Gotham City: October 14 th , 2151
Jason doesn't listen to Bruce (the fifteenth Wayne to go by that name, as it happens). It is that not listening that has him wandering around in the middle of the day when he should be training or studying or some other bullshit that he won't ever do. Bruce isn't his dad, won't ever be. Besides, he's got his own two stupid sons, Dick and Damian. It's not like he'll ever be their biological brother. He was just some street punk with a dead mom that no one else had wanted.
Alfred says to Bruce, when he thinks Jason's not listening, that it's all just nineteen-year-old rebelliousness. Jason doesn't think so. He thinks Bruce hovers too much. Therefore, he keeps him away by staying away. And even in Batman's city, it would be really hard to find one man who didn't want to be found. The tall, super-scrapers and the constantly moving hovercraft kept him hidden from everyone.
Warehouses, of course, hid him even better. No matter how innovative this city got, it seemed the warehouses never changed. Bruce said they'd been here since the first Batman, only getting repairs every so often. They are just warehouses after all.
Jason pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, along with the decorated lighter than had been his mother's. Smoking pisses Bruce off. It pisses him off even more when Jason comes home smelling like smoke, because that means he was out and smoking.
He wanders around Warehouse 17, the one closest to the docks. He's never been in this one, though he's pretty sure he's smoked outside it before. He pushes around boxes, looking for something to pilfer, since he's out disobeying rules anyway. He muscles some crates over, to see what's behind them (because only valuables are packed behind heavy crates).
Instead of some major stockpiling of any sort of good, a person is behind the stack of crates. He doesn't appear to be breathing and his dark hair and pale face are covered in dust. A dead body that had yet to decompose? It was a tad cold. Well, he'd check to see if it was a corpse. If it was, he'd call Bruce — well, Batman — which would postpone the inevitable punishment he will get for being out here, smoking, and looking for stuff to steal.
He touches the young man's face (he can't be any older than Jason, probably a year or so younger), pushing a little, just to make sure he wouldn't be calling the Bat for nothing.
Jason reaches for his comm when the man takes a deep breath, almost as if he'd been without air for a lifetime. He opens his eyes and Jason's shocked at what a bright blue they are. The blue eyed man shakes his head, scattering dust everywhere. His eyes flicker to every corner of the warehouse and he looks confused. Lost. Lonely?
Then his eyes rest on Jason. The breath shudders out of him.
"Jason." His voice is raspy, and sad. Jason takes a step back, then another. The sadness in that man's voice doesn't mean he trusts him. And it certainly doesn't make it okay that he knows Jason's name. He reaches out, toward him, and Jason takes three quick steps back.
"Who are you?" He asks, getting into Batman's favorite fighting stance.
The man smiles, a sad miserable thing, and stands.
"I'm Tim," he says. "Tim Drake."