a small white card.

"Are they going to offer you a selection of virgin brides at the end of the night, too?"

Bruce likely would have given him a quiet reprimand for that comment, but before he could, an Asian woman in a pastel blue sundress with little horseshoes printed all over it had bounced up to them, a wide smile on her gently aged face. She was older than Bruce, closer to Alfred in age but her eyes shone with a youthful joy Jason didn't see in many people within the horde.

"Bruce!" The woman greeted jovially, and for the first time since they'd arrived, Bruce seemed to return a greeting genuinely.

"Jean." He said warmly, opening his arms and embracing her.

Once they had released each other, the woman – Jean – turned her attention on the youngest member of the group.

"And this," She grinned, "must be Jason."

Jason extended his hand to her and gave her his best I'm-very-grateful-to-be-here-and-not-wallowing-in-the-gutter smile.

"The pleasure's mine, ma'am." He said as she took his hand with a dainty grip.

Jean tittered, her graying-black hair bouncing as she laughed.

"How charming! Just like his father – I'll bet you have all the girls lining up around the block!" She teased, more to Bruce than Jason himself.

"What can I say, I simply take inspiration from the best." Jason tilted his head towards Bruce and gave her a practiced grin which earned him another round of Jean's giggling.

"Handsome and a quick wit – it's hardly even fair! Bruce, I'm surprised this is the first time you're showing him off to us!" Jean patted him on the shoulder akin to how someone would praise a purse dog, and Bruce took the opportunity to cut in again.

"Oh, well, Jason's never been much for the spotlight, but with Calvin Klein reaching out to offer him a place in their Spring line, we figured more people deserved to see him." He said with a laugh.

Before Jason could inquire further on that morsel - because what the fuck? – Bruce gestured back towards Jean.

"Jason, this is Mrs. Jean DeMartin; she's the chairwoman of the Classic's Board of Trustees. Nothing happens here today without her say-so."

"Oh, he's so modest, as if the Wayne Foundation isn't sponsoring half the classes!" Jean laughed. Her eyes slid over to the lavish refreshments.

"Everything in working order?" She asked Bruce, who nodded sagely.

"You always get it right, Jean."

She seemed to glow at the praise and then turned to lean towards Jason, lowering her voice to a faux-conspiring stage whisper.

"The snacks may have changed since he was younger, but I've always had a knack for knowing what keeps Waynes happy." She winked. Jason couldn't fight a small smile once he noticed Bruce repressing something that could have been bashfulness.

She stood straight again and reached into her clutch, pulling out two purple strips of ribbon.

"Your member badges – simply keep these where the attendants can see them, and you won't need for a thing. And if you do – I'm only a phone call away." Jean chirped, snapping her clutch shut once Bruce and Jason had taken their respective badges.

Bruce fasted his to his lapel, smoothing it down with a fond look on his face.

"Thank you, Jean."

The older woman squeezed his arm and beamed at him. "It's my pleasure. Have a lovely day, boys! I'll see you at the Exhibitor's dinner tonight!"

With that, Jean turned on her heel and trotted off.

Bruce watched her go, a small smile on his lips.

"She seems…nice." Jason ventured after a moment. Bruce turned back to him and nodded, taking a seat on one of the plush chairs. Jason followed suit.

"Jean's an old friend. She's been running the Classic for years; I think she could give Alfred a run for his money with how organized she keeps her staff." He laughed.

"That," Jason rolled his eyes, not believing him for a second, "I would love to see."

They settled in to watch whatever was going on in the arena below when something occurred to Jason.

"Calvin Klein?" He asked, his tone disbelieving.

Bruce shrugged, not looking away from where horses and riders had begun filing into the ring below them. "I forgot to tell you – a rep reached out after the garden party to ask if you'd be interested in signing with them, but I told them you'd rather focus on school."

"Why?" He stared at Bruce, dumbfounded.

"You've never seemed the modeling type. Plus, it's too much publicity at your age."

(Bruce had a few very strong views on minors working in the public eye.)

"No–not that part. Why did they want me? Are you sure it wasn't a crank phone call?" He honestly couldn't see another explanation.

Bruce glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

"You may not believe it, Jason, but you're maturing into a very handsome young man. Someone from their casting department saw some pictures from the party," because you made headlines by nearly getting booked for assault, went unspoken, "and they made an inquiry." Bruce paused.

"And apparently you were trending on Twitter for a moment for managing to, and I'm quoting here, 'stay attractive while performing a headlock.'"

Jason stood up from his chair.

"I'm gonna take a walk." There's only so much a guy can take in one sitting.

Bruce raised an eyebrow but didn't bother arguing with him on it.

Jason could've sworn as he walked away the asshole was laughing.

---

Things, predictably, began to go sideways after that.

Jason walked aimlessly around the grounds for a while, peeking into a few vendor tents that had been set up, dodging anyone he thought he vaguely recognized from school.

He'd picked up a drink – some fruity concoction that might've had alcohol in it, but no one had carded him once they saw his badge so hey, free game – and had picked a spot against a fence to watch what appeared to be some sort of mosh pit of horses and riders, when a cry had gone up:

"Loose horse!"

Those around him who were on foot almost threw themselves against the nearest solid object – pinning themselves against the surface to stay out of the way. Those on horses, or holding them, quickly took extra inventory of their mounts; trying not to be the person to add yet another unaccompanied equine to the mix if they were to spook.

Jason could only watch as, through the crowd, a gigantic black horse burst down the path at a flat gallop. It's bridle had been broken – the reins dragging, unlinked, on the ground near its feet – and it's eyes were wide with fear as it took in the atmosphere around it.

It skidded to a stop, seeing the fence to the ring blocking it's path. The horse let out a sharp cry, pacing and pawing at the ground as several people approached it slowly; their arms out, voices low and soothing to try and catch it.

"Claudia! No!" A shrill voice suddenly gasped.

