Chapter Text
There’s a magician living in an abandoned warehouse down on the Tricorner Docks.
Park Row has its fair share of strange tales and rumors floating through the cracks. The kids of the alley talk at length, telling ghost stories and cautionary tales. Passing advice on how to survive from one night to the next in the form of fun little parables that make the cold nights feel a little bit warmer, and maybe let them pretend that their lives are all a fun little game, just for a few moments.
The magician, at first, feels like a fable. Something that a kid saw and read just a little bit wrong and didn’t wait around to find out what was really going on. The kid who spotted the magician – a 9 year old red-head with green eyes and a smattering of freckles across his pale face – tells the tale like a myth.
A magician with golden hair and golden eyes, who clapped his hands together and rebuilt a car from scraps with a flash of light. Taking nothing in payment but a bottle of whiskey and a home-cooked meal.
No one believes him. The kid stomps his foot and insists that he’s telling the truth. No one believes him. Why would they? The Bat has a rule about no magic-users or metas allowed in Gotham, and apparently enforces it with an iron fist. The kid spits back that The Bat can’t possibly know everything can he? He’s laughed into silence. Bold to assume that The Bat doesn’t know about this very conversation happening right now.
Jason Todd – newly minted street kid, fresh off the loss of his mother and desperately searching for a way to keep his stomach full and his body warm – finds the whole story ridiculous. A magician? Living in an abandoned warehouse? If he’s able to build a car with a clap of his hands, why would he bother? If Jason could clap his hands and build a car? He’d never go hungry again for the rest of his life.
If the magician is real, then he’s an idiot.
Jason settles on that opinion and puts the magician out of his mind. There are more important things to worry about. Like where he’s going to get his next meal, and which of his chosen hiding spots he’s going to hunker down in for the night.
The magician becomes steadily more and more famous.
Famous in the limited world of Park Row and its never-ending gaggle of street kids, working girls, and people desperate enough to turn to rumors for salvation when things start getting bad. The magician is making a name for himself, with whatever that clapping hands trick actually is. Jason hears whispers of it from the corners. People in a tight spot, dragging their broken items all the way down to the docks.
A clap of the hands and it’s fixed, one man says in between drags of his cigarette. All the guy wants in return is a bottle of liquor and a home cooked meal.
The people of Park Row know that when something is too good to be true, it usually is. On the rare occasion that it isn’t, there isn’t all that long before the crime lords looming over their little existences decide to sweep it up and use it for themselves.
The street kids chatter among themselves about him. The magician. People talk about him in whispers to those they trust to keep a secret. Slowly but surely, it becomes a fact. If you need something fixed, you go to the magician with an offer of alcohol and food. He asks no questions and shares no secrets. Soon enough, they figure, he’s going to disappear. Might as well take advantage while they can.
Word gets around. The magician helps out kids, too. So long as they can bring his required payment, he’ll fix anything you put in front of him. The rumors spiral a bit out of control, at one point. Jason doubts that the magician really has eyes that glow in the dark and hair so long that Rapunzel would be jealous. But what does he know? He’s never seen the guy for himself.
Until he does.
Jason has a small collection of important belongings. Just a couple, really. Street kids like him know better than to assign unnecessary value to items that they’ll never be able to carry. Jason kept it simple and bare bones. A picture of his mother and a ratty stuffed fox that he’s had since he was born. He knows that the fox is falling apart. His mother had been stitching it back together over and over again for years, already, and–
It was inevitable. The little fox’s tail falls off.
It isn’t the end of the world. Jason knows that. He still has both pieces, and he can find a way to put them back together somewhere down the line. Maybe pinch a sewing kit and figure out how to stitch. He could do that. Easily. But–
Every day that little fox goes missing his tail makes Jason’s chest get tighter and tighter. He can’t even look at it anymore. Mom would have already stitched the tail right back on, and Jason can’t keep thinking about it. He can’t keep seeing Mom every time he looks at it. It’s too much. It’s getting too much.
It’s stupid. He doesn’t have the money or the food to spare. And where is a 11 year old like him gonna get any kind of alcohol without pinching it?
Maybe the magician takes IOUs. Or… other forms of payment, if Jason is willing to beg hard enough. Maybe, if Jason makes himself look pathetic, the magician will take pity on him. It can’t hurt to try, right?
(It can absolutely hurt to try. Jason is just desperate enough to take the risk.)
He tucks the fox and its tail into his backpack and makes his way down to the tricorner docks.
The magician’s warehouse looks exactly like all the others. One of the abandoned ones at the very edge of the docks, with steadily rusting walls and chipping paint on the numbers hanging above the door. 03 in what used to be bright yellow, now revealing the rusting metal beneath it. There’s something about the place that sets Jason’s teeth on edge. Something that just makes him feel… off.
