There are few things about Jason’s new life that he hates without hesitation or remorse. Even fewer that he despises so thoroughly that he can’t find a single good thing to say about. Galas are at the very top of that list.
He hates wearing the suit that scratches and irritates.
He hates standing there, trying and failing to anticipate and play to the careful dance of social pleasantries and hierarchies that a person is raised in, not taught. His mom’s carefully taught manners get him nothing and Alfred’s instructions on etiquette get him pitying sneers. Gotham high society is built to keep the new money and the street children adopted by old money firmly in their place and Jason will never be worthy.
He can’t even find some semblance of joy in the food, even the most expensive caterer can't measure up to Alfred.
Even if they could, Alfred doesn’t sneer at him while handing out hor d'oeuvres.
He hates the whispers that follow him with every step, the giggles and cruel smirks that taunt him. He hates more than anything how much it hurts that they won’t just call him names to his face. It’s easier that way, at least Willis Todd didn’t speak in stupid hidden meanings and passive aggressive compliments.
He wishes he could ask Dick how he handled it, for all the golden boy is just that, Jason pays enough attention to know they didn’t like the circus boy much either. Well, most of the older ones didn’t like him. Some of the younger ones seem disgustingly charmed and a couple of the old women keep asking after his health.
He hates how long they go, talking and gossiping and complimenting each other on their charity work, as if isn't obvious to everyone that it’s only for looks and a nice tax break.
At least Bruce gets it, at least he gets it enough that Jason only has to go to a very select number of galas. He attends the important ones hosted at the manor but not the unimportant ones or most of the important ones hosted elsewhere.
Apparently, much to Jason’s disgust, even hating him isn’t enough to get Gotham’s elite to let him hide away in his room. They love a good rumor, and a newly adopted Wayne kid failing to make the expected public appearances? Well, that certainly is cause for concern isn’t it?
As if, Jason’s safer here than he's ever been elsewhere. He’s healthy and safe and whole, aside from the occasional crime fighting injury, but those really don’t count in his opinion.
Oh, and another thing Jason hates about galas? The staring.
It gets on his nerves like nothing else, as if he’s oblivious to the eyes that follow his every move. Every movement and motion being judged and found wanting.
He can feel the eyes now, watching him, although from a lower angle than usual. They’ve been following his every move for at least five minutes.
He glances at someone’s overly expensive watch.
Less than an hour to go and he’s met Bruce’s social requirements.
His shoes bite into his heels and pinch his toes.
The catering manager catches his eye and gives him a warning look from across the hall but even he doesn’t stare at Jason for five goddamn minutes straight!
You know what?
Jason is done, he’s going to find whatever asshole thinks it’s okay to stare at kids and gawk and he’s going to-
Well, he’ll come up with something.
He stalks over to the corner, ready for anything and…
There’s a tiny little kid with big blue eyes sitting perfectly straight on one of the horribly ornate and uncomfortable benches they only drag out of storage for these things staring at him and... is that… awe?
What the fuck.
His feet don’t even touch the ground.
“What the f-… hell.”
Nailed it.
The ears of the innocent have been saved again.
“Hello.” The tiny little baby sits even straighter and hops, hops! Off the bench and holds out his hand to shake. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Timothy Drake but you can call me Tim.”
“Jason Todd.” He shakes the hand blankly.
“I know who you are Jason.” The kid is staring now, excited? Jason thinks that look is excited.
“Alright… What’re you doing over here Timothy?” He starts slowly.
His face twists into an admittedly cute little scowl before regaining its practiced cheer. “Call me Tim! Mrs. Dickerson almost tripped over me so Dad said I should find somewhere to sit and behave myself.”
His eyes grow wide and cute and-
No, Jason, just because the kid is adorable doesn’t mean he’s any different than all the other rich brats.
“Why were you watching me?” He frowns.
“Um, well, uh, that is-,” Tim stumbles. “I think you’re really cool.” He rushes out.
“You. Timothy Drake.”
“Um, just Tim please.”
“Think that I'm cool?”
That makes no sense.
Robin is cool. Robin fights bad guys under the cover of darkness and laughs in the face of danger.
Jason Todd is a charity case clearly chosen as part of some horrible curse placed upon Gotham High Society by an ancient and wrathful god.
Oh.
Jason’s frown turns into a scowl. The little rich kid probably thinks living on the streets is some sort of game, some exciting adventure away from his protective and loving parents who don’t want him staying up all night playing video games and eating nothing but sugar. He probably read the boxcar children or something.
Tim’s expression is starting to get a little distressed.
“Um, I’m sorry, I-, um, I can just-, I’ll leave.”
Jason blows out a long sigh. Even if this naive, stupid little rich kid thinks he’s cool for living on the streets, Jason doesn’t want him to cry.
“It’s fine, why do you think I’m cool?”
That gets him panic.
“Um, you just-, you seem cool?” He thinks about it for a moment more before perking up. “My dad said you seem very independent. I wanna be independent too!”
That is an obvious lie if Jason has ever heard one but he’s certainly not going to force this little kid to recount whatever it is his dad did say.
“Huh, I dunno kid, independence isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be.”
Jason has to hold back an amused snort at how genuinely offended Tim looks at that and changes the subject.
“So, you almost killed an old lady with your tiny little legs and decided staring at me, a dangerous hooligan, was a great way to continue your night.”
“You’re not a dangerous hooligan Jason!” He somehow looks even more offended at that than the implication he’s short. “You’re-, you’re cool…” He finishes lamely.
“Right, I’m cool.”
The conversation lulls for a moment as Jason scrambles for something to say, his eye catches the glowering catering manager from hell again and an idea sparks.
“You know…” He tries for an enticing tone. “I know where they’re keeping the fancy desserts if you want one.”
