The Winchesters' New Protege

Home, Sweet Home.

Morning arrives much sooner than Jason would have liked. He wakes up at ten, after a grand total of six hours of sleep. It's the most he's had since he arrived in Gotham, but it still isn't enough after the night that he's had.

Deciding that there's little point in just lying there in the darkness, he gets up.

He looks down at his clothes and gags. They're covered in dried blood – some his own, most... not. Then he notices the neat pile by the door, with a small note placed on top.

Master Jason,

I assumed that you would prefer the luxury of clean clothing and thus, I took the liberty of acquiring them for you. Lunch will be served at noon in the dining room. Master Bruce, Master Tim, Master Damian, Master Dick and Miss Barbara will all be in attendance. Until that time, you may go about whatever other business you have.

Alfred.

Jason grins. "Oh, Alfie, you saint."

He picks up the clothes and examines them – a black button up shirt and slacks. Jason wouldn't be surprised if Bruce's entire wardrobe consists of formal wear.

Still, right now, Jason isn't in much of a position to refuse clean clothes. He stinks of god-knows-what... death, probably. So, reluctantly, he strips down and pulls on the clothes.

He looks around his room again. God, it really is how he left it.

He takes the time to examine everything, pacing across the floor with his bare feet dragging on the carpet. He ran his hand along his desk, feeling the smooth wood and taking off a strip of dust.

He remembers the hours that he spent there, desperately trying to keep up with the rest of the kids in his year. They all had a massive head start, but Jason wouldn't accept anything short of perfect. He refused to be known as the 'dumb street rat that got lucky,' so he gave those brats another reason to hate him. He was top of his class in everything and he'd rather die than be anything less. There were even times when he skipped patrols to finish class assignments or to study. Jason never told them explicitly but he had the feeling that Alfred and Bruce knew.

He drops into his armchair and is rewarded by the sound of the leather cracking beneath him. He picks the book up from the table and turns it in his hands. A thick film of dust had formed over it and he blows it off. 'Sense and Sensibility.' He never did get to finish that book. Perhaps he will, at some point, anyways.

He looks up at his bookshelf and a slight smile spreads across his face when he remembers the first time that he saw it. Bruce spent the entire day building it and refused to let Jason into his room.

So, naturally, Jason spent that time, sulking in the kitchen with Alfred, who merely told him that good things come to those who wait. Jason deeply resented the wry smile on the butler's face every time that he said that.

It wasn't until Jason actually laid eyes on it that he actually understood what Alfred had meant. He didn't really understand what it was, but damn, if it wasn't impressive. Bruce chuckled and tussled his hair when Jason quite bluntly what the hell it was, but then it struck him.

It was a bookshelf.

Jason may or may not have shed a few tears (but eleven-year-old Jason was far too prideful to ever admit that). Things were simpler back then.