Archive of Our Own

Bernard wanders through the streets of Gotham, lost, but walking with purpose. 

His mom always told him that even if he wasn't sure where he was headed that he should walk with a purpose. That people were less likely to stop someone if they looked like they had somewhere to be. 

He wasn't sure how well that sentiment would work now that it was evening, and he was well and truly lost. 

Didn't recognize any of the street signs, and had yet to find a place that looked safe to go ask for a phone. 

He wondered if his mom was looking for him, only for a moment, before shaking his head quickly. 

Of course she was looking for him. 

That’s what moms were supposed to do. 

His dad…

His dad was probably helping. Probably. 

Bernard looks to the sky, at twilight that seeps into the sky. There aren’t many clouds, and it’s warm, at least. 

He’s too busy looking at the sky to notice the curb, and he trips, barely managing to catch himself against the pavement with his hands. 

Bernard lets himself take a second to collect himself, before picking himself up, hands and knees stinging from the pavement. 

There’s blood on his knees, and he blinks back tears and the urge to cry for his mom, who wasn’t there. 

As was the whole issue in the first place. 

The sky is darkening faster than he thought possible, and the thought of wandering Gotham alone in the dark is a whole lot worse than wandering in the daylight. 

He spots a bus stop ahead, a bench with a small cover next to it. 

There’s a streetlight right near it, so it’s relatively well lit and--well. He was tired. 

He makes his way to it, crawling up to curl up in the corner, pulling his bloody knees up to his chest. 

And then it settles in. 

That he’s alone, and might have to actually spend the night out here, and that he wasn't sure if anyone was actually out looking for him. 

And then he starts to cry. 

Great heaving sobs slip out, and he curls up impossibly tighter, hoping that will make it stop. He wipes at his face, pulling his shirt up to wipe at his running nose, snuffling and breathing heavily through his mouth as he cries. 

#

Jason barely hears the crying as he’s swinging by, and drops, clicking his grapple’s quick release line. 

He lands in an alley, clicking his comm. 

“I heard crying, I’m going to check it out.”

Batman’s grumbled response sounds a second later, and Jason steps to the entry of the alley, peeking out, a batarang at the ready. Just in case. 

There, at the bus stop, a child sits--the source of the crying. 

Jason glances around, sees no one else, and slips the batarang back into his belt, scuffing his foot along the sidewalk so the kid knows he’s there. 

A tear stained face jerks up to look at him, big watery green eyes widening in recognition. 

“You’re Robin!” he says, voice thick, little hands quickly wiping at his face. 

“I’m Robin,” Jason agrees, and as he moves closer he can see the scraped up knees and hands, dried blood crusted to the skin. “Are you alone?”

“I lost my mom,” he says, and then more tears well up. He sniffs, wiping his nose on his arm, taking a long shuddery breath. “I was trying to find her.”

“No luck, eh? I’ll help you find her, don’t worry,” Jason says, crouching down in front of the boy. “What’s your name?” he asks, digging in his belt for antiseptic wipes and bandaids. 

“Bernard,” the boy says. 

“Alright, Bernard. You got a last name? What’s your mom’s name?”

“Dowd. My mom’s name is Eleanor, but I’m not supposed to call her that.”

Jason hums, placing the bandaids on the bench beside Bernard, holding up the wipe. “I’m going to clean your knees and hands up, is that alright?”

Bernard hesitates only a second before nodding, whimpering quietly as Jason works to clean the blood from his scraped knees. 

Rust shifts and gives way to fresh cherry red blood along a particularly nasty scrape, but the dirt and grime is at least gone now. 

Jason grabs the bandaid box, and Bernard perks up, eyes tracking the box. “Are those…the colored ones?”

He only blinks, glancing at the box. “Yeah.”

“Can I have…can I have a green one?”

“...sure.” 

“They work the best,” Bernard declares boldly, sniffing. 

“Of course they do,” Jason says, agreeing mindlessly. “They’re green.”

It doesn’t take much to dig a green one out, and Jason gives a last wipe at his knee before opening the bandaid and smoothing it across the scrape. 

“Hands?”

Bernard offers his hands out, the palms sporting a couple of scratches, but mostly just red. 

Jason wipes them down quickly, then puts the used wipes and bandaid wrapper into the biohazard pouch, snapping it shut. “Alright, Bernard. Let’s go find your mom. You know your home address?”

Bernard nods, and rattles it off, Jason cringing internally a little. 

“You’re a bit off track, aren’t you?”

Fresh tears well up, and Jason grimaces. That had not been the goal.

“I tried to do what my mama said. So that I wouldn't get hurt.”