Jason's head whipped around to see that a little girl, no older than five, had waddled out of her mother's reach while her back was turned and toddled behind the horse, mere feet in front of Jason himself.

The horse, realizing it was trapped, suddenly spun on its haunches and booked it in the opposite direction – right in the path of little Claudia, who was too focused on a discarded flower head to realize an eight-foot beast was bearing down on her.

Call it Robin-instincts, or him calculating the distance between the child and her panicking mother, but Jason saw what was going to happen before it had even began.

All the extra agility training Bruce had put him through came in handy as he found himself speeding in and snatching up the girl just as the horse's hoof made contact with the space where her body had been moments before.

The horse sped away with several grooms following hastily after it, and Jason looked down to see Claudia staring quizzically up at him and then back down at the ground, as if to ask him how she'd gotten from there to him.

"Oh thank god!" Her mother was upon them both and grabbing Claudia with Mama Bear energy Jason couldn't fault as soon as the shock had worn off from the crowd. People were lightly applauding, and a few riders had even paused their mounts inside the ring to wave at him.

"Thank you!" The mother turned back to Jason, tears tracking down her face. "Thank you, so much."

"Ah, no problem." Jason waved her off, watching as the relieved woman carted her little girl off, blubbering the entire time.

Take the vigilante out of the job, can't take the job out of the vigilante. He mused to himself, waving a few encouraging spectators off with a bashful expression.

"Jason?"

Jason turned at hearing his name, startled beyond belief to see – of all people – Rory standing a few feet away, her eyes wide with shock. She was dressed similarly to the other competitors – shiny black tall boots, tan breeches, a crisp white shirt with a navy-blue show jacket over top. A sleek black helmet was under her arm and her dark hair was up in a neat ponytail.

"Rory?" He parroted her surprised tone. They simply stared at each other for a moment, processing, before a smile broke out onto Rory's face.

"Jason! I thought that was you!" she beamed and made her way over to him, throwing her arms around him when she reached him. He squeezed her back, a flash of surprised excitement flooding through him at her presence.

"What gave me away?" He smiled once she pulled back. Relief at seeing a familiar face overshadowed the shock that had taken over once he recognized her voice.

"Throwing yourself in front of hurdling projectiles for someone else's benefit sort of pitched me in the right direction." She teased, her eyes flickering to his abdomen where under his clothes they both knew a fading pink scar lay.

"It's my calling card." He rolled his eyes, but there was no malice in the action. Rory nudged him playfully, and all the discomfort of the morning evaporated like morning dew under the Autumn sun.

"I didn't know you were coming to the Classic! You should have told me." Rory admonished him lightly. Jason sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

"Ah, I didn't really know until last week." He lowered his voice, "I don't really do the whole 'Wayne Public Appearance' thing – especially not the suits. But I screwed up and this is Bruce's version of discipline." He grimaced.

Rory couldn't keep the dubious look off her face.

"He's punishing you…by taking you to an invitation only event that's sponsored by Hermès?"

Jason sighed.

"I really can't understate how much he knows I hate wearing a suit."

---

Rory, in stark contrast to Jason, was in her element. She stepped through the showgrounds as if she had been made for them, waving to other competitors, effortlessly navigating around the hundreds of equine variables and blending in seamlessly with the scenery.

"It's modeled after fox hunting," She explained after they had stopped at a vendor for some sandwiches. "You want a horse that goes around a course of jumps at a steady pace, not rushing anything or acting too wild – something a person's grandma could hop on and ride easily."

"But why not just do fox hunting?" Jason asked around a bite of turkey and cheese. Rory shrugged, brushing a few crumbs off of her shirt.

"I guess because you don't get trophies or big ribbons in fox hunting, I don't know."

Jason shook his head. Rory had been trying to explain to him to basics of a hunter show, but to Jason, it all sounded a bit like an excuse to dress up and pay a lot of money for a ribbon you could get at JoAnn crafts.

They had been walking around long enough for the sun to have risen to an oppressive perch in the sky, and both Rory and Jason had removed their respective outer layers sometime during their trek. For refuge from the unrelenting heat that was frankly cruel for the middle of October, Rory had led them down a shady path off of the event grounds.

It was quieter the further they got from the show rings, inching closer to the regal looking barns at the rear of the property. A bulletin board was posted next to each building, and Jason eyed the extensive timetable that was stapled to the wood.

"What time do you have to get back?" Jason asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He was reluctant to release Rory back to the hectic atmosphere of the show day, but out of the two of them, she was the one who actually wanted to be there.

Rory tossed her plate into a nearby trashcan and glanced down at her watch.

"I have about forty-five minutes before my next class in the Gotham Oval." She told him.

"And that one is…?"

"The big one with the sign that says, 'Gotham Oval'." He caught her playful eyeroll before she answered and responded with a mock tap of his toe to her left ankle.

"I feel like my smartass nature is rubbing off on you. I don't know if I should be proud or disturbed." The black-haired teenager ribbed.

"For your information, I was a smartass long before I met you. You're just close enough to see it now." She sniffed, and Jason gnawed on the inside of his cheek to suppress a grin.

"Rory!"

Rory stopped short at the entrance to one of the barns, pulling Jason to a halt next to her. Above the door, a large banner read "Autumn Fox Farms" in gold script. A number of ribbons were already hung along the top of the banner – many of them were crisp, winning royal blue.

Below the banner, lounging in one of the foldable camper chairs, was a tall blonde woman who had called out to his walking partner. She was perched under a small tent, a fan pointed at her as she sipped on the largest portable jug of water Jason had ever seen.

She waved them both over with a friendly smile, and Rory returned it easily.

"Hey Andrea, I was wondering where you went." She grinned. Andrea gave her a conspiring grin, glancing over her shoulder into the dim light of the barn aisle.

"I needed some peace and quiet from a few of the munchkin's parents. Who's this?" She turned to give Jason a once over, her gaze curious.