He grips his backpack strap tight enough for the knuckles on his left hand to turn white, and raises his right to knock on the door. Once. Twice. Thrice. His skin crawls. He hears crashing and cursing and stumbling and then finally footsteps. The creak of metal, and the door opens.
The magician is younger than Jason was expecting.
Jason was expecting someone older. At least… an actual adult, maybe? Like someone in their 20s. Maybe even their 30s. Jason balks, quietly staring up at the teenager standing over him. He has to be a teenager.
The golden hair and eyes weren’t an exaggeration. They don’t quite glow, but Jason understands how someone could think they do. No one ever mentioned how deep the bags underneath them are. No one ever mentioned how the golden hair has lost its sheen, hanging over his shoulders like stringy golden strands without any luster.
He’s dressed like… Jason doesn’t even know. His clothes are ratty and worn out. It’s the middle of April – starting to warm up. Hot enough that most of the street kids are worrying about how to keep themselves from overheating during the day as opposed to worrying about freezing to death in the middle of the night – but the magician is still wearing a worn-out hoodie that goes all the way to his wrists, jeans that go to his ankles, and a pair of gloves over his hands.
The street kids talk about the magician like he’s some kind of mystical figure. A powerful entity. Like a member of the Justice League, who decided to retire to an abandoned warehouse in the Tricorner Docks and spend his final days excitedly helping anyone who needs it in exchange for booze and a home cooked meal.
He just looks like… a guy.
A weird guy, for sure. But still. Just a guy.
He blinks at Jason. Staring down at him like he doesn’t know what to make of the kid in his doorway. His golden irises look Jason up and down. Jason feels so uncomfortably… seen . He could wiggle right out of his skin.
“Need something, kid?”
Jason jerks himself back to reality. The magician is still looking down at him. Jason holds tighter to the strap of his bag and swallows.
“Um,” Jason fidgets. “Are you… are you the magician?”
“Magician,” the guy repeats. His lips curl into a frown.
“The… the guy that fixes stuff,” Jason clarifies. Has the magician somehow… not heard that people are calling him the magician ? “That’s you, right?”
“Oh,” the magician blinks. “Yeah, that’s me. Why? Got somethin’ that needs fixing?” the magician tilts his head to the side. He looks Jason up and down again. “You didn’t bring me a car , did you, kid?”
“No,” Jason shakes his head. He swallows. Too late to back down now, right? He slings his backpack off his shoulders and sets it on the ground. He pulls the fox and its tail out from the biggest pocket, and cradles them carefully to his chest. “Um… this. Can you… can you fix this?”
The magician’s eyes widen, just a bit.
“I don’t–” Jason keeps going. His heart clenching with a desperate panic that he doesn’t fully understand. “I don’t have any food, or booze, or money, but–” he swallows. “I can– I can get them! Or I c-can pay you with… with s-something else , or–”
“Woah, woah, kid. Slow down,” the magician holds up a hand and Jason’s mouth snaps shut. “Take a breath for me, yeah?”
Jason takes a breath. The magician sighs through his nose.
“What’s your name?” the magician asks, crouching down slightly to get closer to Jason’s eye level.
“J-Jason…”
“Jason,” the magician repeats. “Y’know, you don’t need…” he hesitates. “...magic, to fix somethin’ like that, yeah? You could just sew it.”
“I don’t… know how to sew,” Jason answers, his fingers trembling slightly around the ratty fabric of the fox. “A-And I don’t have a sewing kit…”
“Hm,” the magician hums. He looks over Jason one more time, before making a silent decision. He holds the door open. “C’mon in,” he says, and gestures for Jason to come inside. Jason hesitates. The magician steps to the side, leaving the space for Jason to step past him. Jason’s hands shake. He swallows again. The magician is waiting. Jason holds the fox tighter against his chest.
He leans down, slings his backpack onto his shoulder again, and steps into the warehouse.
The inside of the warehouse is both messier and more organized than Jason was expecting.
On one side, there’s a mountain of scrap metal and tools. Jason could probably spend hours digging through it, trying to figure out everything that composes it. There’s a mostly empty metal desk, with a few small items scattered across the surface – metal knick-knacks and what looks like a pocket watch. Jason doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone with an actual pocket watch before – and a few larger pieces of metal. Unfinished projects? Cars that he has yet to clap back into shape? The magician heads right for the large pile and starts digging through the various tools and pieces of scrap.
