Author's Note:  This work has taken its influences from both the Synder!verse and Nolan!verse and sorta morphed them together, although Batfleck is who Bruce is in this fic. Lil'Jason is Eurasian here as well, because hey, it was totally a possibility that Shiva might have been his mum, right? I'm rolling with that.

Also, the League of Assassin's had nothing to do with Scarecrow's run and did not burn down Wayne Manor in this story.

[ ... ]

Jason was eight when he met Gotham's most famous urban legend for the first time.

Though it turned out that the bat wasn't an urban legend, after all, making the boy suppose that his dad really wasn't lying when he came home drunk that one night from a henching job with a deep open cut in his arm, bumbling about how the bat himself had done it.

The narrowed blank white lenses of his cowl somewhat unnerved the child, though his outward bravado didn't crack just yet as his faintly freckled nose scrunched up in a defiant glare back as the vigilante gave the boy he held up by his arm a genuinely amused look, not that it could be registered from behind the dark cowl to the child.

The almost-tank of a batmobile he drove was not something one genuinely expected to see being stripped for parts, which made him use every ounce of his League training not to startle upon seeing a small head of dark curls poking up with wide eyes from the opposite side of the tank where the sounds of tinkering were heard only a second ago which halted upon hearing the intentional crunch of gravel made by Batman's arrival.

It was said that Crime Alley, or what was previously known as Park Row, had once been a surprisingly nice neighbourhood to live in, although its reputation had long been tarnished permanently when it became known as something of a historical landmark due to the murder of Gotham's most prominent family, and became home to the more impoverished and low families of Gotham.

The boy struggled a bit before Batman placed him down, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards ever-so imperceptibly before being whacked in the abdomen by the cold metal of the tire iron.

It barely felt like a tap due to both the body armour and the boy's weak, malnourished arm strength, although it did surprise him enough for the boy to run off with a 'try and catch me, ya' big boob!' before fleeing down another darkened alleyway.

The vigilante blinked once quickly before being unable to hold back the laugh he was containing, despite the scene having also been the exact same location and date for his very own parent's murder nearly a quarter century ago.

And that was how Bruce met his son for the second time.

[ ... ]

[Three Months Ago]

The courts had been full for Dr. Jonathan Crane's trail, who had been theatrically dubbed as the 'scarecrow' by Vicki Vale who seemed to have gained a penchant for giving things nicknames with more flair to them for the sake of a sensational.

He had been shuffled off to a secure wing of Arkham and the more quiet trials of his henchmen were proceeding without the media circus of their boss's court case.

However, despite the quiet emptiness of the courthouse as the different two-bit criminals and henchmen were passing in and then out of in handcuffs, a single young boy sat at the very back of the courtroom behind the bar in the gallery while a single man addressed as 'Willis Todd,' annoys the already visibly ticked Judge by bickering with him pettily.

Since this is Gotham, the gallery was separated with bulletproof glass for good reason and from behind which the boy yawned uncaringly, wondering why he even bothered to watch his old man be hauled off anyway.

He barely knew Willis to begin with as he was more absent than not, though this was a glad thing, considering he would really only stop by at random, most often already drunk and in a rage. His mother was really the only person he cared what happened to, although she had passed just two years prior, needle still sticking in the small Asian woman's arm.

He figured he'd have to go back to living on the streets to escape social services who'd find him in their old, mouldy apartment before he even got the boot by the landlady.

He waits a few minutes after one of the guards hauls the swearing man away before Jason himself stands and leaves the room to sit at one of the benches just outside the courthouse building to play with a cat he saw on his way in that afternoon, even though his fingers twitched for a smoke simultaneously with the small hungered pinch of his stomach.

A shadow falls over him, making him look up to see a towering figure of a man, both in height and build but who nodded kindly as he sat down next to him on the bench, making Jason raise an eyebrow as if pointing out that there was another bench across from the one he was on.

However, he is also one of the tallest people Jason has ever seen, with wide shoulders and muscles he barely hid the bulge of underneath a dark blue three-piece suit, and so Jason didn't comment aloud on it as he scratched underneath the alley cat's chin, making it purr pleasedly.

Jason is not an idiot enough to not recognize the clearly wealthy man who checked his black Rolex watch as if waiting for someone himself. As a kid from Park Row, he knew the story of the Wayne murders and their sole living son whose face was plastered all over celebrity gossip magazines with some model hanging off his arm each time.

It was right at that moment when the boy's stomach growled to his embarrassment, showing in the light red dusting across his cheeks and ears as Bruce Wayne raised an eyebrow at him now with a knowing smile that slightly irked Jason.