“That’s alright, I’ll take you to her.”

Quickly, ideally. Which wouldn’t happen with a kid who’s possibly been wandering around for hours. 

“Do you want a piggyback ride?” Jason asks, standing. “It might be faster than us both walking.”

Bernard stares up at him, silent for a moment. “I don’t want to do the swingy stuff.”

Jason can’t help his laugh, Bernard’s expression morphing to something a little embarrassed.

“What?” he asks. 

“Don’t worry,” Jason says. “I promise no swingy stuff. Just some old-fashioned walking.”

Bernard is quiet a second more, before nodding. “Okay.”

Jason turns and crouches, holding his arms out behind him, bracing for the weight. 

He can hear the slide of fabric against the metal of the bench, and then there’s hands grabbing his shoulders. A little jump and the kid lands on him, arms wrapping around his throat in a pretty good imitation of a chokehold.

Jason’s arms catch around Bernard’s legs, which wrap around him tightly, clinging like he was going to fall if he loosened his hold at all. 

“Loosen up on my neck, kid,” Jason manages. “I won’t do you much good passed out.”

The arms loosen almost immediately a soft ‘sorry’ whispered by his ear. 

Jason glances at the nearest street sign to orient himself, and then starts walking. 

Luckily Bernard’s not terribly heavy, but the walk isn't exactly short, and a part of him wishes he could do ‘the swingy stuff’ just to get them there faster. 

“So,” Jason starts, “why exactly are you over here ?”

Bernard sniffles, pressing his face against Jason’s neck, Bernard’s skin warm from where it touches Jason’s own. “We were just doing trips. My mom likes to go do the shopping herself because she doesn't trust other people to pick up food. And I came with her and then she wanted to stop in this one store and then I couldn't find her.”

Jason bites back the worry that maybe his mom was the one he should’ve been more concerned about. 

“Why didn't you ask the people in the store for help?”

“I wanted to try to find her myself,” Bernard mumbles, “So I checked the other stores.”

“Hell, kid. Didn’t your parents ever teach you to just stay put? She woulda found you eventually.”

Bernard’s hands twist in his cape. “I was scared,” he whispers, like it's a secret. “I’m a big kid, I was just--I shouldn’t’ve been scared.”

Jason hums, tilting his head slightly. “It’s okay to be scared.”

“But you’re just saying that!” Bernard protests, head raising. “You’re Robin--you’re never scared.”

Jason rolls his eyes beneath the mask, hefting Bernard up a little higher. “Yeah? Who told you that?”

“Well, I--” Bernard sputters, “It’s just, that’s how you are !”

“Everyone gets scared. Even me. I’ll tell you what’s pretty scary--is finding some kid sitting on a park bench at night. All alone, in Gotham .”

“I didn't mean to.”

“I know you didn't. That’s how it works,” Jason says, kicking a rock. It skitters along the concrete, bouncing off a man’s shoe who glares at him, chattering away into his phone. “Sometimes you scare people without meaning to.”

Bernard sniffs loudly, resting his head against his shoulder again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jason says. 

There’s a lull, the only noise the city around them. 

Cars honking and sirens in the distance, the everpresent hum of life that permeated Gotham. 

“Does Batman get scared?”

Jason doesn't stumble. 

He just…trips a bit. On the sidewalk. 

“What?”

“Does Batman get scared?” Bernard repeats, his head shifting and hair brushing against Jason’s exposed neck. “You said everyone gets scared.”

“I mean, probably,” Jason says. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Bernard says, settling down again. “You know,” he says suddenly. “Your cape is like Winnie the Pooh.”

Jason raises an eyebrow, and keeps walking. 

“You’re a little like him,” Bernard says. “Only a bit different.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m myself. You like those stories?

“Yes. My mom reads them to me sometimes when I have a bad dream. I think Nightwing is like Tigger.”

Jason snorts, mentally making a note to tell Dick later. Wonders how it’d go--’Hey Dick! This kid I helped out the other night said I reminded him of Winnie the Pooh, and that you’re like Tigger. You know, the tiger that goes bouncing around and yells nonsense ninety percent of the time.’

“What about Batman?” Jason finds himself asking. 

“...well I think Batman’s kinda scary sometimes,” Bernard says. “I don't know if any of them fit.”

He can’t help his bark of laughter, though he guesses his perception of Batman would be wildly different than some ten-year-old kid’s. 

“If I’m like Winnie the Pooh, Batman’s like Eeyore,” Jason says. 

“ Really ?” Bernard asks, voice hushed. 