The other side of the warehouse is a makeshift living room. Two relatively new-looking couches and an armchair. One of the couches has rumpled sheets, blankets, and a pillow haphazardly tossed over it. The other has a small pile of clothes on one end, and a collection of alcohol bottles everywhere from half-full to completely empty on the other.
“Mr. Magician..?” Jason asks.
“You know I’ve got an actual name, right?” the magician says.
“What’re you looking for?” Jason asks, inching a bit closer. The magician rolls his eyes and sticks his head back into the pile. Seemingly searching for something in particular. Finally, the magician seems to find what he’s looking for. He pulls it out of the pile with a bright grin and a victorious shout of aha!
“This!” he says, clamoring down and crossing the room again. He makes his way over to Jason and crouches down to Jason’s eye level. The magician isn’t that much taller than Jason, but he crouches anyway. “Mind if I take that for a minute?” he asks, looking at the fox. “I promise I’ll give it back once it’s fixed.”
Jason hesitates. The magician’s left hand is held out and waiting. Jason still hesitates, for another long moment, before he holds out the fox and its tail. The magician takes it with a respectful reverence that Jason wasn’t expecting, and gives Jason a small smile.
“Thanks,” the magician says, and crosses the room. He drops onto the bed-couch and pats the other end of it with his right hand. “C’mere, kid,” he directs. Jason hesitantly crosses the room. Eyes darting all over the place. Part of him expects someone to jump out of each and every dark little corner of the warehouse and snatch him up. His desperation had won out over his caution and he’s gotten this far, but…
“Relax,” the magician’s head lolls to the side. He carefully – almost reverently – sets the fox down beside him on the couch cushions as Jason takes a seat on the opposite end. About as far away from the magician that he can get. “I’m gonna stitch up your fox, and then you’re gonna go on your way, yeah?” he says, opening up the little case that he pulled out of the pile.
Upon closer inspection it’s… a sewing kit. A sewing kit? Jason blinks. He leans a little closer, to get a better look.
“You’re not gonna use magic?”
“First of all,” the magician holds up one hand – his left – with a finger pointed at the sky. “It’s not magic. It’s science ,” he insists. Jason resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Second of all,” he looks down at the sewing kit again, pulling out a needle and holding it between the fingers of his right hand. He uses his left to carefully thread the needle, and pull the thread into a knot.
“Why would I use magic ,” he says the word mockingly, “when I can sew it right up, and teach you how to do it yourself?” the magician tilts his head in focus. He holds the fox with the same careful, delicate reverence as he inserts the needle into the soft fabric, and carefully begins to stitch the tail back into place. “Watch what I’m doing,” the magician instructs, leaving no room for argument.
Jason nods his head slightly. He inches closer. Craning his neck to get a better look. The magician shifts his posture slightly to give Jason a better view of the stitching, as he pulls the thread taut and then repeats the process. Insert the needle, pull the thread taut, add another stitch.
Jason doesn’t have a watch or a phone on him to keep track of how long it takes, but it’s… a good amount of time. The magician isn’t as good at sewing as Mom was. His stitches are a little lopsided and he has to pull them out a couple times to reset them. But it’s a better job than Jason would have been able to do.
“All done,” the magician says, tying off the thread and putting the needle back into the sewing kit. He hands the fox to Jason with the same care, and clicks the kit shut.
Jason holds the ratty fox close to his chest. The stitching isn’t perfect, but it’s fixed. He rubs his fingers over the thread now holding the tail in place, and looks up at the magician. Golden irises almost do seem to glow in the low light, and his hair, while a rumpled mess, spills over his shoulders like a golden curtain.
“...thank you,” Jason says, shifting to hold his backpack in his lap. He carefully puts the fox back into the biggest pocket and zips it shut. The magician leans back against the couch, and holds out the sewing kit.
“Here,” he says. “Take this too.”
Jason blinks. Confused. The magician is just… giving him the sewing kit? He’s gonna want something in return for that. Jason doesn’t take it. He stares silently at the little box in the magician’s hand, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The magician is going to demand something in return. Jason didn’t bring the usual price, so he’s going to ask for something else.
“Kid,” the magician starts, the smile melting off his face. “It’s a sewing kit. I prolly got a million of ‘em. It’s worth like, 500 cenz,” (Cenz? 500?) “take the sewing kit. It’ll be good for more than just fixing your stuffed animal. Trust me.”
Jason still can’t bring himself to trust it. He narrows his eyes slightly. The magician sighs heavily.
“What’re you worried about?” the magician asks. “I’m not gonna ask for anything, if that’s what it is. Trust me, kid. You don’t have anything I want.”
“...you fix stuff in exchange for food and booze,” Jason says. The magician blinks, then his expression shifts to amusement.
