#genuinely quite jazzed about writing ch2 even though i think combined this will still be shorter than many of my oneshots lmao

[cetaceans-pls]

more jaybru please 🙏🥺

hi anon! it's been a desert in my heart lately, but i can't let a calendar year pass w/o jaybru 🥲🥲

here's part 1 of what i have dubbed my Burger Queen fic; it's platonic....FOR NOW heh heh heh

also up on ao3 here!

Jason's not, like, a connnersuer or anything. Not much opportunity to be one, what with being a homeless kid in Gotham, so his familiarity with fast food depends on the benevolence of staff at the counter (Susila, with her strong jaw and thick curly hair, works nights Thursdays to Saturdays and is the patron saint of so so so many of Gotham's unloved children) or whatever he can thieve (any paper bag set on any seat in any public transport is fair game) or whatever he can scrounge.

 So he's not a connnersuer, but of all the fast food chains he's had more than 3 bites of, his absolute favourite, even above Bat Burger that sometimes has Justice League packaging that he got a little paperboard tear-out of Wonder Woman from, has to be Burger Ging.

 (Burger King could not Make It in Gotham, on account of the dogshit wages and the staunch anti-monarchist tendencies of the average Gothamite (no kings! no queens! no lords! no masters!) enabling the extremely crafty 'Burger Ging' food truck run by the Bazalars to open up and go wild in their place, ahaha).

 (Susila works at Burger Ging and has a secret escort of at least 4 street kids walking her home every every night; this hasn't impacted his opinion at all, no sir no).

 It's the secret sauce; it's a little sweet-spicy-sour, and dreaming of the sauce on hot-salty fries with a helping of Susila's squinty smile on the side has helped him survive to see another Thursday many many times.

 So after he's picked up by Ba-, Bruce, and is asked by this horrifically Big Scary Man what he'd like to have for dinner after his first full day in this huge haunted house, all he can think about is that it's, somehow, Thursday again, and there's only one option, if there is in fact an option.

-

 Susila doesn't even blink when they come in, though Bruce does, repeatedly, looking a little startled in the bright fluorescent lights of the restaurant. "Welcome to Burger Ging," she says right at Jason, and she's not squinty-smiling because she's staring at him with a laser-focused stare, and Jason is familiar with This Look because even he gets like this with some of the littler kids.

 It's the, 'are you with someone you are safe with?' look, even though neither of them's got the power to do anything about it the many, many times the answer has been 'no'.

 But it's not no this time, no matter how awkward he's feeling, how awkward Bruce is being. Determined, Jason grabs Bruce's hand and drags him to the counter, smiling up at Susila. "Hey, Susi," he says. "Can I get two Bopper sets please? For me and, uh." He glances up at Bruce, who's got a death grip on Jason's hand as he fakes interest in the menu. "My guardian," Jason says, even if he feels like he's the one doing the guarding, somehow. "Extra sauce! And I want the sweet ice tea, please."

 Bruce doesn't helpfully add in his drinks order, so Jason nudges him with their joined hands. "What do you want to drink, B?" he asks, what feels like terribly politely.

 Bruce comes back from wherever he'd gone, looks down at Jason, and smiles like his mouth's still learning how to. "I'll have what you're having, Jason."

 Good, if the guy takes his queues from Jason, they might survive this yet. Jason grins, and decides to press his luck to see how far it can go. "And another ice tea for this Burger King," he says, tossing his head in Bruce's direction.

 Susila barely holds back her giggle, though she does throw in a little salute. "I'll get right on that, sir," she tells him, voice deep and pretty and smooth.

 When they crack open the paper bag at home, it turns out she'd also included 2 of the paper crowns you're only really supposed to get if it's your birthday.

 It's the end of a full day in this weird house with this weird man but he's got equal parts sauce to patty and Bruce had gamely put on his crown to keep Jason company, so. Uhm.

 It's kind of like a birthday, right?

-

 It becomes a bit of a habit over the years, to once a month or so take their ugliest car and drive down into the city, illegally triple-park alongside the thousand illegally double-parked cars, and run in to Burger Ging on 12th and Fulsome at some point between 10 PM to 5 AM.