“But dessert isn’t for-”
“Another hour and a half at least, believe me, I know.” Jason rolls his eyes. “Fortunately…” He wiggles his eyebrows. “I happen to have the advantage of intimate knowledge of enemy territory.”
Tim nods, hanging on every word.
“But,” he looks around and Jason leans down to hear him whisper. “Won’t we get in trouble?”
“Are you doubting my skills?” Jason raises an eyebrow.
“No! No, of course not it's just…”
“Not to worry Timmy, I shall bravely take the fall for the both of us. Provided we get caught of course, which we won't.”
Sneaking out of the gala is easy, Tim, once convinced, is a surprisingly determined little accomplice and comes up with and drills Jason on excuses for both of their absences, one for if they’re caught wandering around the manor and one for if anyone notices they’re missing.
He seems remarkably confident his parents won’t notice his absence and is strangely much more concerned about Jason’s guardian catching them.
“Eh, we’ve got a deal. So long as I don’t cause a massive scandal he doesn’t much care if I sneak off for a bit.”
“Are you sure?”
“‘Course I am.”
Tim gives a nervous little nod and they creep down the hallways together. There’s no way any of the staff or guests will come down this way, the staff take a more direct path from the event's kitchen to the gala. Jason loops them around a winding path that would probably get someone unfamiliar with the place lost and wandering private parts of the manor.
Still, sneaking around is kind of fun when you have a partner so determined to be good at it.
And Tim certainly is good at being quiet, maybe even worryingly good at it.
His forehead scrunches with concentration as he creeps along hallways and peaks around corners.
Jason doesn’t say anything.
They arrive outside the kitchen without incident, just as Jason expected. He made sure their path led them straight to a side door so there’s really no worry of getting caught.
The employees use the back door for smoke breaks and the main door for work, he doesn’t even know why they have this side door.
Ultimately, it doesn’t matter.
He turns to Tim with a grin and puts a finger to his lips.
He’s never had someone to do mischief with before, he thinks he's starting to warm up to the idea.
Tim nods very seriously and joins him in creaking open the door.
In a stroke of unprecedented good luck there’s a massive number of small puffed pastries in the corner right next to the side door, unloaded trays ready and waiting next to them.
Jason hopes they’re chocolate.
There are servers ducking in and out near constantly for more trays of hor d'oeuvres or a break and chefs speedily working on the warm appetizers.
Jason waits, eyes darting around.
No one is looking at the desserts.
He snatches four of them in the blink of an eye and eases the door shut before anyone even glances up, pulling Tim away from the door at the same time.
“Here you are.” He presents the kid half of his spoils with a small flourish.
“Thank you.” The kid giggles at his dramatics and settles down on one of the comfier benches that line the wide hallways away from the door.
Jason plops down next to him with a satisfied sigh and takes a bite out of his pastry. It is unfairly good, how dare this stupid catering company be so good at pastries.
They sit in silence for a few moments, savoring the smooth chocolate.
Jason finishes his last bite and leans back, glancing over at Tim out of the corner of his eye. The kid looks… almost disappointed.
“What’s up?”
Tim startles and turns wide eyes over to meet his own, half a pastry still clutched in both hands.
“You look kind of bummed out, is something wrong?” Jason asks.
“Um, no, nothings wrong.” Tim answers quietly, staring at the ground and avoiding eye contact like it burns.
Liar.
“Do you not like chocolate?”
“No, it’s not that, it’s just-.” He sighs. “I didn't think it’d be so easy.”
“And that’s a bad thing because…” Jason prompts.
Tim mumbles something completely inaudible.
“What was that?”
“I thought it might be cool to see a flip or something…” He reluctantly speaks up.
“I’m not Dick.”
“I know.” The little brat nods.
“Why would I know how to do a flip?”
That throws Tim for a loop.
“Because, well, um, you’re brothers?” He tries hesitantly.
“We are not brothers.” Jason couldn’t care less about his asshole predecessor right now.
“Oh.” Tim looks… almost disappointed.
Well, of course he’d be disappointed. Little kids love flips, Jason loves flips.
Jason glances down the hall and stands. There’s probably enough space. He takes a deep breath and stretches carefully. Tim watches with wide, excited eyes. He takes a running start, carefully performing the simplest flip he knows. It’s nothing impressive enough to be suspicious, a single rotation and devoid of the flashiness that comes with his nighttime activities.
Tim looks appropriately impressed, barely refraining from clapping before remembering exactly why he shouldn’t and glancing nervously to the kitchen door.
“Cool!” He breathes.
“Um, thanks.” Jason awkwardly responds. Criminals never compliment his flips, usually too busy cursing his very existence and groaning in pain to properly admire his skills. “So… ready to head back?”
Tim nods, quietly shuffling over to walk next to him.
Jason sneaks them back in through a side door and Bruce catches his eye from across the room, he raises an eyebrow just slightly but doesn’t pause from nodding and humming agreeably with whatever the guy in front of him is rambling about.
Jason grins.
Bruce doesn’t react beyond a small twitch of his lips, almost a smile but not quite. He turns back to his conversation partner, apparently satisfied that Jason isn’t hard at work burning the manor down.
“So… Tim, what do you like to do?”
Tim startles, almost like he’s surprised Jason hasn’t left him alone already.
“Um, I like photography.”
“Oh yeah? What kind?”
“You know, like, anything.” He shrugs and continues, “I like birds.” Tim smiles at him, there’s something Jason can’t quite name in it.
“Birds are cool.” Jason agrees amicably.
“Yeah, they really are.” Tim’s expression softens into something almost wistful. “Thanks, Jason.”
Something tells him it isn’t only for the pastries.
“Don’t mention it.”