“I fix stuff because I can,” the magician says with a smirk. “People started bringing me food and booze whenever I fixed stuff for ‘em, and who am I to turn it down?” He presses the sewing kit into Jason’s hands and lets go of it. “Take it, yeah? Hopefully you won’t have to drag yourself all the way down here next time the thing rips.”
Jason stares down at the sewing kit in his hands. His defenses are still up. Any moment, the other shoe will drop and the magician will demand something . He’ll get angry that Jason came to him with nothing. He just said– He fixes stuff because he can . Whatever that means. Seriously? You’d have to be an idiot, to do magic shit for free in Gotham of all fucking places. Shit. It’s really only a matter of time before one of those criminal overlords shows up and makes the magician disappear.
No way this guy is actually that naive, right?
“...thanks,” he says, after way too long of a pause. He tucks the sewing kit into the front pocket of his backpack. The other shoe still doesn’t drop. Jason stands up and slings his backpack onto his shoulders. The magician doesn’t say anything, as Jason practically sprints across the warehouse and back to the door. He grabs the door handle. He can hear shuffling and bottles clinking behind him, and he looks back.
The magician is sitting on the other couch now. Bottle in hand and arms splayed out over the back. His head tilted to one side. Hair spilling over his shoulders messily. Jason wonders if he interrupted something, when he showed up out of the blue.
He swallows, and grabs the door handle, before he looks back again.
“Um… Mr. Magician?”
“I’ve got a name, kid!” the magician calls, waving his bottle in the air before taking a long sip.
“Yeah, well, you didn’t tell me,” Jason rolls his eyes.
“‘S Edward,” the magician leans his head back. “My friends call me Ed.”
“Am I a friend ?” Jason asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. The magician – Edward. Ed? – laughs.
“If you wanna be,” he says, and waves Jason off. “See you around, Jason. Don’t be a stranger!”
Jason takes the dismissal for what it is, and promptly gets out.
Jason doesn’t have the time to spend thinking about that weirdo magician. Edward. Ed? He isn’t sure calling him Ed feels quite right, but Edward also feels too formal, and he definitely can’t keep calling him the magician . Jason didn’t even see him do any magic! He had that huge pile of tools. Maybe no one saw him do any magic, and the guy is just really good at fixing things.
Jason doesn’t have time to mull it over, really. Why would he bother spending his time thinking about some stupid washed-up magician drinking himself silly on the Tricorner Docks when there’s surviving to do? Money to scavenge? Tires to steal?
He tears his jacket on a piece of rebar while sprinting down an alley. Once he shakes the assholes chasing him and finds a place to hunker down for the night, he pulls out that little sewing kit. He stitches the hole closed with no less than four pricked fingers and seven picked stitches that he has to reset. For his first time, it doesn’t look half bad. The stitches are a little lopsided, but it’s good enough to keep the jacket together. Jason certainly isn’t picky about his appearance.
That stupid magician was right about the sewing kit. Jason can’t decide if he’s annoyed or grateful. He settles on both.
They go from Spring to Summer to Autumn to Winter. Jason turns 12 years old alone, tucked behind a dumpster, with a cupcake he pinched from the grocery store down the street. The weather dances up and down. Summer nights are sweltering, and the focus becomes keeping cool and finding clean water. Rumors circulate that the magician has clean water and is more than willing to trade for whatever booze you can give him. Jason rolls his eyes. He bets Edward would give that water away for free, if someone had only bothered to ask.
(Jason stops by once or twice. For the clean water. Edward always greets him with a grin and a hand ruffling his hair, calling Jason his favorite customer or something like that. Edward asks how the fox is holding up. Offers Jason a sip of his booze, once or twice. Brags about his favorite fixes. Jason listens to him with fake apathy. Pretending that the tale of the repaired 1985 El Camino doesn’t fascinate him.)
Autumn brings with it a chill in the air. Nights are getting colder and days are soon to follow. Gotham, in all its ugliness, can’t even bother to have pretty leaves falling through the air. Rumors about the magician continue to circulate. Fixing things with the clap of his hands and a flash of light. Jason resists the urge to scoff. Wait until you see him pull out a sewing kit .
(He stops by every now and then. His jacket needs fixing – more than what that one little sewing kit can fix – and he actually manages to bring an offering this time around. Edward grins that same goofy grin. The two of them sit on the floor, backs leaned up against the couch, as they wolf down the chili dogs that Jason got from a waiter who took pity on him at the end of a long shift.)
Winter. Freezing cold. Jason wraps himself in newspapers. Rumor has it that the magician will fix your radiator, if you can drag it down to his warehouse on the docks. Jason laughs bitterly. He doesn’t have a radiator to fix. If he did, would Edward pull out a fucking sewing kit for that one, too?
