Archive of Our Own

Gotham was a busy city this time of year, late August upon them, school just around the corner, villains and criminals running more rampant than usual. In retrospect, Jason found it kind of amusing that today the illustrious billionaire Bruce Wayne was just like the hordes of middle aged moms dragging their teenagers to this store and that, trying to mix their child’s rapidly changing clothing tastes with clothing appropriate for school days.

It was an entertaining thought, until they actually pulled into the department store parking lot, at which point Jason became very nervous.

Alfred had been the one to suggest they go shopping together, as Jason Todd had been living with them for a little over two months, during which he rotated between three different outfits, the only three he had. He figured he did need new clothes if he was going to be Bruce Wayne’s new ward, but wasn’t comfortable enough with the new situation to ask. Fortunately, Alfred was always thinking ahead.

Jason didn’t know why he tensed up as they walked into the clothing department, but it was an ugly feeling he suddenly couldn’t shake.

Maybe Jason should have realized what this emotion was when he looked over at thee Bruce Wayne grabbing a shopping cart, out and about at a middle class department store in his expensive designer clothes next to a rugged boy wearing ripped jeans, stained shoes and a ratty t-shirt. Jason should have been teasing his guardian, but the inferiority that consumed his mind prevented him from enjoying his first shopping experience.

Jason had never shopped for his own clothes before. Usually his mother just brought him bags of clothing she got from a donation tin or thrift store: shirts that smelled like cigarette smoke, hoodies with suspicious stains, wrinkled pants—Jason didn’t even want to remember the socks, full of holes and cat hair and foul smells…

It would be nice to pick out my own clothes for once, the boy thought, trying to be positive as they silently maneuvered their way around clusters of people. Then I can pick the colors I like. No more dusty browns and poopy greens.

The more Jason looked around the store, however, the more anxious he became—shopping at Gotham’s biggest department store was, for a kid like him, the equivalent of Bruce shopping at Armani. He felt out of his league, staring at the rows and rows of clothing racks with huge eyes as busy families rushed around them.

“Looks like the boys section is over there,” Bruce nodded at the sign. “Shall we?”

Jason was stiff as he followed, keeping close to the man’s side as he read off Alfred’s organized list. Some snot nosed baby was crying in the kids’ section, making it difficult for Jason to focus.

“Alfred says we should get clothes for every season: a winter coat, boots, gloves, a scarf, beanie…then for spring, some t-shirts, jeans, sneakers, a light jacket and sweatshirt…for summer, shorts, some outdoorsy shoes…”

Jason doubted as Bruce went down the list, naming off a bunch of items Alfred thought their new ward would need. It would be too expensive to get everything on the list: Jason made what he thought was a reasonable budget of eighty dollars to get maybe one thing from each section, items he could make last for at least two years. It was doable, since Jason had learned to be careful with his clothes over the last few years he spent roaming the grimy streets of Gotham without adult supervision. Eighty dollars was a considerable amount of money to spend on clothes, considering his mom would usually use triple that to get drugs instead of necessities—though to her it apparently was a necessity…

“T-Shirts,” Bruce pointed out at a nearby rack, snapping Jason out of his calculating brain. “They’re on Alfred’s list.”

Jason eyed a group of kids looking at much more stylish things a few racks over, scanning over his options quickly; spotting the clearance rack, he walked past the regular priced items and began stifling through the sale shirts. He usually got (stole) size small, but Jason figured if he got a medium, it would last him longer, and fit him better now that he was starting to build muscle with Bruce’s rigorous training. There was a dark blue shirt with a pocket that was only six dollars, so Jason folded it up and placed the shirt in their cart.

“Okay, what’s next?”

“I think you’ll need more than one t-shirt for everyday wear, Jason.”

Bruce didn’t understand why Jason frowned at him like he did, lips tightening like he was about to make a retort but held back. To bring back that content smile Jason usually had, Bruce grabbed a dark red striped t-shirt with a dark blue, long sleeve undershirt and held it up.

“What about this? For spring, maybe, when the wind is chilly,” He suggested.