"This is a friend from school – Jason Todd. Jason, this is my instructor Andrea Chase." Rory gestured to him and bumped him lightly with her hip. Jason told himself the heat in his face was likely sunburn, and nothing more.

Andrea visibly brightened at hearing this and leaned forward in her chair to extend a hand, taking his with a firm shake.

"What a wonderful surprise! Rory told me all about her friends from school, it's nice to put a face to the name!" She gave him a positively beaming smile before turning her attention back on Rory. "Your horse just finished a nap, so he should be in a good mood before over fences if you want to get him tacked up soon."

At Jason's questioning look, Andrea laughed lightly.

"Chatham's favorite activity is napping – he has to have a nap sometime during the day or else he gets cranky."

"He works hard, he's tired!" Rory defended, but she was laughing too. "I'll throw his saddle on and see you down there."

"Sounds like a plan, kiddo." Andrea stood from her chair, waving Rory off as she made her way into the barn.

Jason was about to follow when Andrea turned and fixed Jason with an oddly fond smile for someone he had just met five minutes prior.

"We're so glad you're here, Jason. Thank you for coming out for Rory today; she needed somebody in her corner."

Before he could correct her that he hadn't actually known Rory was going to be there – it was all a coincidence – and his presence likely wouldn't make that much of a difference, Andrea had already begun making her way back towards the show grounds.

Jason stared after her a moment, pondering when Rory's voice called from inside the barn;

"Jason! You coming?"

"Yeah! Sorry!" He turned on his heel and put the exchange out of his mind.

---

"He's…really big."

Rory tried to stifle a giggle as she slipped Chatham's bridle on.

"You mentioned. Twice."

"No, but like, are all horses this…big?" Jason was staring at Chatham like he was an alien life form, eyeing him suspiciously as Rory slipped the reins back over the chestnut's neck.

"No," She answered, giving Chatham a little cluck of her tongue to ask him to walk next to her. Jason fell into step beside her, still eyeing her horse. "Horses come in all shapes and sizes, like people. Chatham's big because he's a thoroughbred." He still didn't look reassured as they left the barn.

She could see why he would startle people – Chatham towered over either of them at a whopping five foot eight at his shoulder. He was no backyard pony.

"Horses are like big dogs, they're really gentle. Here," she produced a peppermint from her pocket as she stopped Chatham at the mounting block. "Give him that – he'll be your best friend for life."

Jason looked suspicious but slowly extended his hand for Chatham to take the treat. The horse gobbled it up quickly, nodding his head in approval as he chewed on the sweet candy.

As Rory swung onto his back, Chatham finished his treat and then extended his neck as far as he could to sniff at Jason's face.

Despite Jason's reservations about him, Chatham seemed to have no reservations about Jason whatsoever.

Jason leaned back, unsure as Chatham's large nose puffed air onto his cheek.

"Uh…Rory? What's he-hey!"

Rory, who had been busy adjusting her saddle, looked up just in time to see Chatham open his great mouth and lick Jason right down his face.

Rory clamped a gloved hand over her mouth.

Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh, don't-

It was a losing battle, though, as she couldn't repress the hysterical laugh that parted her lips as Jason stared, bewildered, at the horse.

Chatham, seeing nothing wrong with the interaction, went to seal his stamp of approval on Jason a second time – but this time Jason sprang back in a comical lurch to avoid the large tongue.

"What was that!" He squawked, and Rory lost it, doubling over in the saddle. "Rory! Your demon horse just tried to eat me!"

"I'm sorry!" She gasped for air, feeling tears sprout in her eyes as Jason wiped a disgusted hand down his face. "He-he just likes you; I promise!"

"Yeah, for dinner!"

Rory lost herself to another round of heaving laughter as Jason fished a pocket square out of his suit jacket and hastily wiped his face.

"I'm gonna smell like hay and hard candy!" He griped, and then went pale as Chatham took another step closer, "Rory! Make him stop!"

Despite the hilarity that would be letting Chatham chase Jason all the way back to the ring, Rory pulled back on the reins gently, pulling the chestnut horse to a reluctant halt.

"I'm sorry," She apologized again through her giggling, "He really does like you though."

Jason glared at her, and then pointed at Chatham.

"This," He said, his voice deathly quiet, glaring at the horse, "means war."

The war seemed to be short lived, though, as while they were walking towards the warmup ring, Jason quietly asked her for another peppermint, which she was happy to produce.

---

Bruce eyed him curiously when he returned to the box, and pointedly glanced at his watch.

"You were gone for a while."

Jason shrugged, keeping his eyes forward and focused on the ring where riders for their over fence courses began to file in at the in gate. He searched for Rory's navy jacket and Chatham's copper coat among them but couldn't manage to spot them.

"I ran into Rory, we walked around for a while." He said and truly, really he tried to be nonchalant.

But he should have known better than to try and slip one past the World's Greatest Detective, as the second the name Rory passed his lips, Bruce had zeroed in on it like a missile beam.

"Rory's here?" Bruce asked calmly, taking a carefully measured sip of champagne. Jason ground his teeth together a little. The Bat had the scent and was unlikely to give it up now.

"Yep." He replied tightly, leaning back in his seat. "She's competing today."

"Hm." Bruce made an interested noise. "In this class?" He gestured towards the ring and the sea of riders and horses around it.

"Yeah, on her horse Chatham."

Bruce nodded and fell silent. Jason tried to resist the sudden urge to squirm in his chair.

"So, do you remember her competitor's number or –"

"Bruce."

"What? I just wanted to know who to look for – there's a lot of young women competing today and I don't exactly know what she looks like, seeing as you've never introduced us."

Jason glared at him out of the corner of his eye.

"You're enjoying this too much."

Bruce gave him a faux-scandalized look and waved a hand to brush off the comment.

"I have no idea what you're talking about – I'm just trying to be an active member of the audience."

The teenager buried his face in his hands, rubbing at his forehead. Bruce was good at the innocent act – but Jason knew him well enough to know just how much amusement he was taking out of this.