(Jason figures that Edward will have a radiator in his warehouse. He stops by once a week, just to enjoy the warmth for a little bit. He knows better than to overstay his welcome. He manages to get his hands on a couple bottles of booze – from… various sources that, for now, shall remain nameless – and trades it for another ruffle of his hair, a big goofy grin, and a few hours of warmth on Edward’s couch.
Edward offers to let him stay the night. It’s cold out there, he says. Don’t want you to freeze to death.
The idea makes Jason’s chest tight. He thanks Edward for letting him stay this long, and heads off on his merry way.)
Late December. Early January? Jason’s skin is itching and he could really use a fucking shower. Tire iron in hand, he slinks his way down the alleys in search of something worth pinching. Most of those rich Gotham assholes are smart enough not to park a car in the middle of Crime fucking Alley. Jason can’t blame them, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be annoyed about it. He just needs enough for a motel for one night.
He rounds the next corner. One more sweep, and he’ll give up for the night. He ducks his head down. Checks over his shoulders. Turns again, and finds–
The fucking Batmobile .
This is a prank. Surely this is a prank. There’s no fucking way Batman is stupid enough to leave his car in the middle of Crime Alley unattended. No way. Not a chance in hell. It’s a fake. Or a trap. Or something equally logical. No way the fucking Batman left this here for someone to just–
Well. No one would normally dare to pinch the Bat’s tires. Maybe the bastard was just banking on that. That no one would have the guts. Which… is probably a fair strategy. Most people wouldn’t have the guts. But Jason’s stomach is aching from hunger and his skin is itching and how much fucking money would he get from the Bat’s tires? How long could he feed himself for, if he got his hands on those?
Jason swallows. He spends probably far too long staring at the car. His mouth is practically watering, thinking about how much he could get for those tires. How long it could keep him warm and fed, and in the end–
He checks both ways, and starts on tire number one.
Jason wonders if his hands were meant for pinching over sewing. He has the first tire off before he finishes making the comparison. He checks both ways again, pockets the screws, and rolls the wheel two alleys over to hide behind one of his favorite dumpsters. He practically sprints back, and gets started on tire number two.
Two goes off without a hitch. Jason hides that one behind a different dumpster, two alleys over in the other direction. Tucks more bolts into the pockets of his jacket, and comes back for number three.
He’s halfway through number three – half the bolts on the ground beside him, as he starts on the next one – when he– He’s suddenly lifted . By the hood of his jacket, he’s lifted right up into the air. One fist still curled tightly around the tire iron, while the other frantically fumbles for something to grab onto. He lets out a shriek, as the hand turns him around and he’s face to face with–
The Bat.
Welp, he thinks. It was a pretty pathetic fucking life, huh?
“What do you think you’re doing?” The Bat asks in that low growl. Jason’s entire body goes rigid . His fingers go tighter around the tire iron. The Bat’s eyes are narrowed through the weird white lenses in that cowl. Jason can hear the blood rushing past his ears. Feel it pumping through his veins. He’s going to die. He’s going to die. He’s going to die.
(If he’s going to die,)
His body moves without asking for his brain’s permission.
(he’s not going down without a fight.)
There’s a loud clank of tire iron against cowl. The Bat lets out a stunned grunt, and Jason’s hood is released. He hits the ground running, and sprints right down the alley.
The Bat shouts after him. Fat fucking chance that Jason is stopping now. Adrenaline is pumping through his veins. He can hear heavy bootfalls behind him. Anywhere he goes, the Bat will find him. No one would fight the Bat to help a stupid kid like Jason. Ha. He’s running, but there’s nowhere to go. What’s the point? His torn up sneakers beat against the pavement. His knees ache. The adrenaline is high enough to keep him going, no matter how much it hurts.
He runs. He isn’t sure where his legs are taking him, but he’s decided that he can trust them for the time being. They carry him through the alleyways, darting around corners and taking every confusing turn that he can. Across the street – let the traffic dissuade the Bat from running after him – and slide under a truck parked in an alley. Cut through the fenced off parking lot, and end up at–
The Tricorner Docks.
Well. Now that he’s here–
Jason’s heart is racing. His head is on a swivel. The sound of bootfalls has gotten quieter but hasn’t disappeared and he can’t tell if The Bat is really right behind him or if he’s just mistaking the pounding of his heart for the sound of horror creeping up on him.