Jason appraised the shirt with a furrowed brow, feeling the soft fabric beneath his fingers; he did like it, but it wasn’t from the clearance rack, regular fifteen dollars. That already put his grand total to twenty-one dollars. For two items.

“I don’t know about the stripes,” Jason lied.

“Well, we’ll carry it around for a while until you decide.”

Jason eyed the innocent shirt where it sat in the cart, wondering if this was some sort of test: a test to see how greedy Bruce’s new ward was, after he kindly took the street kid into his home at Wayne Manor, fed him three meals a day, made him Batman’s trusted sidekick. Jason always aced his tests at school, but sometimes passing Bruce’s tests seemed impossible.

Reluctantly, burning with fear and shame every time he heard the beeping of someone else checking out their items, Jason picked out four more t-shirts, a plain black one, a white and blue one, a long sleeved baseball tee, even finding a cool red one with Wonder Woman’s logo on it. Jason had yet to meet her, had subtly asked Bruce when he would get to go to his first Justice League meeting, with the hope that he might meet the wondrous and strong Diana Prince.

Bruce snorted when he saw the Wonder Woman shirt, which was the first time Jason smiled during their shopping trip.

Their rough total without tax was forty dollars already, and as Jason looked through the sweatshirt section, he wasn’t really looking too intently at the sweatshirts, but instead doing some calculating in his head—he figured he would have to go without new shoes for a while, even though his sneakers were shredded. Shoes definitely weren’t in the budget today.

Maybe if I put some of the shirts back and only get one hoodie, Jason speculated, frown deepening as he looked at the prices of the clearance sweatshirts. Damn. I really need some new shoes…maybe I can go just a few dollars over budget?

“What about this one, Jason?”

In his fancy coat and glittering watch, Bruce Wayne held up a common brand, black and red pullover sweatshirt for Jason to look at. It was pretty cool looking, had kind of a racecar vibe to it, but Jason knew Bruce didn’t grab it from the clearance rack. He found a similar one that was black with a big red stripe and a star on it, holding that one up to go against Bruce’s pick.

“This one?”

“Sure! That’ll look slick.”

Jason’s pick was eleven dollars, and he found a plain gray zip-up hoodie on sale for nine dollars, so he got that one as well. Not counting the third sporty sweatshirt Bruce slipped into their cart, which Jason planned on putting back, he figured the total was around fifty-five dollars now—it may have been possible to get at least two pairs of pants with the remaining budget, if he found some cheap sweatpants and cheap jeans. Really cheap jeans.

“Good thing Alfred put underwear and socks on the list–I would have forgotten,” Bruce commented, grabbing a pack of plain briefs and a pack of socks, showing them to Jason before dropping them in the cart.

I guess one pair of pants will have to do.

It could have been fun, shopping with Gotham’s favorite son Bruce Wayne, teasing him about not knowing what a department store was, not knowing the names of the basic brands…it could have been fun, if Jason wasn’t so worried about spending too much of his guardian’s money. Aside from the fact that his parent, so to speak, was a literal billionaire, Jason Todd felt like a regular kid for once, wandering around a busy department store on a weekend and picking out clothes to wear. It should have been a fun time, a regular day in the life of a normal boy—

So why did Jason have to ruin it by being himself?

He was easily distracted today, such as when he stared at a boy around his age shopping with his mother in the sweater section. She held up an embarrassing polka dot sweater over her son’s torso, which he affectionately whined about; she laughed and put the sweater back, nodding in approval when her son found one that he liked. Jason heard her say he would look handsome in anything, which made the boy blush a little, but he was still smiling.

Bruce was watching Jason when he regained his focus, hurrying towards a nearby rack of jeans to escape his gaze.

Forty, thirty-six, fifty-seven…why are jeans so expensive? Jason wondered, lips pursed as he combed through the pile of jeans. Ah ha! Twenty. They might put me over budget, but it should be okay.

“Think those’ll be too long?” Bruce asked, approaching Jason with the cart that looked much too full already.

“Yeah, maybe...but I can grow into them.”

“Why don’t you take those ones and this pair into the fitting room and try them on?”