 They tend to vary their orders, especially when Burger Ging decides to venture into the world of seasonal specials. God aloud, the zereshk polo pilaf that replaced mac 'n cheese side during Ramadan that one year had made even Bruce crack a smile, and that's really really really saying something.

 Jason's even gone in to pick up food on patrol nights, though Bruce never goes in with him as the Bat. He says it's because the staff might make connections between Bruce-and-Jason and Batman-and-Robin, but Jason is pretty sure that the real reason is because the big guy is a little self conscious about how his pointy little ears look like in the shitty lights.

 Jason is also pretty sure Susila copped him on sight, because as Jason and as Robin he gets the same kind of smile and extra sauce, but she doesn't push for anything and it's not like he's going to stop smiling and joking with her, so.

 She's seen him grow up, and she's known him longer than B; he's not exactly scared she's going to blab or anything.

 On one such patrol night he rocks up at half past midnight, casting a glance around at the usual suspects (students up too late working, insomniacs in cute sweats, and people looking for a warm place to rest) before going right up to the counter, disregarding the order machines.

 "Hey Susi," he says with less exuberance than usual, face tilted funny.

 (The thing is, he's starting to get acne, and it's awful, and it's been popping up on the apples of his cheeks where the mask can dig in a little, but if he tells Bruce he wants to get acne cream, Bruce who likely has never seen a zit in his life will probably ask why, and Robin can't be Robin without a mask on, and Susi's probably seeing all his gross red pimples and think he's not cool anymore, and-)

 "Hi, Robin," she says, and she's smiling as squintily as usual.

 "Hi," he says again, trying to act cool even if he's got his gauntlet up hiding half his face. "Can I get two Boppers, please? Extra sauce?"

 "Coming right up," she says, ringing it up. "Uhm. Is everything okay? Did you get hurt?"

 Rats. Not super subtle then, trying to cover up his shame. "No," he says morosely, dropping his hand. "I'm getting break-outs," he says, grateful today that his voice is cooperating. "It's kinda gross."

 "It's not," she tells him sternly. "It's totally normal for kids your age to get them. It's just skin, unless it hurts?"

 "Doesn't," Jason says with great confidence, given the hurts he's grown used to as Robin. "It just, uhm." He doesn't know how to say, no one else in my house seems to get these. "I don't like 'em," he says instead.

 She looks at him thoughtfully. "If it's the mask," she murmurs conspiratorially, "maybe try and add some sort of soft, clean layer that touches your skin? When I was the fry guy, the hair net would make me break out on my forehead, and a bandanna helped."

 Jason perks up at an actual actionable suggestion. "I can try that!" he says, glad that he won't have to bring this up with Bruce. The man tries hard as hell to be There For Jason, but he's been acting kinda weird with the, uh, whole puberty thing. Sure, it's not dignified to have the odd hair sprouting out, to have his voice crack mid-word, and Bruce doesn't make fun of him or anything, he just...

 He'd look a little discomfited, a little weirded out, before he rebooted and got 'round to getting Jason razors and foam and things.

 Jason puts it down to Bruce never having gotten to do this with his own dad, but technically, nor did Jason. Might even be some real intense personal preference; Bruce is always clean-shaven, always well-dressed, always smells nice; he's never gone around the house in just boxers and socks. He's always a pretty stark contrast to a gawky greasy sweaty adolescent, urgh.

 Still, it's pointless to think deep-deep about why Bruce is as he is; easier to just accept him as he comes.

 It's a B thing, and Jason's happy to roll with it, especially when he can solicit community support to help answer his questions.

 They chat a little more till his order's up, and when he reaches out to grab it, Susi stops him so's she can put in a little plush keychain of the Burger Ging mascot that's really only supposed to come with kiddie meals!!

 It's Tomatina, the magical girl in her Burger Ging Transformation outfit!

 "A Burger Girl for my Burger Boy," Susila says cheerfully, before pulling out another Tomatina (Office Wear edition!!). "And this one is for, uh, the Burger Bat."