He weaves through the warehouses in much the same way. Jason doesn’t know the docks quite as well as he knows the alleyways of Park Row but surely he knows it better than The Bat does. He tries not to telegraph his destination. He has no idea if The Bat even knows about the magician living in one of the abandoned warehouses. But if he does–
Jason practically crashes against the side door of the abandoned warehouse with 03 above the door in flaking yellow paint and rusted metal. He curses under his breath and tries the handle, only to find it uselessly locked. He knocks on the door in a furious panic. The bootfalls are starting to sound more and more like reality and less and less like his mind playing a prank on him. He hears cursing and grumbling from the other side of the door, and then it’s open and–
“Jason?” Edward says, looking down at him with wide gold eyes. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail this time. He’s wearing the same ratty hoodie, gloves, and jeans. He looks around, before finding Jason again. He must look utterly panicked, because Edward doesn’t even ask what’s wrong before he says, “Come inside. Now.”
Jason ducks inside. Edward slams the door behind him and claps his hands. There’s a flash of light and the sound of metal and earth shifting and the door is sealed beyond sealed. As though the earth itself had come up to cover the door for them.
So that’s the magic everyone was talking about , Jason thinks dully. His lungs are heaving and he can barely hear over the racing of his heart. Edward dusts off his hands and turns around. Golden eyes wide and wild, as he looks down at him with alarm.
“What’s going on?” Edward asks. “Who’s after you?”
“The–” Jason swallows, struggling to catch his breath. “The Bat. He’s–”
There’s a loud thump on the outside of the door. Jason jumps out of his skin, and Edward whirls around like he’s on a mission. His back is turned to Jason, and he takes a step backwards, as though to put himself between Jason and the threat at the door. Jason almost wants to laugh. As though this skinny, short teenager could really stop The Bat from breaking Jason right in half.
“Sorry, Batsy!” Edward shouts. Jason can practically hear the smug grin on his face, and all he hears is what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck running through his head over and over. Is this guy insane? “Pretty sure you’re not gonna be able to punch your way through that!”
There’s more banging from outside the door. Jason’s heart won’t stop pounding, as he struggles to catch his breath. The banging stops, suddenly, and everything goes eerily silent. Edward’s expression drops into a frown. Jason’s chest is pounding, and something tells him to–
“Duck!” Edward shouts, and drops to his knees. Jason follows suit, hitting the deck with a lack of practice only present in a 12 year old who has no experience sheltering from a fucking bomb . His hands fly over his ears and shield his head. It must be some kind of miracle, that the whole warehouse doesn’t come down. Of course the Bat isn’t going to do that , another part of Jason’s mind supplies, he’s gonna wanna beat Jason into the floor personally.
“ Fuckin’ bastard ,” Edward grumbles from somewhere above him. Jason doesn’t lift his head yet. He feels a hand atop his hair. Gently and carefully prodding him. “Jason,” Edward’s voice is softer, the moment he says Jason’s name. “You with me, kid?”
Jason peeks up. Edward is… above him. Literally. Shielding him. Like he thought he could take the brunt of whatever the fuck just happened to make sure that Jason wouldn’t get hurt. That’s… odd. Weird. Strange? Jason nods his head. Edward breathes a small sigh of relief, before he turns his head to look behind him.
There’s a hole in the wall where the door used to be, and The Bat looming in the entrance he just made.
Jason cowers. Edward stands up.
The Bat steps forward. Jason scrambles backwards. Edward doesn’t move even a single step back. Seriously. Seriously!? Edward claps his hands together. The Bat surges forward. Jason squeezes his eyes shut. He hears what sounds like hands hitting the ground and there’s a flash of light and the sound of metal and earth and concrete shifting. Jason looks up to find–
The Bat. In a fucking concrete cage that looks like it came right out of the fucking ground . His hands are wrapped tightly around the bars, eyes wide behind the cowl, seemingly… alarmed, at the very least. Jason can’t imagine The Bat ever being scared .
Edward has his hands on his hips. His lips curled into an expression that borders on a snarl. Jason pushes himself up onto his hands and knees. There’s a new tear in his jeans. He climbs to his feet and dusts himself off.
“What the ever-loving
fuck
is wrong with you!?” Edward snaps, and a part of Jason wants to jump forward just to do… something. Something! You don’t talk to The Bat like that! “Blowing a fucking
hole
in a guy’s living room to what? Chase down a
kid
? Are you out of your goddamn fucking
mind!?
”
“I wasn’t chasing him down –”
“You scared the hell out of him!” Edward waves his left hand around wildly. “For what!? What? What possible excuse does a crazed weirdo in a stupid costume have for chasing a kid down like a rat, huh? Better be a damn good one,” Edward crosses his arms over his chest.
“He stole my tires,” The Bat growls. “I need to know where he hid them.”
Edward blinks. Freezes. He looks back, over his shoulder, down at Jason.