Bruce suddenly handed Jason another pair of jeans, darker in color and definitely not from the sales rack. Jason slowly took the jeans and laid them over his arm, feeling guilty already as he hesitantly headed towards the fitting rooms.

He stood nervously near the desk, waiting for the attendant to notice him—he didn’t want to bother her, Bruce curing the situation by charmingly getting her attention and asking for a fitting room for his boy. She eagerly complied, ogling Bruce Wayne all the while. Jason rolled his eyes after he locked himself into the small room, wiggling out of his hole filled jeans and putting the twenty dollar option on.

They were probably the best fitting jeans he ever had; usually the ones his mom got him were too long, or too loose at the waist. These weren’t too long or too wide, which meant he wouldn’t have to roll them up or wear a belt as tight as it could possibly go. They were light blue, a little faded, no holes, regular fit, not too snug, not too loose, and they actually looked pretty good on Jason, something he never had the privilege to care about before.

Satisfied with his pick, Jason took the jeans off and was about to put his old ones back on when he remembered the darker blue jeans Bruce picked out for him. They hung on the knob innocently, tag hanging off one of the loops, which Jason stared at for two whole minutes before painfully turning it over to see the price—he winced when he saw $42.99 printed on the white tag.

Jason considered lying to Bruce and telling him he tried them on…but Jason tried not to lie. He wanted to be a good, untroublesome kid worthy of his guardian’s name. He didn’t want to lie when Bruce was just trying to be generous. Even if he was only being encouraging and generous because they were in public (which Jason often told himself was the case), Jason didn’t want to make a scene and embarrass him.

He wanted to be a good kid.

Sighing, Jason pulled the more expensive blue jeans on; they fit him just as well as the others did, and would go with the gray hoodie he got. They were a good brand, real denim, sturdy enough to last Jason a few years if he didn’t get too tall and took good care of them. If Bruce suggested he try them on, that must have meant he was okay with the price—but maybe he didn’t even look at the price. Why would he? He was a billionaire! Still, Jason didn’t dare to like the jeans, only to end up not being able to buy them.

He heard it on a TV show once: “never try on something out of your price range. It’ll only break your heart.”

Jason exhaled again, shoulders sinking as he looked in the mirror, focus drawing off the jeans and further up the reflection where his face was.

It seemed like Jason hadn’t looked at himself in forever, hardly recognizing who he saw staring back: a clean faced boy who had just gotten a haircut a few weeks back, no visible bruising or scuffs on his skin. He had been eating well, thanks to Alfred’s delicious cooking, no longer as scrawny as he once was only a few months ago. He was no longer a greasy, smelly punk with bloodstains and violent marks all over his appearance.

If a random person on the street were to analyze him, Jason Todd looked like a healthy, average kid shopping with his dad for the upcoming school year.

Liar, a voice accused. You’re lying to yourself and you know it.

That was true. Jason wasn’t a Wayne—he was an imposter. Whoever he saw in the mirror now wasn’t really him. The real Jason Todd was a street thug digging through garbage in ratty clothes, playing pranks on cops and stealing tires from cars. He shouldn’t have been wearing nice shirts and clean sneakers and jeans that weren’t from donation boxes. He couldn’t pretend to be some rich boy—it just wasn’t him. He was faking. Everyone in Gotham knew it.

Jason hated that he dragged Bruce Wayne to some lame department store. If he was his real son, they would be shopping at the designer stores getting suits for the next gala or social outing. Instead, here he was trying on some Levi’s jeans, like a scrub, trying to get three different outfits for under eighty dollars. Wayne’s didn’t have budgets. But Jason wasn’t a Wayne, not really…he was just Bruce’s charity case.

Looking at his reflection now, a stupid, hopeless gaze blinking back at him, Jason didn’t think he was worthy of being Robin or a Wayne.

Outside the fitting room, Bruce continued flirting with the dressing room attendant for a solid fifteen minutes before Jason finally exited, a dejected look on his face as he approached.

“Did everything fit okay, young man?” The attendant asked.

“They’re too short,” Jason said briefly. “I’ll go put them back.”