If he was being honest, he wasn't sure what about Bruce's pestering bothered him – a large part of it probably had to do with the embarrassment of Bruce fawning over his social behavior, but another part – that he wouldn't admit even under threat of death via Rouge's Gallery – was how delicate Jason felt about it.

He wasn't used to running into people who liked him at events like these. He wasn't used to running into people who liked him period, outside of Alfred, Dick and Bruce and maybe some of the Justice League.

But he had earned those people because of Robin.

He had earned Rory because he was Jason.

"Can we just please watch the show." Jason groaned, lifting his head from his hands and pointedly trying to shake his train of thought.

Bruce seemed to pick up that he was reaching his breaking point with the teasing and held his arms up in surrender.

They turned back to watch the class progress – and the seemingly endless stream of riders and horses jumping over the same eight fences in the same slow pattern.

Jason made a note to ask Rory why she enjoyed these things when he saw her next.

He had nearly fallen asleep when the announcer's voice crackled to life over the loudspeaker;

"Next in the ring we have 1410 Mountain Sound, owned and ridden by Aurora Stathos of Gotham City, New Jersey."

Both he and Bruce sat up a little straighter as Rory and Chatham trotted into the ring. She took her time, her face calm under the black visor of her helmet as she surveyed the jumps around her. She took a deep breath and asked Chatham to canter to begin her course.

"She's very good," Bruce commented as Rory guided Chatham gracefully over the first part of the course. "Very good." He nodded as she flew over one of the jumps that had – according to the loud box of some tech conglomerate next to them – been giving riders and horses trouble all day.

As they leaped over the final fence, the crowd erupted into generous applause. Rory's smile was large enough to be seen from even their seats above and she fussed over Chatham as he slowed to a trot and then a walk.

The loudspeaker came to life again – announcing a score of 88.00 for Rory and Chatham.

While Jason had zero idea of what that meant, a buzz rose up around them at the news.

"That's the highest score of the class." One woman sighed as another bemoaned beside her; "Now my daughter's out of the ribbons for sure!"

Jason braced himself for a veiled teasing statement from Bruce, but when he turned to peek at the older man, he found Bruce busy texting someone on his phone with a smirk – an evil smirk – on his face.

"That was a lovely round." Was all Bruce said when he finished his correspondence, turning back to clap politely as if he hadn't just been grinning like a psychopath at his phone.

"Yeah," Jason parroted, a sinking feeling in his gut, "Lovely."

There were only a few more riders left in the class before they announced the placement order, and as the final rider trotted her horse out of the ring, Bruce tapped Jason on the shoulder.

"Follow me." Was all he said before he walked towards the stairs leading to the main level.

"Hey, wait – I want to see who wins." Jason argued – he knew Rory had placed well, but he still wasn't totally clear on the scoring system to say for sure she had won – but still followed Bruce down the wooden steps. Bruce glanced back at him and suddenly the evil smirk was back.

"Oh, you will, don't worry."

Bruce didn't give him any more time for questions and led him down to the ringside, where they found Jean waiting for them. She gave Bruce an eager wave and beckoned them over. A man in a red guard coat and top hat was standing next to her along with a short, well dressed woman holding a clipboard and a silver dish.

"Bruce, Jason! Isn't this exciting?" She gushed before turning to make introductions – the man in the red coat was, apparently, the ring steward and the woman next to him was the judge for the class.

Before Jason could ask why he was being introduced to these seemingly important people – Jean was shoving a folded-up horse blanket into his hands and a long ribbon that read CHAMPION in gold letters into Bruce's.

"Now," She went on, "when they call the class, all you have to do is hand the blanket to the winning trainer and smile when the photographer tells you to."

Jason's eyes went wide at the word photographer and he opened his mouth to protest.

"Wait, I–"

"Crystal clear, Jean. Happy to help." Bruce cut him off and Jean gave them both a beaming smile before being pulled aside by another show steward.

Jason turned to stare at Bruce, his face frozen in a blank stare.

"Bruce." He said slowly, "What did you do."

The smug bastard that had been his adopted father for over half a decade simply smiled at him.

"The Wayne Foundation sponsors several classes," He said, admiring the ribbon he was holding. "I try to help the award's staff with at least one of them." The older man shrugged. "I figured once Jean messaged me with the results of the class; this one would be an entertaining choice."

Oh, you bastard.

"Remember to smile." Bruce patted him on the shoulder and before Jason could open his jaws and spew fire at his father – the loudspeaker came to life above them.

"–And in first place today with a score of 88.00; 1410 Mountain Sound owned and ridden by Aurora Stathos of Gotham City, New Jersey."

Jason wondered if it was too late to get trampled.

He spotted Rory in the center of the ring – she was joyfully patting Chatham on the neck while accepting a brightly colored sash from the ring master.

Bruce made it to her first, carefully pinning the champion ribbon on Chatham's bridle as Andrea appeared to take the silver dish – which Jason realized was actually a trophy – from the judge and the horse blanket from him. She gave him a shocked sort of smile but seemed in too good of a mood to question his presence.

"A lovely round, well deserved. Congratulations to the both of you." Bruce charmed Rory easily, and Jason saw Rory do a physical double take as she realized who was standing in front of her.

"T-thank you, Mr. Wayne." She gaped. Her head swiveled, searching until her eyes landed on him and went wide.

"Jason?"

"Hey." He waved, suddenly feeling awkward with all the eyes in the arena on them. Bruce glanced between them and chose that moment to jump in.

"Isn't life full of these funny coincidences – it just so happens that The Wayne Foundation sponsors this class, Ms. Stathos, and we were invited to be a part of the Winner's Circle ceremony. Imagine our happy surprise to be handing you the winning ribbon." Bruce chimed in, and Jason vowed to kick that smug grin off of his face the next time they sparred.

Rory flushed at the praise, and then they were being shuffled into place by the show photographer. Jason ended up next to Bruce at Chatham's head while the judge and Andrea held up the prizes by the horse's flank.