"Hungry, chum?" The Billionaire asked easily to which Jason didn't reply for a full five seconds before turning his head away with his blush growing, earning a chuckle and a finger pointing to a food truck just across the street that advertised their 'famous chilidogs.'

"Seems like the person I'm meeting is going to be late so do you think you could cross the street and get us both two chilidogs?" He handed Jason a paper bill who eyed it suspiciously for a split-moment and weighed his hunger above his pride. His mother had always been adamant about never excepting hand-outs or begging despite them being poor but technically the man was offering in return for him running the errand... and it was chilidogs...

Accepting the bill and the offer, Jason did as he was asked, settling back into the bench as he passed the elder man the second of the two.

Finishing his chilidog quietly as Bruce ate his own, Jason left quickly before he got roped into having a further conversation with one of Gotham's richest men of all people, scurrying off while pulling his worn red hoodie over his head as he felt a concerned glance from the man directed at him, although he was distracted by another figure approaching the Wayne Enterprise CEO.

"Bruce," an older voice greets who seems to know him well. "I didn't think you'd be able to stop by the courthouse today."

"You know how it is, Jim, life of the idle rich." Bruce laughed as he finished his chilidog, even though the sound seemed somewhat shallow.

[ ... ]

[Current]

To be quite honest; once he got past the humour of the situation at hand; when Bruce saw a dimly-lit figure attempting to mess with the batmobile he had imagined two people or at least one cocky, grown-up thug would dare mess with his pride and joy — to which being his state-of-the-art, one of a kind vehicle.

What he saw instead made him immediately forgive anyone who would dare touch his favourite car. The child was concerningly small, much smaller than normal with his messy black curls and freckled face smeared with grease, along with the battered jeans and red hoodie he wore with a hole in the sleeve.

He had met this particular child before, he noted as the little thing looked at him with surprise in his wide eyes, mixed with enough anger and frustration in his own nature that made the bat want to hug the child who looked as if everything and everyone was against him with not a single person to trust.

As he lifted the boy up by his arm, though he still tightly clutched his tire iron, he watched the child's expression go from scared and slightly uncertain to more confident and prepared, albeit even if only on the surface.

And then he got whammed in the abdomen by that very tire iron as the boy ran off and away from him.

Jason himself was tired and quite literally starving at that point. It had been nice getting to eat that chilidog with that Wayne guy three months ago (he drooled dreamed about it at night sometimes) but ever since then he had been on the streets trying to find edible scraps from restaurant and hotel dumpsters.

He felt that numb dizziness he often had as he jumped up to grab ahold of the fire escape ladder, hoisting himself up and climbing to the rooftop of a dilapidated, though lived-in apartment complex. The only thing he could do to wane the feeling slightly was a pack of cigarettes he had swiped from some unconscious drunkard who had collapsed in one of the alleys near a bar. Unfortunately, he spent all his money drinking so a smoke was all Jason got.

Attempting to blink away his swimming vision, the eight-year-old stuck the cigarette in his mouth and fished for the lighter he carried in his pocket.

Although before he could get it lit, the shadowy figure looming over him, which was he was getting used to weirdly fast, snatched out of his mouth and narrowed his eyes at the offending item he now held in between his fingers.

"You know these will kill you, kid." The deeper sound of his voice came through the modulator, making the boy sniff indignantly.

"They keep the hunger away, though."

The Batman paused at that and one could see his shoulders visibly soften with sympathy. "And where are your parents?"

"What does it matter?" The boy frowned at the loss of his cigarette, making him pull on his hoodie's hole. "My old man's doing time again to no surprise and my mom...got sick."

He didn't need to elaborate further for Batman to understand what he meant. Drug addicts weren't exactly uncommon in these parts of town and neither were people who died from those addictions. He had come across a few too many bodies during his patrols over the years, hunched over in street corners and abandoned buildings smelling of the drugs.

"Now are you going to leave me alone or do I have to make you?" Once more that frustratedly angry look came over his expression and although Batman seriously doubted he would be able, he was sure the rather scrappy lad would certainly try to.

"I don't think I have the conscious to just leave you here." The bat-vigilante seemed to look at him thoughtfully now, as if pondering a difficult question.

"I can take care of myself just fine!" Jason insisted narrowing his eyes. "I don't need any assholes with badges and papers."

Although he felt like saying 'language,' upon hearing the cuss he could let it go as a feeling of worry took over that instinct as he noticed the child's eyes were unfocused and he has his hands pressed in tightly against his stomach as though he was trying to push away his hunger.

"You hungry, chum?"

The boy's head snapped up at the words and blinked thrice rapidly, having heard freakishly similar ones before.