 Jason goes tomato-red under his mask (unbearable!!) but says thank you very much (of course!!).

 At least, yeah, Bruce looks kinda embarrassed but kinda pleased to get her too.

-

 Then, uh. Then there's a bit of a gap in visits to Burger Ging.

-

 First night he rocks up to Burger Ging after his Grand Return, the underworld writhing in terror and Bruce unfortunately still alive, he's not expecting much. It's been years, and he'd hope that Susila's moved on to better things. Not that she'd recognise him anyways, 150 pounds heavier, almost 2 feet taller, especially not him with the Hood on, but lo and behold.

 He goes in (oh, looks like they've remodelled it recently, and it's looking kinda posh), and there at the counter is She.

 Man oh man; of all the places he'd feel like he'd come home to, the sticky linoleum counter at Burger Ging hadn't even occurred to him. Then again, well.

 She's the adult that's known him longest, in their funny little way.

 She looks a little wary, and he notes with some dubious pleasure that he's finally finally taller than Susi, even if just barely. "Hey," he says, sounding like the death rattle of a lawnmower through the voice changer, and it makes him wince.

 "Hello," she says carefully. "Welcome to Burger Ging. How can I help you?"

 She glances at the electronic order kiosks, and looks at his thigh holsters, and her thin lips go thinner. "Listen," she carries on, not giving him a sec. "Look. You're a new rogue, I'm guessing? And I get it, we're pretty easy to rob if you're trying to get your feet wet. We don't have much cash, since everyone pays by card these days, but I'll give you what we got. Please do not pull out your gun, there're two new kids working the kitchen tonight and they're freshmen at GU and I don't want you to scare them, okay?"

 Aaaah. Keeping up her patronage of looking after Gotham's underserved, looks like. Jason considers this for a second, the security cameras and the gently dozing man in the back corner and the fact that not 72 hours ago he was carrying 'round a duffel bag full of gross drippy heads (there's dried blood and ??? on his boots, urgh), and then decides that he might as well make a clean sweep of it, be disappointed by all adults he's ever thought would care for him and keep him safe.

  "You might not remember me, 'cos it's been a while," he tells her, voice rough gone rougher, before he pops off his helmet, tucking it under an arm. "Used to come by a lot, though I, uh, got replaced. Still keep a fresh layer of gauze between my skin and the mask, though. Uhm. Hi, Susi."

 She gasps, and she recognises him, and this interaction at least doesn't seem to be one Tim's superseded (stolen). It makes Jason grin a little crookedly, and it feels weird (feels a little wrong) to be looking down at her and she's got a softer jaw and more lines by her mouth but when she smiles her close-eyed smile at him back, god.

 He's all the way back again.

 "I missed you," she says first after a thoughtful pause. "You look a lot different."

 Jason laughs. "I got a lot different. Hoping the food's still as good as ever?"

 Susi flexes a powerful arm, looking resplendent despite the truly obscene colouration of the BG uniform (gold and purple???). "Got better, if anything. What was it, a Bopper with extra special sauce?"

 Jason feels like a head in a bag dripping all of him out on the floor, a mess at her feet, but he's not crying and maybe he isn't destined to be wrong-wrong-wronged by every adult who's ever clapped eyes on him. "Sounds good," he says, and it's embarrassing that he's barely avoiding his voice breaking.

 She taps his order in without pause, and then looks at him again. "What should I call you? Is Robin still okay?"

 Oh man, he's going to be sooooo stupid again. "Jay would be fine."

 She just nods at that, not even a little bit surprised. "It's really good to see you again," she says meaningfully. Then she pulls out a little plastic baggie with the kiddie meal toy, and it's a little plush keychain of a green cat with a mane of lettuce leaves. "Lechugatita for our best customer," she says, pushing it across.

 He pulls it to him greedily, ripping open the package to immediately attach Lecha to his belt, and dimly realises he'd sooner die than have anything happen to her (he means this absolutely literally).

 "Outstanding customer service as ever, Susi," he tells her, and she smiles, and he thinks that whatever the fuck is going on with Batman, Gotham still maybe has space to love him.