Between the photographer blinding them all with flashes from his camera, Jason managed to make eye contact with Rory.

Her grin was infectious, and she mouthed to him excitedly;

"This is crazy."

In the next shot the photographer took, Jason felt his smile was genuine.

---

After getting to watch Rory gallop Chatham around the ring in what Andrea mentioned was aptly named a "victory lap", Bruce and he waited for her at the ingate.

"You two make quite the pair, Ms. Stathos." Bruce complimented her as she rode Chatham out. Rory ducked her head modestly as she swung her leg around and dismounted.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne. Chatham makes it look easy." She rubbed Chatham's head affectionately, and he nosed her chest like a large dog.

"That he does." Bruce laughed, giving Chatham a pat of his own. "And please, call me Bruce."

Rory's eyes went wide at the request and she glanced at Jason.

He could only shrug.

"He's just going to course correct you otherwise, might as well do it." He told her.

Rory eventually nodded and gave him a shy smile.

"If I can call you Bruce, then please call me Rory."

Bruce gave her a blinding smile, and she might have swooned a little.

"A deal's a deal."

"Aurora!"

Neither Bruce nor Jason missed how Rory's shoulders tensed as a low voice cut through the din of the ringside, breaking the easy atmosphere they had created.

They all turned to see Haytham and Calliope threading their way over from where they had been presumably watching at the ringside.

"We just spoke with Andrea and she–" Whatever Haytham was going to say died on his tongue as he registered who was standing next to his daughter. Calliope had come to a screeching halt beside her husband, slack-jawed as she stared at Bruce, his hand still petting Chatham.

"M-Mr. Wayne." Rory had never in her life heard her father stutter or trip over his words before, nor had she ever seen him this flustered. Haytham was always calm and cool, even when staring down the wealthiest and most powerful people in their circle.

But, Rory supposed, this was different – this was Bruce Wayne.

Bruce, seeming used to this reaction, gave her father an easy smile and extended his hand.

"Bruce Wayne. It's a pleasure to meet you. May I assume you're Rory's father?"

Haytham took the extended hand as if he couldn't believe it was real and nodded, dumbstruck.

"Yes. Haytham Stathos." He said robotically. "This is my wife, Calliope." He waved Calliope over, and the woman nearly tripped over herself to shake Bruce's hand. He smiled at her pleasantly, and Rory saw her stepmother flush before Bruce turned back to Haytham.

"Well, Mr. Stathos, you have a lovely daughter – from what my son Jason has told me, she's an absolute joy to have around." He praised her, and Rory wondered if her face had been lit on fire. She felt Jason's presence inch closer to her but couldn't take her eyes off of her father and Bruce.

Haytham and Calliope jerked their gazes over to her and Jason, seemingly gobsmacked.

"Hello, sir. Ma'am." Jason shook her father's hand but greeted Calliope with a nod, his voice cool. If either noticed the slight, they were too wrapped up in shock to take action on it.

Haytham recovered first, clearing his throat and nodding along.

"Well, Aurora has always been at the top of her class. Work ethic and integrity have always been incredibly important in our family."

Bruce raised an eyebrow but nodded, an affirming noise emerging from his throat. He turned back to Rory, and she could have sworn his smile was bordering on fond.

"I had a wonderful time watching your daughter compete today, and I know Jason's time was certainly improved by running into her," Rory heard Jason quietly choke on air at that statement, "I'd hate to have to part without getting to hear more from her on how school is going and such – what do you say you three join myself and Jason at our table for the Exhibitioner's dinner tonight?"

If Rory hadn't known better, she could have sworn her father blacked out for a second.

He wheezed a shocked laugh, ignoring Calliope's gaping mouth – something he usually would have subtly corrected – nodded emphatically.

"I-I think that sounds perfect." Haytham grinned – good lord, Rory hadn't seen him grin like that in years – and he shook Bruce's hand again.

"Fantastic." The Wayne patriarch beamed. "Looking forward to it."

---

"You never told me you knew Bruce Wayne's son!" Haytham almost shouted as they emerged from the clubhouse later that evening.

Rory shrugged, still unnerved at seeing her father show so much emotion at one time. He was usually the Ice King – to see him be so emotive was really starting to freak her out.

"I mentioned I had a friend named Jason Todd, and that his dad lived in Bristol." She said, smoothing out the skirt of the dress she had changed into. It was flowy and fell to her knees with deep forest green fabric. She and Augusta had spent hours finding the right one – she wished the Greek woman could be there to see her in it.

Maybe not the heels, though. She grimaced inwardly as she almost tripped over yet another stone.

Haytham snapped his fingers in realization, turning to Calliope.

"That's why I never put it together – that kid he took in never changed his name! Impossible for us to have known."

Rory scowled at that – Jason wasn't just some kid Bruce picked up out of the waste bin.

"His name is Jason." She risked, and Haytham nodded absently.

"Right, right. Jason." He returned his attention to his wife to chatter – her father was chattering – about possible business ventures this could open, but Calliope was oddly quiet, simply nodding along and humming in agreement.

"Can you imagine it? My daughter sets us up with not just a Wayne company contact, but the head of Wayne Enterprises himself! Wayne never takes meetings from the jump – and now we have a direct line to him!" Haytham wondered in awe, and Rory saw how Calliope's jaw tightened.

It had to be a strange whirlwind for her, to suddenly be second place in her father's praises, especially when it came to Stathos Inc. Her father had met Calliope because she had been hired on as a development head within the company.

As the story went, Calliope had impressed Haytham with her tactical brain when it came to investments and financing. She was always the one with the big, bold bright ideas to bring the company forward.

He had promoted her to CFO after only a year of being with the company.

And then shortly after promoted her to wife.

Rory guessed that's where they connected – their love of business. It was something that they could talk about no matter what else was going on, and pointedly something that Rory had no way of butting in on.

But now Rory had, momentarily, outshined her stepmother.