Jason nods, “ Yeah . The other day he got sad because his best friend didn’t pick up the phone. He moped for like, an hour .”

“Are you supposed to be telling me this?” Bernard asks, sounding doubtful. 

“Well, he won’t know, will he?”

Bernard giggles, a high, slightly nervous sound. “I guess not.”

“Then, there you go,” Jason says, as if that was that. 

They pass by a corner-store that’s still open, the cashier looking bored behind the counter. The fluorescent lights flicker and bleed out onto the street, illuminating the cracks in the sidewalk. 

The light fades as they keep walking, the streetlights remerging as the primary light source. 

“So, Bernard--”

“You know Nightwing right?”

Jason fumbles, frowning. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“He’s my favorite.”

“Wh--” Jason huffs, adjusting him on his back again. “What about me ?”

“Well I like you too! But Nightwing’s blue ! And that’s my favorite color. And he can do flips!”

“ I can do flips.”

Bernard hums. “Well, he can do cooler flips.”

Jason can’t really argue with that. 

“But don’t worry Robin, I like all of you! Batman is cool too--but he’s been around a long time so I think he’s already a lot of other people’s favorites. And you have a lot of people that like you too! But Nightwing is cool he…he was the first one, you know? And he made it so you would be here, so like, he’s special.”

Great. Another person waxing on about Dick’s perfection. 

“But you’re cool too,” Bernard continues. “You carry green bandaids. I bet he only carries the blue ones, and those don't do the best job. And I bet Batman carries the plain ones.”

Jason doesn't comment that Dick doesn't carry any bandaids anymore. 

“And,” Bernard says, voice suddenly quiet. “ You helped me. So maybe you and Nightwing can both be my favorite.”

Jason pointedly ignores the bloom of warmth in his chest. It didn't matter if he was someone’s favorite. That’s not why he did this. 

Bernard’s starting to slip again. 

“Am I too heavy? I can walk.” He says. 

“You’re fine, kid. Geez. I think we’re almost there.”

Bernard’s head lifts. “Maybe. I think I know some of this.”

“Alright. Just hold on, we’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” Bernard says, arms shifting a little as he relaxes once more. 

#

When they finally reach his house, Bernard has dozed off, face mushed against the back of Jason’s neck. 

Soft snores issue from him, hands still knotted in Jason’s cape. 

Jason bounces him slightly, twisting his neck to try to talk to the boy better. “Hey. Bernard, you gotta wake up, kid. We’re here.”

Bernard mumbles, the soft ghost of eyelashes blinking tickling Jason’s skin. “Wha…?”

“We’re at your house. Your mom?”

The grip on Jason’s cape tightens, and then Bernard’s squirming, hands dropping his cape and Jason lets him slip to the ground, watching as he only stumbles a step on the sidewalk. 

“We’re back!”

Jason nods, and Bernard stares up at the house in front of them, blinking the remaining sleep from his eyes. 

He grabs Bernard’s hand and tugs him up to the front stoop, raising his fist to knock. 

“Wait!”

Jason pauses, glancing down to Bernard. 

“Thank you,” he says solemnly, hand slipping from Jason’s. “For helping me.”

“That’s my job, kid,” Jason says, a smile tugging at his mouth. “I’d make a pretty crappy Robin if I just left you there.”

Bernard’s face crumples slightly, and Jason only has a moment to wonder how he’s going to find the energy to deal with another round of the waterworks before Bernard lunges at him, hugging him tightly. 

Bernard’s not really tall enough, and it ends with his face shoved against Jason’s stomach, arms wrapped tightly around his legs. 

Jason lets a breath out, a gloved hand moving to pat Bernard’s head, before slowly detaching him. 

Crouches down so he’s more level with him, and offers a signature Robin smile, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“I gotta go, Bernard.”

“Thank you,” Bernard says again, eyes earnest and wide. 

“Like I said, just part of the job.”

Jason stands, and grabs his grapple gun from his belt, holding it in one hand, ready. 

He knocks at the door loudly, before ruffling Bernard’s hair, and shoots a grapple to the next house over, swinging up to hide in the shadows as he watches the door swing open, a pretty blonde lady emerging. 

She lets out a choked-off sob, kneeling and pulling Bernard into a hug. 

Jason can just barely hear Bernard’s sobbing cry for his mother as he hugs her back, watching as she smooths a hand over his hair, clutching him as if she held tight enough he’d never disappear again. 

A lump rises in Jason’s throat, and he swallows roughly, turning from the scene, and clicking his comm. “I’m headed back, B.”

“All handled?”

“All handled,” Jason agrees, shadows shifting around him as he grapples from the roof.