“You stole his tires?” Edward asks. Jason shrugs his shoulders and tries to look as innocent as he possibly can. There isn’t even a single moment where Edward buys the act. He sighs through his nose and rubs his left hand over his face.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “Still,” he looks up at The Bat again. “Did you really have to blow a hole in my fucking wall? There’s a million and one ways you could have handled this before explosions got involved, and now I’m gonna have to fix all this shit.”
“This is an abandoned warehouse,” The Bat says, as though that isn’t the most obvious statement in the entire world.
“This is my abandoned warehouse,” Edward snaps back. “I don’t have a lot of rules, but one of those rules is definitely don’t blow up my fucking wall . You’re the first one to break that rule, Mr. Batsy Bat or whatever the fuck your name is.”
“Batman,” Jason says, cupping a hand around his mouth as though he’s whispering. Though he doesn’t bother to actually whisper. He can see a slight twitch in the Bat’s eye, and fights to stifle the laugh.
“Batman,” Edward repeats, as though it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “Are you sure it’s Batman ?” he asks, looking down at Jason. He nods. Edward just looks more confused. “Seriously. Seriously? Batman ?”
“You haven’t heard of Batman?” Jason asks.
“I’ve heard of Batman,” Edward snaps back, seemingly getting more and more exasperated by the moment. “I just figured it was a nickname that other people gave him, y’know? Something dumb and on the nose like Scar or Flame or whatever. But seriously. He calls himself Batman? That’s insane,” Edward glares at The Bat again. “That might be more insane than blowing a hole in my wall to chase down a child.”
“I wasn’t–”
“Whatever you say, Batman ,” Edward practically spits the name and Jason has to stifle a laugh. “If you want your car fixed you could have just asked , you know? Didn’t have to blow. A hole. In my fucking wall. ”
“You’re a mechanic?” The Bat asks. Jason can tell that he’s raising an eyebrow through the cowl.
“He’s a magician,” Jason says. The Bat’s face twists again. Jason snickers, at the audible groan from Edward at the statement.
“I told you, I’m not a fucking– ”
“Magicians aren’t allowed in Gotham,” The Bat practically growls. As if Edward hasn’t already trapped him in a concrete cage that literally grew from the ground at the clap of his hands. What, did he think it was some trap that Edward meticulously programmed into the floor of an abandoned warehouse just in case The Bat came charging through his door?
Well… actually, that might not be too farfetched.
“Good thing I didn’t fucking ask!” Edward sounds increasingly frazzled. Like he’s one wrong statement away from blowing his lid. “Do you want your car fixed or not?”
The Bat’s eyes flick between Edward and Jason for a moment, before his eyes narrow slightly.
“Is he yours?” he asks Edward. “The boy.”
“I’m not anyone’s ,” Jason snarls, clenching his hands into fists at his sides.
“You heard him,” Edward rolls his eyes. “He’s not mine, no. What’s it matter to you, Bat-Brain?”
“He’s either homeless or abused,” The Bat said, and Jason wants to snarl what do you care? As though Batman would do jack fucking shit to help a kid like Jason. Especially after he came along and stole the tires right off the Batmobile. “I’d like to figure out which it is, so I know how to help. There are trustworthy shelters around here that–”
“Yeah,” Jason spits. “Great idea! Just gonna go ahead and get myself fuckin’ trafficked. No thank you.”
Edward’s eyes narrow, and he crosses his arms over his chest.
“You heard the kid,” Edward says in solidarity. “How about I fix up your car, you leave him alone, and we all forget that tonight ever happened? I won’t even charge you for the hole you blew in my wall.”
“I can’t just leave him on the streets,” The Bat’s eyes narrow. “If the shelters can’t be trusted…”
“Go get your car and think about what you’ve done,” Edward cuts him off. “I’ll let you out of the cage if you promise not to attack the kid. Deal?”
The Bat hesitates, before he nods his head. Edward claps his hands before pressing them to the floor, and the cage disappears in a flash of light and the sound of metal grinding against concrete. The cage slides back into the ground, and The Bat is left looking stunned by its sudden absence. Jason ducks a bit further behind Edward. Not because he’s scared. No . Just because he knows that Edward can put the cage back, if he wants to.
“Great,” Edward sets his hands on his hips. “Car. Fixing. Now.” He looks down at Jason. “Where did you hide the tires?”
Well… this could have ended up much worse. Probably. He glances to the side – to Edward’s great pile of scrap metal and tools – before looking up at him again.
“Are you gonna fix ‘em with a sewing kit?”
Batman looks utterly perplexed.
Edward bursts out laughing.
Edward – in some stubborn display that not even Jason fully understands – refuses to use magic to fix the damn car.