-

 It's months later, when Jason's mostly cooled it on the rampaging (because he's cut a deep bloody swathe through the worst bodies) and Bruce has stopped lunging at him like a man who's lost his mind every time he sees him in his hood, stopped looking like he's about to fall to the ground and weep every time he sees him in the flesh.

 They're at an impasse, and it makes Jason's skin crawl. Bruce's willingness to turn a violent hand to him and not to the joker is the greatest sin of all time, and even if the man is cut up about it, has a glass case commemorating his death and everything, the core of it is this:

 Bruce's beliefs are more important to Bruce than Jason is, but Jason does not have the same, uh, hierarchy of needs.

 He's always orbiting around Bruce, and he doesn't really know how to stop. He doesn't even really want to stop, wants instead for Bruce to get as madly, insanely obsessed with him as Jason is with Bruce, but this won't happen, and Jason's not sure how he's ever supposed to make his peace with this.

 So he doesn't; figures there's time enough now that he's back to unpack that whole shitshow. He still goes by Ging once a month or so, and Susi keeps plying him with the latest kiddie toy, and he's got a sweet little collection going on in his safe house, but he's missing his OG Tomatina.

 On a wet, miserable day in almost-winter, he decides to swing by the Manor. It's just after lunch; usually the house is deader than dead around this time, everyone out at work or school. He's been to his room before, already been plenty creeped out by how every last thing of his is exactly as it'd been when he'd left for Ethiopia, entombed as thoroughly as this own body had been.

 It's weird and unpleasant and sad, but the upside is that he can just about find where he left everything.

 Half-whistling a song to himself, enjoying the quiet echoes, Jason swings open his bedroom door expecting to see his little bed in the cool gray sheets he'd begged Alfred for because too many years ago he'd wanted something Cool instead of the kiddy sheets with printed lions and shit.

 Instead, well.

 Same sheets, same bed, spare Bruce. Bruce on the bed, somewhy, hunched over with his arms on his knees like he's trying to stave off a panic attack.

 His head snaps up so quick at the door opening that he must hurt himself, but he could not possibly have hurt himself enough to warrant that horrific look on his face.

 It's there, it's gone.

 "What the hell are you doing here?" Jason snarls, because attacking's better than hurting.

 Bruce looks at him coolly, but when he speaks his voice is ragged and mostly-dead. "I wasn't expecting to see you, Jason," he says in non-answer.

 "What, I don't get to come to my own goddamn childhood room? I don't fucking deserve to?"

 That scores a flinch, but really Jason kinda wants to see blood. "Fine, fucking fine," Jason spits, and if his eyes are getting hot and his voice feels close to breaking that's on him and his stupid stupid hopes. "See you goddamn never, Bruce."

 He's turned on his heel, he's about to stomp away with his stupid eyes and cracky voice and his heavy sodden despair, but then there's a hand at his elbow, hold unyielding.

 "Wait," Bruce says, and he's also gone cracky and sodden. "Of course this is your room. This will always be your room, this will always be your home. This is just..... my bad habit."

 "You sure as shit have a lot of those." Jason is so so mad, but he also can't shake off that hand (feels good to be held tight like he's actually wanted, or something!). "Let go of me, you bastard."

"Can't," Bruce says miserably. "Won't. I'll go instead. Just stay. Just. I won't be back home till patrol time, Alfred should be back in an hour or so. Eat. Rest." He clears his stupid fine throat. "Please."

 That takes some wind out of his sails, Bruce ceding territory, and Jason's not sure how to respond (in a way that won't knock off the grip that Bruce has on him, man on lifeline, except maybe they're both of both). Doesn't feel like the time for the usual kind of violence, but he still desperately wants to spread hurt with a shovel. "What the hell do you even do in here?" he settles on at last, because no fucking shot the answer won't shred B up at least a little.