And if the flinty glare was anything to go on, it wasn't a slight Calliope had missed.

The Exhibitioner's dinner was held in the Gotham Oval – the ring had been raked and a protective, temporary flooring had been placed over the sand to make an even surface for the dozens of tables placed throughout the ring as well as a small stage and podium.

The Stathos family found their way to the Wayne's table fairly easily – it was at the dead center of the converted ring, and only had two occupants.

The relief Rory felt as she made eye contact with Jason almost buckled her knees. Had she not been with her father and stepmother, and not been surrounded by people they didn't want to be embarrassed in front of, she probably would have ran over to the table, despite her heels.

So they made their slow, almost boastful strut through the throng of guests to sit with the billionaire guest of honor and his son.

"Mr. Wayne." Haytham had seemingly recovered from his tongue-tied speech from earlier as he greeted Bruce with a cool smile and a firm handshake.

"Mr. Stathos, please, call me Bruce. I'm off the clock." Bruce said smoothly.

Haytham's eyes brightened with an almost child-like glee at this, but he managed to contain himself.

"Of course," He replied, "Then please, call me Haytham."

Bruce gestured for them to sit, and Rory was glad to be seated next to Jason.

She was less glad to also be next to Calliope, but she would take what she could get.

The dinner began with speeches from the Classic's Board of Trustees thanking them for their donations and praising the participation of all the exhibitors present.

Jason nudged her at that, and Bruce lifted his glass her way in a small toast.

Dinner commenced and everyone managed to stay light and civil through the first course and into the second.

"Really, Bruce," Haytham was chuckling, having regained some of his cool composure Rory was used to, "It's a short flight – and you wouldn't believe the golf courses in Coast City this time of year."

Bruce took a leisurely drink from his flute of champagne and nodded, glancing up as if to consider the offer.

"Somehow I feel like that would be a bit of a home-court advantage, or rather home green." He joked, and beside her Jason muffled a groan into his napkin.

Bruce Wayne tells Dad jokes, Rory mused, stifling her own giggle into her soup, who knew?

Her father, to his credit, didn't oversell his own laughter, and instead laughed lightly as the second course was cleared away.

"You let me know – if golf isn't your fancy I'm sure we can find something to do."

Bruce tilted his head in consideration, before speaking with a small smile on his face.

"Actually, I'm rather fond of the theatre these days."

Jason froze with his water glass halfway to his lips, his eyes narrowing at his father.

"Bruce." Jason warned lowly, but Bruce ignored him.

"I heard your daughter is the lead in the winter musical." Bruce merged into the topic smoothly, but it didn't stop her father from looking momentarily like the rug had been pulled out from under him.

"I-yes." Haytham paused, "She is."

Bruce smiled and turned back towards Rory.

"Jason tells me you're very talented – he's on stage crew." He supplied the last bit for Haytham and Calliope, the latter of whom hadn't said a word since she had sat down, likely as she was too busy downing flute after flute of champagne

"I'm looking forward to seeing the musical. How long have you been acting?"

Rory gaped at the man for a moment – shocked at suddenly being the center of attention. She glanced at her father and found him staring at her with a mixture of thinly concealed frustration and confusion, as if he couldn't believe that Bruce Wayne would want to hear about a high school theatre club.

"Um, I started in elementary school." She began, shyly. Bruce nodded for her to continue as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

"I-I used to put on little plays in the living room, for my m–" She cut herself off as her father's eyes widened. A bolt of ice went down her spine, and she tripped over the word, "my mom. She was a theatre teacher. It, it was our thing." She finished lamely and stared down into her lap.

"I see." Bruce murmured. "Is that what you'd like to do, when you're older?"

Haytham, practically vibrating with masked tension, cut in.

"Aurora has many talents," he said briskly, "but I keep telling her to focus more on school – on the business-oriented side of her life. She has plenty of time to continue acting as a hobby once she has a degree from Harvard." He turned his sharp gaze on her. "Right?"

"Right." Rory said meekly.

"Rory was the one who actually got me into stage crew."

Jason's voice broke the tapered silence that had settled once Rory had stopped speaking. She looked up to see him staring at her father.

"Did she?" Haytham's voice was flat and uninterested – something that earned him an unnoticed, sharp look from Bruce – and Rory felt frozen in her seat.

"My chosen elective got cancelled, and if it wasn't for Rory," He glanced over at her and the ice in her body melted away, "I would be stuck, alone, with an independent study for the librarian."

He continued on, turning back to stare Haytham dead in the face.

"I used to think musicals were overrated and a waste of time to put on." He admitted boldly. That got Haytham's eyebrows raised.

"But if it wasn't for the musical; I wouldn't have met my friends at all – well, if it wasn't for Rory, really. And I can't help but think that something that cultivates such an impactful, tight knit community has just as much value as working for an investment firm or a hedge fund."

Haytham was outright glaring at Jason now. No one who wanted to keep their head on their shoulders ever spoke to her father like that.

But then Bruce started nodding, and Haytham turned from flinty anger to a muted shock.

"Well said, Jay." Bruce smiled at his son and gave her a quick wink.

"Yes." Her father grumbled into his rocks glass, defeated momentarily. "well…said."

Bruce turned back to her father, and as if the tension of the past five minutes hadn't occurred, slapped a hand on Haytham's shoulder.

"Perhaps golf is the less controversial choice. You'll have to forgive my handicap though; I always fell short back on my team college."

Haytham perked up, also seeming to forget his earlier anger in exchange for getting Bruce Wayne on the hook.

"Well, I'll have my assistant send yours some dates; we have this messy insurance claim to sort out, so I'm tied up in the coming weeks, but–"

Rory tuned her father out as she felt warmth bloom in her stomach – no one had ever defended her to her father like that before. It made her want to laugh, actually and wonder how she could have ever been so scared of speaking back when Jason made it seem so easy.

She reached out to brush her hand against his under the table, in gratitude.

"Well said."

