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Alfred remembers when the Red Hood had first burst onto the scene.
He had said that the Red Hood had tainted their very few memories of contentment.
He had said that even when Master Jason had been Robin, that he had had a mean streak, that he was dangerous: because Alfred had remembered that even when Master Jason was still a boy, he had been aware that for those against whom the threat of Batman could not be leveraged, the threat of murder could. Even when the criminals they fought should have been more afraid of Master Bruce's resolve .
He had allowed Master Bruce to keep the case containing the ruined Robin uniform that Jason had worn when he died. The case that served as a memorial, and as a reminder. A monument to their grief.
He had said that Master Bruce should help the Red Hood, not for Jason's sake, but for Bruce's own: because Batman wanted to save everyone from harm, regardless of their previous actions, even if they had been incredibly and deliberately hurtful.
He had tested the package that the Red Hood had sent to them for explosives and chemical agents, six times, in case the Red Hood had wanted to strike at them in their own home.
He had been horrified at the idea that the Red Hood had captured the Joker, to do who knows what to him: he had thought, most likely, torture.
And when Master Bruce had returned, and informed him that the Joker had been returned to Arkham, he had spared no thought for the Red Hood, and what might have happened to him.
Even when the Red Hood had delivered Master Timothy to him, he had not cared: his concern had been for the boy shivering in the backseat of the car, not for the criminal who -as he later learned- had cut the arms off the men in the warehouse in a spectacularly brutal act.
And since then, the Red Hood had not stepped foot outside of Crime Alley. Had not interacted with any of them. Had not, in fact, shown any indication of wanting to interact with them.
And it is not until a year and a half later that he rethinks his assumptions.
And he is ashamed.
Because it is not until the youngest member of the household slips up, and until Master Jason does likewise, that he does so.
Master Damian has been struggling to find his footing in Gotham. He has been alternately aggressive, and shy. He provokes attack, and then hides from it.
And all of this has been in the midst of the family grieving their loss: for no sooner had Master Damian arrived than Master Bruce had perished, defending the Justice League against Darkseid's attack.
It has been singularly difficult.
And then one day, Damian had slunk into the kitchen, like a cat that had known that it was misbehaving.
And he had asked if Alfred would help him cook. Because he was homesick, and he missed the traditional food that he was used to eating.
Shocked, Alfred had agreed to the request.
And Master Jason had made a mistake: he had sent recipes for penyaj posto, postor bora, mloukhieh, ghobi makhani, chole, and malai kofta. He had sent them to Master Damian - but something about the format of the recipes had a spark of something familiar, and it had caused Alfred to inquire who had sent them.
And then Master Damian had looked away. It was only once Alfred had assured him that no consequence would fall upon either him, or upon the one who had sent them, that the young boy had finally told him.
Master Damian had said that during the brief moment that he was not by Batman's side on patrol, the Red Hood had found him, and suggested that if Damian was struggling, he should go to Alfred, and he should ask to cook something with him.
And Alfred had been reminded, then, of a young boy, smaller than Damian even despite his older age, slinking into Alfred's kitchen and asking to help cook something, because he was homesick, and wanted to eat something that was familiar to him, and also because he wanted to help Alfred - since, in Master Jason's words, 'he wasn't a bougie rich boy, he knew how to take care of himself without a butler waiting on him hand and foot, no offense Alfie, and that meant he knew how to cook for himself, and anyways it was rude not to help.'
And as he sits with his cup of tea that evening, and muses on the day, he thinks: how cruel to think that the Red Hood- that Jason had tainted one of their few memories of contentment; how cruel to leave that case on display; how cruel to prioritise the dead over the living.
What a disservice to Jason.
They had promised a young boy that he would always have a home with them, no matter what. And because he had done things that they disagreed with, they had broken that promise.
Alfred wonders, in the privacy of his own mind, if Jason had done those things before he thought that they had broken that promise, or after. He has a terrible suspicion that it was in fact after.
Because, well, Alfred also remembers coming home after spending several years at war. He had left as a young man, and returned as an older one. He had changed. It had taken him several years to confirm that he no longer fit at home in the way that he once did. His family had changed, and there had no longer been a place for him there, not for him as he had become. There had almost been a space for him, as he had been: his family had tried to make space for him. But it hadn't worked. And so he had moved to America.
How much more terrible would it have been if he had returned home, and his family had not accepted him home. If he had not had the chance to find out for himself that he could not stay there. If the space that he might have fit into had instead been filled by someone else, by a boy that looked like him, by a boy who, indeed, wore his very clothes.
And yet: despite all that, Jason had reached out to a young homesick boy, and told him how to get help. Had helped that boy himself, in fact, as much as he could: because no one would ever even consider letting young Master Damian leave the Manor so that he could spend some time with the Red Hood.
And then Alfred thinks, with a terrible lurch: when did he get used to thinking of Master Jason, that small, kind, loved boy, with such disdain?
Master Jason had always been welcome in Alfred's kitchen. That ought not to have changed. If, perhaps, Alfred had somehow made that clear earlier, before Jason had transformed himself into the Red Hood, then Jason might have come home.
But now, even despite the closed door that Alfred seems to have unwittingly shown to Master Jason, he has reached out anyway.
If Alfred could have encouraged Master Bruce to help the Red Hood for Batman's sake, why then can Alfred not help Jason for Damian's sake, for Alfred's sake, for Jason's sake.
Besides which, Jason is hardly the only killer in this family: Alfred, with the wisdom of old age, is under no illusions that just because someone killed under the orders of the Crown, it did not mean that they hadn't killed at all. Not to mention the young Miss Kane, who had been a very fine soldier - he remembers her leaving for her first deployment abroad, all full of fire; and returning with that fire tempered, though not dulled. (He knows what it looks like once someone has killed: it's in the eyes. It's in hers, it's in his, and it's in Master Jason's too, he suspects.)
And Alfred thinks: if Batman can give his many Rogues chance after chance, waiting patiently until they choose to do better, then why can't Alfred?
And so, he decides, he will reach back.
He will make it clear that Master Jason is welcome in his kitchen, regardless of anything else.