 He's also just curious. Bruce is a weird little isolationist in his grief, a wraith staring at tombs and glass cases and loose pearls in a box locked up tight, so it just seems.... unlike him, to directly interact with a source of grief so directly. Jason has forged himself to be the complete opposite, in this as in everything else; fights with a crowbar, eats kitfo even though it tastes like ash on his tongue, sleeps with the heaviest weighted blanket available on the market because it's such a good facsimile of the claustrophobia of waking up in a coffin.

 So. Yeah. It's weird.

 The face B makes is also a strange one, twisted but not in the sour-dour way he often gets, twisted instead the way a normal person's face might get when they're trying like hell not to weep.

 Bruce clears his throat, smoothens his expression. "Do you remember this?" he asks instead, holding up a little plush doll of Tomatina, a little frailer with age.

 Jason frowns. Why is Bruce stealing his girl? He's inflicted more violence on the man for lesser offences. After a second, though, he clocks that she's in her pretty lavender dress shirt and neat pencil skirt, her wondrous Office Lady mode, and the memory snaps into place.

 He's moving before he knows it, tearing open the middle drawer of his little work desk, the flimsy metal lock giving way with a sharp little snap!. It's the opposite of a junk drawer, though all its contents are in disarray. Inside are all of the things that are worthless (can't be pawned for much of anything) but would absolutely go into his bag if he thought he needed to run away quickly (his highest praise).

 Bits and bobs, a crumpled paperboard crown, the stub from the first theater performance Bruce had ever taken him to, a tiny figurine of Bulbasaur he'd found behind a dumpster a lifetime ago, and there, laying neatly in the corner, is Magical Girl Tomatina.

 He pulls her out like she's a relic; Bruce looks at her like she's much the same.

 Jason clears his throat. "Of course I remember. What's your point?"

 Bruce clears his throat. "I come in here sometimes to think about burgers. I think about how you used to give me your pickles, I think about that special rice pudding the restaurant sold that one Eid. I think about the nice lady at the cashier, and I think about you." He shudders to a halt, a full-body thing, but then starts up again (old faithful). "When I have her in hand, it makes it easier to remember you alive. That used to be the hardest thing; it got so easy to remember you dead."

 Another shudder like he's on the verge of hypothermia. "I've done this less since you returned," Bruce rushes to add. "But sometimes..." He looks down at Tomatina. "I just look at her and think how much better things could be if I were a, a better, ah, man," he ends, lamely.

 Jason's not sure how to respond to that, except to sharply say, "Then be better."

 Bruce looks at him, then looks away, and they both keep their gentle gentle hold on Tomatina.

 Jason pushes on. "What's the fucking point in moping by yourself in your dead kid's room? I came back and you're gonna sit here alone in the dark remembering old burgers and dead sons when you could be doing anything else." He returns his Tomatina to her spot, ensconced in other things he's got too much love for, and closes the broken drawer. He's all angered out, really just wants a hot shower and a hot drink and the crushing weight of a too-heavy blanket.

 "Take it from someone with experience; nothing good comes from being alone somewhere too dark and too quiet, B. If you wanna be better, be better. Even if you have to scratch your fingernails off, even if you have to eat dirt, even if you feel like moving another inch is gonna kill you, you do it. You do it, or you die. You change, or you lose."

 Jason's a little too nice still, to say sometimes you change and you lose anyways, but the point's in the trying (this is what he keeps telling himself).

 He moves to move past Bruce, because there is No Way he's going to end up in a good place in his head if he stays in this place with this man, and he doesn't actually want to make Bruce leave his own goddamned house (he's a little too nice still).

 This time there's no hard hearty grab, just the lightest brush of fingers on the crook of his elbow. "Get home safe," is all Bruce says, but there's a slightly dazed look to him.

 Jason suspects he knows that look.

(Jason suspects it's, ah, the face he had on when he first woke up Down Under).

-

secret tumblr only a/n: i've been thinking about jaybru p much on the daily but trying to get a full story done has been Difficult. it also doesn't help that it feels like fewer people are reading and commenting on fics, which unfortunately does have an impact on my motivation... nevertheless i couldn't actually stop writing even if i wanted to but idk man take care of yourselves, and please be nice to ur neighbourhood fanfic writer it's winter in the spirit for a lot of us!!