The entirety of the table turned to stare at the formerly silent member – Calliope had tipped her head back and was giggling like mad, her champagne flute dangling, empty out of one hand.

Rory hadn't noticed just how many crystal glasses her stepmother had collected – there were at least four at the table, with who knows how many having already been cleared away and refilled.

All the prior joy drained out of Rory and her father the moment they saw the dark-haired woman toss her head back.

"The children," She squawked, and erupted into more giggles. "They're just so cute."

Bruce and Jason had near identical looks of confusion on their faces as Calliope tittered on.

"Calliope…maybe you should have some water." Rory tried delicately.

The older woman whipped her head around to glare at Rory, her previously laughing mouth screwed up in a frown.

"Don't." She said sharply, "I am fine. I just can't get over this!" Just as quickly as it came, the anger left, and she had switched back to jovial laughter – gesturing between Rory and Jason.

"She's always been the awkward type," Calliope conferred with Bruce and Jason across the table, as if Rory wasn't two feet from her. "So color us shocked when she says she's made friends! We couldn't believe it, right dear?" She turned to her husband, oblivious to his mortified look.

"Calliope." Haytham tried, his voice a warning.

"I'm just saying!" Calliope tittered, and Rory silently wished, begged for the ground to open up and just swallow her whole. "It's a sweet story when you mull it over - misfits finding each other through a musical when nobody else wants them!"

Bruce's face somehow got even colder, and Jason winced as he noticed how white his adoptive father's knuckles had gone around his cutlery.

"Misfits." Bruce parroted in deadpan.

"Calliope, that's enough." Haytham hissed, but his wife drunkenly waved him off.

"And sweet Aurora here," Calliope went on, seemingly oblivious to the tension she was creating at the table. She reached over and pinched Rory's arm hard, so hard Rory couldn't hold back a small hiss and a wince.

"Hey –" Jason protested, but was cut off by Calliope's slurred laughter. Rory just sunk deeper into her chair.

"She just finds kindred spirits! I mean, it's not every day you meet the other class reject and form such a darling little bond! She takes after her mother – she was always finding the charity in life!"

Haytham slammed his fists down onto the table, causing the plates and silverware to clang together with an ugly THUNK.

"That. Is. Enough, Calliope." Haytham growled.

The dark-haired woman finally seemed to come to her senses somewhat, glancing around the table to see Bruce's flinty glare, Jason's murderous expression and her husband's stern frown. It seemed to dawn on her then that she had made a grievous mistake, and her face drained of color.

"I – well, I didn't mean–" she stuttered, and then fell into a bashful silence.

No sound escaped the table for several heartbeats, until a soft sniffle emerged from Rory.

All eyes turned to her as she stood from her seat, eyes glued to the ground as she pushed her chair back into the table.

"Excuse me, I need to – I need to visit the restroom." She managed, and then spun on her heel and sped away from the table.

---

"It's not fair." Rory whispered, swiping at her face as tears stubbornly raced down her cheeks.

Beside her, Chatham whickered his sympathy, nudging her arm as she laid back against him.

She had bolted the second she was out of sight of the dining area, unable to contain her sobs as she frantically searched for somewhere to fall apart away from prying eyes.

She wandered past the Autumn Fox barn and found it blissfully empty save the horses. Even the grooms had gone home for the evening.

Rory slunk inside, the darkness of the barn soothing to her irritated eyes. She found Chatham, already asleep for the night in his stall, and didn't hesitate to duck under the stall guard to curl up with him.

Chatham, to his credit, didn't blink as his rider settled into his side and let her tears fall onto his neck. He even shifted closer to her, wrapping his large head around her tightly. She sobbed even harder, grateful for her friend.

"Oh, Chatham." Rory hiccupped. She felt the horse's whiskered upper lip wiggle on her leg, mouthing at the bottom of her dress.

"It's not fair." She choked out, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.

Of all the times. Of all the times for Calliope to show her colors.

"Misfits finding each other through a musical when nobody else wants them!"

Calliope's drunken slander dug into her gut like a knife.

Just when she believed the day could be salvaged – that there was one place she had that her stepmother and father's antics couldn't taint – the world threw it back in her face.

"She ruins everything." Rory said, rubbing her hand down the chestnut horse's neck.

"Rory?"

Rory jumped at the voice coming from the lip of the barn. Soft footsteps followed her name, and through the dark she could see a figure standing in the aisle, scanning the stalls.

"In here." She sighed, rubbing at her eyes and ducking back under the stall guard.

She didn't wait for Jason, she just sat down on one of the tack trunks next to Chatham's stall. After a moment he joined her.

They didn't speak for a while – Rory stared at her shoes, now covered with shavings, and judging by the imaginary hole she felt in the side of her head, Jason stared at her.

"I'm sorry." She broke the silence.

Jason huffed out an incredulous laugh.

"What are you sorry for? You didn't spew that bullshit." He chastised her gently.

"No," Rory admitted, "But if I hadn't made her mad earlier, she wouldn't have said any of it."

"Rory," Jason's tone was admonishing. "Nothing you could have done could've justifiably made her mad enough to say that bullshit." He said firmly.

Rory reached up again to rub at her eyes. The exhaustion of the day was catching up to her.

"I shouldn't have brought up my mom." She sighed. "My dad doesn't like talking about her, but Calliope hates it more. And being the one to introduce my Dad to Bruce." She groaned.

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?"

Rory slapped her hands onto her thighs, frustration overtaking her.

"It doesn't have to do with anything! It's just a point for me that isn't going towards her! And if it's not going towards her then it's wrong and it's my fault and no matter what I do it will never be good enough for either of them!"

Her voice echoed throughout the barn, startling the formerly sleeping horses.

Rory pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes and breathed as deeply as she could.

"Rory…" Jason's voice was light, and easy and didn't judge her for anything or hold points against her or dig at her day in and day out just to stay on top.

"She, just –" Rory choked, and felt the dam within her burst.

"She's just so mean. For no reason." She burst into tears and crumpled back onto the tack trunk.