He swipes the tire iron right out of Jason’s hands and reiterates the “lesson” he tried to impose when Jason brought him the ripped fox. Why would I use “magic” , he punctuates the word with air quotes and a roll of his eyes, when I can do it with my hands? Jason doesn’t get it. If he could clap his hands and make all his problems disappear, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Edward seems rather stubborn about the ways his magic gets used.
The air is practically sparking with tension. Jason can’t stop fidgeting, while The Bat stands eerily still. Edward’s gloves slowly stain themselves with grease and oil. A smudge of black smears itself across his face as he wipes his brow of sweat. The Bat keeps glancing over at Jason. He resists the primal urge to bolt at top speed.
Edward finishes up with the tires. He stands up and turns around, his golden eyes narrowed into slits as he points the tire iron right at Jason’s chest.
“Now,” he starts. “What have we learned about stealing tires from crazy men in giant bat costumes?”
“Uh,” Jason blinks, and glances between Edward and Batman. “Don’t?”
“Good,” Edward nods. His eyes flick to Batman. “And what have we learned about chasing children and blowing up walls?”
The Bat says nothing. Just narrows his eyes further. Edward rolls his eyes and hands the tire iron off to Jason, before setting his hands on his hips.
“Silent treatment, very intimidating.” Edward mocks. “I’m heading home to fix my wall,” he glares up at Batman again before looking at Jason. “You coming, Jason?”
Jason’s eyes widen. He flicks his gaze between Edward and Batman. Searching for what he’s supposed to do. Batman’s eyes only narrow further. He looks down at Jason again.
“You don’t feel safe going to a shelter,” the Bat says. His voice sounds… softer. Weirdly enough. “I’ll… do what I can about rooting out the corruption and the unsafety, but…” He glances towards Edward again, and his eyes narrow behind the cowl. “How old are you, exactly?”
“None of your fuckin’ business,” Edward spits, crossing his arms over his chest and tapping his foot impatiently on the concrete. “What’s it to you?”
“You’re not old enough to drink,” Batman says. No shit. Does anyone in Park Row really give a shit about stuff like drinking age ? Edward rolls his eyes again. “Let alone take care of a child.”
“First of all,” Edward holds up one finger on his right hand. “You have no idea how old I am, so don’t make stupid assumptions. Second of all–”
“I’ll find somewhere safe for him,” Batman says, with the same determined tone of voice and… an odd touch of softness that Jason wasn’t expecting. “Even if it isn’t with a shelter… until I can be sure to root out all the problems , I’ll take him somewhere safe.” Batman’s eyes are focused on Edward. “I promise.”
Edward glances over at Jason before looking up at Batman again. He cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes.
“Yeah?” Edward raises an eyebrow. “Considering that he’s not my kid, I would ask why you’re even promising me, and not him.”
Batman switches targets. Jason wants to scream out what the fuck! Don’t sicc him on me! He looks down at Jason with those eyes, and seriously, it’s almost creepy to see Batman looking soft like that with a little smirk on his face and his hands open and relaxed, instead of curled into tight fists.
“Come with me,” Batman says, in some weird combination of stern and soft. “Until the shelters are safe, I’ll find someone to take good care of you.”
Jason’s skin itches. He doesn’t have much of a choice, does he? Batman knows where Edward lives now, and he’ll probably just camp out there until Jason dares to pay another visit. That is if he doesn’t chase him down and grab him by the scruff of the neck for daring to even attempt escaping for a second time.
He glances over at Edward, who has his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. Once he notices Jason looking at him, however, his expression softens, and he grins from ear to ear.
“Come visit me,” he says, setting his hands on his hips. “I’ll keep the place warm for ya, and I’ll have a sewing kit ready,” he says. “Got it?”
Jason swallows, hard. He nods his head. Edward glances up at Batman with a touch of animosity flickering behind those golden irises. Jason has never seen it before. Edward’s… scary side. Scary side . Because Jason has never thought to be scared of Edward. Not really. He was a little scared the first time around, because he didn’t know what to expect, but the magician living on the Tricorner Docks had quickly revealed himself to be a goofy guy with a good heart and a soft spot for Jason that he had never quite understood, but noticed anyway.
Edward, glaring up at Batman right now, looks scary in a way that sets Jason’s teeth on edge.
“If that kid doesn’t come visit me, alive and well , I will find you and I will fuck you up. Understand, Batbrain?”
Jason snorts. Batman looks absolutely affronted, but quickly recovers.
“I understand,” he nods. “I’ll make sure his guardian knows.”
“Great,” Edward nods. He reaches over and ruffles Jason’s hair. “Good luck, kiddo. You know where to find me.”