Chapter Text
Jason Todd had gone undercover before. He had slipped into gangs, arms deals, underground fight rings—you name it. He could put on an act, blend in, and get what he needed. But this?
This was new.
Standing in the middle of Riverton Elementary’s too-brightly-lit auditorium, surrounded by PTA moms and the smell of homemade brownies, Jason had to admit: this was a level of hell he wasn’t prepared for.
“I still don’t get why I’m doing this,” he muttered, shifting his weight as he scanned the room.
“Because you’re the only one who could pass for a parent without raising suspicion.” Oracle’s voice was crystal clear in his comm. “And because Dick was busy.”
Jason huffed. “So I’m plan B?”
“You were always plan A. You’re good with kids.”
That shut him up for a second. He wasn’t bad with kids, but he sure as hell wasn’t a role model. He wasn’t Dick, with his never-ending patience, or Bruce, with his I-am-the-law presence. He was Red Hood—Jason fucking Todd—and the idea of playing pretend as someone’s responsible guardian felt ridiculous.
And yet, here he was, pretending to be just another concerned parent while scoping out an elementary school that was definitely up to some shady shit.
He glanced toward the group of kids across the room, where teachers were making a half-hearted attempt to keep them entertained. That’s when he saw him.
The Kid.
Small. Too thin. Hair a little too messy. The kind of kid who had learned early that adults weren’t worth trusting.
Jason knew that look. Knew it too well.
He checked his comm again. “Tell me again why we’re using a goddamn orphan as bait?”
“It wasn’t my call, Jason.” Oracle’s voice was tight, controlled. “It’s messed up, I know. But the only reason we even found out about the school’s involvement in this operation was because of that kid. He’s the missing thread.”
Jason exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. He wasn’t about to argue, especially not with Barbara, but it didn’t sit right with him.
Not at all.
And, judging by the way The Kid was staring down at his untied shoelaces, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, Jason was willing to bet it didn’t sit right with him either.
Well.
Time to make some introductions.
Jason strode over, slipping into his best attempt at looking like an involved adult and not a vigilante playing dress-up. The Kid barely looked up as Jason crouched down to his level.
“Hey, kid,” Jason started, keeping his tone easy. “Figured I’d introduce myself, seeing as I’m—”
“You’re supposed to be my fake parent, right?” The Kid cut him off, finally glancing up with sharp, assessing eyes.
Jason blinked. Then snorted. “ Fake uncle, actually. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
The Kid hummed like that made sense, then kicked at the scuffed linoleum floor. “Still fake, though.”
“Yeah,” Jason admitted. “I am.”
A beat passed. Jason wasn’t great at this whole emotional honesty thing, but he knew bullshit wouldn’t get him anywhere with a kid like this.
“I’m sorry we’re involving you in this,” Jason said quickly, voice lower, just for the two of them. “It’s not fair. You shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of crap.”
He meant it. This kid had already been dealt a shitty hand—he shouldn’t have to be part of some sting operation on top of it.
The Kid frowned, like he didn’t know what to do with the apology. He shifted uncomfortably, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the floor.
“Yeah, well.” His voice was quieter now too. “Not like I had much of a choice.”
Jason felt something in his chest clench.
Yeah.
He knew that feeling.
He exhaled through his nose and straightened up, clapping his hands together. “Alright, kid. If we gotta do this, might as well make the most of it.” He smirked. “Tell me—what’s the competition like for this bake sale? Because I’m thinking about completely annihilating every other parent here.”
That got a real reaction. The Kid blinked at him, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard that right. “You’re doing the bake sale?”
“Oh, I’m winning the bake sale,” Jason corrected.
The Kid’s nose scrunched. “You bake?”
Jason grinned. “I have an old guy at home who taught me a thing or two. Trust me. We’re about to ruin some soccer moms’ entire week.”
The Kid studied him for a moment, then—finally, finally—smirked back.
“…Okay,” he said. “This I gotta see.”
Jason chuckled, then nodded toward the corner of the room, away from too many listening ears. “C’mon, let’s sit. If we’re gonna make this work, we gotta at least pretend we know each other.”
The Kid hesitated, but after a second, he followed.
Jason grabbed a couple of plastic chairs, spinning one around to sit backwards, arms resting over the top. The Kid sat more carefully, like he wasn’t used to someone actually inviting him to the table.
“So,” Jason started. “What’s your name?”
The Kid looked at him warily. “You don’t already know?”
Jason shrugged. “I do. But I’m askin' you.”
There was a beat of hesitation before the Kid finally muttered, “Elliot.”
Jason nodded. “Alright, Elliot. You got a favorite subject in school, or do they all suck?”
That got a snort. “They mostly suck. But… I guess science is okay.”
“Science, huh? You into the cool stuff? Explosions? Chemicals? Laser beams?”
Elliot gave him a flat look. “You know science isn’t just lasers , right?”
Jason grinned. “I mean, yeah, but those are the fun parts.”
Elliot rolled his eyes, but Jason caught the way his shoulders eased, just a little.
“Okay, fine,” Jason said. “What about books? You got a favorite?”
Elliot hesitated, then muttered, “I used to. The school doesn’t let me check them out anymore.”
Jason frowned. “Why not?”
Elliot shrugged like it didn’t matter, but Jason caught the way his fingers curled into fists. “Dunno. Just said I wasn’t responsible enough.”
Jason clenched his jaw. Yeah. That sounded like the kind of bullshit he was here to look into.