If she had her wits more about her, she might've been embarrassed to be crying in front of Jason, or at least thought she should be embarrassed. But she felt him wrap an arm around her and pull her in and she realized there was no shame.

Jason kept hold of her until her tears dried and her sobs no longer echoed off of the wood-paneled walls.

---

Returning to the table was somehow more excruciating than excusing themselves despite the event winding down to a small trickle of patrons still present.

First, both Rory's father and stepmother had vanished.

Bruce had been furiously typing something on his cell when they arrived back, Rory still picking loose shavings out of her dress and Jason with a rumpled, stained dress shirt.

She hadn't been shocked, only a little disappointed, to learn that her father had left her there to take Calliope home.

"He said he would send a car for you, but I offered to drive you home once our car arrives." Bruce told her delicately.

The brunette girl had only shrugged, thanked him and asked for a few minutes to collect her things, which Bruce gladly obliged.

Jason helped her carry her things once the car arrived, the exhaustion of the day making her bones feel as heavy as lead.

An older butler – who Rory had seen picking up and dropping off Jason at school before – opened her car door for her.

"Allow me, Miss." He bowed his head slightly to her, and she smiled at him gratefully.

"Thank you, sir." Her words were practically slurred, and she slid into the black town car, boneless.

"Alfred is perfectly fine, Miss. We'll have you home shortly."

Jason and Bruce climbed in after her and they set off towards Rory's home with little fanfare. Rory said nothing as Jason took her hand and threaded his fingers through her own.

The car ride was quiet, with Rory trying her best not to fall asleep as the lights of Bristol's suburbs passed them by.

"Rory," Bruce's voice cut through the silence. She turned to face him, and she felt Jason tighten his grip on her hand.

The look on his face was as serious as she'd ever seen it, and for a moment a bolt of fear flashed irrationally through her. What kind of things did a person have to see to cultivate that kind of expression?

"I want you to know," He continued softly, "that no matter what – you are always welcome in our home."

Jason's tension melted away like ice on a summer day, and Rory smiled back at Bruce gently.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne." She said. "I think I may take you up on that offer sometime – Jason's told me the view from your back lawn is the best place to find shooting stars."

Bruce smiled at her, the terrifying stillness of his expression melting away.

"That it is." He affirmed. "And remember – it's Bruce."

---

Hours later, after they had surrendered Rory to an older woman who answered the Stathos' front door and immediately began to fuss over the young girl, Jason had been sent off to bed with little protest.

The day had sucked a lot out of all of them in unexpected ways.

But Bruce couldn't sleep. Not yet.

When Dick returned from patrol – he had agreed to take over Gotham for one more night due to Jason's punishment needing Bruce to be in attendance – Bruce was typing furiously at the Batcomputer.

"Shouldn't you be in bed after schmoozing with rich horse people all day?" He asked drily.

"Shouldn't you be getting up for a shift in Bludhaven in four hours?" Bruce shot back in the same tone.

"Touché." Dick came up to the console, shucking his mask aside and peeling away the outer layer of his suit.

He studied the various boxes of text and information rapidly flying across the screen.

"Did you catch a lead I don't know about?" Dick questioned.

Bruce hit a few keystrokes on the board and the fleeting data froze – several lines of texts highlighted in red.

"While we were running through the shipment manifests for the Vide Co. warehouse, one name came up as the owner of the largest amount of lost product." He pointed to the screen.

"Okay, and? It's their chosen shipping company – that could be circumstantial. Companies usually stick with one chosen shipping partner for most of their stock product." The acrobat pointed out.

"Yes but Vide Co. has only been on the books for ten months. It didn't exist formally before then." He highlighted a few more bits of information.

"Are you saying it's a dummy company?" Dick asked, crossing his arms. Bruce shook his head.

"Not exactly. It used to be a subsidiary of another company – Tramline Shipping. That company had the same deal – a former legit subsidiary that broke off and suddenly had its own, small company break away. Sometimes they double back and merge, and then break off again." Bruce brought up yet another list – this time of over a dozen company names.

"This is a pattern." Dick concluded, and then furrowed his brow. "So, then who's the real big fish?"

Bruce fixed him with a hard stare.

"There was only one name that continuously came up throughout my searching."

He pressed another keystroke and all other names disappeared until only one remained.

Stathos Inc.

Dick's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

"Hold on a second." He stepped back from the monitor. Bruce turned his chair to follow him, his hands folded across his mouth in a pensive frown.

"Stathos as in Aurora Stathos? Like Jason's best friend?" He gaped at his adopted father.

"I can't be sure of anything." Bruce said slowly.

"But you're pretty sure." Dick countered.

"I met Rory's father tonight at the Classic – she was there as a competitor." He motioned that he'd explain more later. Different can of worms.

"He said something over dinner that stuck with me – something about an insurance claim."

Dick stared at Bruce, horror slowly dawning on his face.

"Bruce." He said lowly, "Are you sure you want to go down this route?"

"People are dead, Dick." Bruce said, his voice suddenly as exhausted as he knew he had to be after that day. "And someone needs to be held responsible."

"And I'm all for that." Dick was quick to agree. "But…if we start down this path – if we root through this muddy water, we could find something that could not only hurt Rory," he gesture up to the stairs that led to the manor. "But Jason too."

Bruce was quiet for a long moment. Only the sound of distant bats shrieking somewhere in the bowels of the cave broke the air.

"I know." He finally murmured.

"That's why we can't tell him."

---

This chapter murdered me.

42 pages. 16K words. Oh my GOODNESS.

I have this really weird headcanon that Jason was, as a teen, very attractive but completely unaware of it whatsoever. But being the son of a billionaire and public figure, other people started noticing. Hence, Calvin Klein.

We all know that the Batfamily are just, unfairly blessed in the looks department, it's practically canon.

So that's where that came from lol.

Hope you enjoyed!

Homecomings next chapter! AHHH

- R