“Well,” Jason said, keeping his voice light, “good thing your fake uncle’s a book guy. Maybe I’ll smuggle you something good.”
Elliot eyed him warily. “Like what?”
Jason smirked. “Ever heard of The Count of Monte Cristo ?”
Elliot squinted. “That sounds old.”
“Oh, it is,” Jason said. “But trust me, it’s got everything. Revenge. Swords. Secret identities. And a guy who gets so rich he ruins his enemies just for fun.”
Elliot gave him a skeptical look. “…That does sound kind of cool.”
Jason grinned. “Told ya.”
And just like that, the ice cracked a little more.
Jason leaned back, tilting his chair on two legs. “Alright, kid. You and me? We got this.”
Elliot watched him for a long moment. Then—finally—he nodded.
“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think we do.”
Jason smiled.
Jason had learned a few things about Elliot over the weekend.
For one, the kid was actually kind of cool. Jason wouldn’t admit it out loud— God forbid —but he liked the kid’s sense of humor. Dry. A little sarcastic. Just enough bite to let you know he wasn’t about to roll over for anybody.
Second, Elliot was way too used to taking care of himself. That much was obvious from the way he never asked for anything, never expected anyone to check in, and had a way of disappearing into the background when adults were around. Jason had known kids like that. Had been a kid like that. The kind who learned early that relying on people only ever got you hurt.
Third? The kid had taste. Even if he wouldn’t admit it.
“I’m just saying,” Jason had said, leaning back against the orphanage’s rickety old couch, “theatre’s not a bad hobby.”
Elliot, who had just reluctantly admitted he liked it, had immediately backtracked. “I don’t like it,” he muttered. “It’s just… interesting.”
Jason smirked. “Right. Just interesting.”
Elliot shot him a glare. “I’d rather do something useful.”
Jason shrugged. “Acting’s useful. You know how often I have to lie to people just to get through the day?”
Elliot raised an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to be a concerned uncle. You probably shouldn’t be admitting you lie all the time.”
Jason snorted. “I mean, would you rather I was bad at it?”
Elliot considered that. Then, with a begrudging nod, muttered, “Fair point.”
And that had been that.
By the time Monday rolled around, Jason had a much better grasp on the kid. His mother had died of an overdose a couple of years back. His father had never been in the picture. He’d bounced around a couple of group homes before ending up here, and judging by the way he talked about it (or didn’t talk about it), Jason had a feeling it wasn’t great.
The more he learned, the more Jason didn’t like the idea of sending him back into this mess alone.
Unfortunately, until they figured out what the hell was going on with the school’s administration, he didn’t have much of a choice.
Which was how he found himself back at Riverton Elementary, rolling into the front office to officially sign up for the PTA.
Barbara, smug as ever, had way too much fun with that one.
“You know,” she had said over comms, “I never thought I’d live to see the day Jason Todd, the Red Hood willingly signed up for a Parent-Teacher Association.”
“ Fake parent,” Jason corrected.
“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. This is for undercover purposes only, of course.”
Jason could hear the grin in her voice.
“You gonna help me out or just keep enjoying this?”
“Can’t it be both?”
Jason scowled as he stepped up to the front desk, plastering on his best concerned uncle face.
The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with frizzy hair and an aggressively pink cardigan, gave him a polite but vaguely frazzled look. “Can I help you?”
Jason gave her a charming smile. “Yeah, I’m here to sign up for the PTA. Figured since my nephew’s spending so much time here, I should be involved and all that.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh! That’s wonderful! We’re always looking for more parent participation.”
Jason nodded along like this wasn’t the most absurd thing he’d ever done in his life. “Yeah, you know. Gotta make sure the kids are in a good environment.”
Her smile faltered, just slightly. Not enough for the average person to catch, but Jason wasn’t the average person. He clocked the shift immediately.
Interesting.
The receptionist turned, shuffling through some papers. “Well, let’s see, we have a few different committees you can join. There’s fundraising, community outreach, student wellness—”
Jason leaned forward, feigning interest. “Which one oversees, like, school policies? Admin decisions? That kind of thing.”
She hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second.
Then she smiled again, all customer service. “That would be the administrative board, but that’s mostly handled by the school staff. Parents usually stick to event planning and student activities.”
Jason hummed. “Right. Because I heard the PTA had some say in school policies.”
Her smile stayed frozen in place. “Only in an advisory role.”
Yep. That was bullshit.
Jason had a feeling if he started digging, he’d find out real quick why no one was allowed to question anything around here.
“Alright,” he said easily, leaning back. “Guess I’ll start with fundraising, then.”
He swiped the sign-up sheet before she could say anything else, scrawling John Todd across the line.
Barbara’s laughter crackled through his earpiece.
“John? Really?”
“Shut up.”
The receptionist took the form back, glancing it over before nodding. “Great! You’ll be added to the email list for our upcoming meetings. And, of course, we have our big fundraiser coming up next week, the bake sale.”
Jason grinned. “Oh, yeah. Looking forward to that one.”
And he meant it.
Elliot had already asked what he was making. Jason, because he was a show off, had declared he’d be making cinnamon rolls from scratch that would ruin lives.
Elliot had rolled his eyes, but Jason could tell the kid was excited. Even if he refused to admit it.
Which meant Jason?
Jason had every intention of showing up to this bake sale and absolutely obliterating the competition.
For Elliot.
And maybe— just maybe— because it was kind of fun.