Easily sensing Jason’s turn of mood, Bruce bid the woman farewell and hurried after his adopted son, having to use some of his Batman swiftness to stop Jason before he hurried out of view. Jason was usually a happy, snarky boy, but since they arrived at the store, he was acting unusually quiet—insecure. Bruce thought he understood the boy’s thought process, but maybe he was way off in his presumptions this time.

“Jason—are you okay?” Bruce asked in concern.

“I’m fine, let’s just—go to a different section.”

Bruce reached out to lightly grab Jason’s arm a second time, preventing the boy from running away. Jason stubbornly kept himself turned away, not wanting to face him quite yet. He hated looking weak in front of the Batman, but even more so in front of Bruce, though he didn’t know why. Maybe because Bruce was more human than Batman. It meant more that Bruce thought well of him, not the Batman.

“Jason,” His guardian tried again, this time in a softer tone Jason had only ever heard him use once before. It broke down a layer of barrier he had been trying to maintain. “What’s really going on? What are you feeling?”

Yes: Bruce Wayne was stubborn, as Alfred frequently pointed out, but Jason Todd may have been a top contender for the crown. Although the first several years of his life had been lived in turmoil and poverty, Jason had a lot of pride—maybe it was because of that turmoil that he had pride. It took a lot of encouragement for him to vocalize his softer emotions without being ashamed. On the streets, he couldn’t afford to appear soft or vulnerable, even if that was what being a kid was all about; but Jason wasn’t like other kids, not before, and definitely not now.

Wayne’s didn’t have shame. That meant Jason couldn’t have shame, either, but…Bruce was asking. Bruce Wayne, the Batman, one of the most stubborn and emotionally complicated men Jason had ever met was actually asking him about his feelings. He wanted to know, and it seemed like he wanted to help.

Even if it was a trick to test how emotionally gullible Robin was, Jason craved that attention, longed for a confidant to confess his conflicting feelings to. He didn’t really think his obscenely wealthy guardian would understand, not truly, but Jason wanted to try if Bruce did.

Bruce watched patiently, releasing Jason’s arm when he finally turned his way. The boy stared down at his rotten sneakers, holding an arm across his torso uncomfortably, trying to feel secure. He hoped Bruce couldn't see that his eyes had gotten misty for a second.

“It’s…I…” Jason struggled. “I don’t like it when you…have to buy me things. When you have to buy me anything.”

“Can you…explain it to me a little more? Please?” Bruce requested, scraping off another layer of Jason’s wall.

“I guess…it’s hard for me to…let you buy me things without feeling like I owe you. Like I’ll have to make it up to you somehow, because…you know…you’re—you’re letting me stay with you, and be your…sidekick,” Jason whispered. He couldn’t bring himself to look Bruce in the eyes. “I don’t want to get anything too expensive, because I don’t want to owe you more than I already do. There’s not really anything I can do that can make up for any of this, and…it just…makes me feel—guilty.”

Even before Jason’s speech, Bruce partially understood the weirdness of finally having enough capital at your fingertips to buy whatever you desired, especially considering the miserable life of destitution Jason came from, but what Bruce hadn’t expected was the guilt Jason confessed to. It made his chest ache as he watched the boy sadly, furrowing his brows as he tried to think of what best to say to make Jason understand.

What could he say to make him understand that he loved Jason? Legally, the boy was his son, and in addition to them being crime fighting partners, Bruce wanted the real Jason Todd to have a bright, happy, functional life. He wanted him to excel in school (which he did even without Bruce and Alfred nudging him along), wanted him to make friends and build positive relationships (they were working on that), wanted him to not have to worry about where his next meal was coming from or where he was going to sleep at night.

Bruce wanted all these things for him, but knew they didn’t come without emotional challenges. Transitioning from being homeless to living in Wayne Manor was a huge cultural shock for a kid like Jason–shopping with Bruce Wayne was probably just the tip of the insecurity iceberg. It was a different class, a different lifestyle, a different world. Bruce hated to imagine what other painful emotions Jason had been feeling that he kept inside, for fear of being bothersome or ungrateful.

Bruce didn’t know exactly what he was going to say, but knew he had to say it, and say it like he meant it—because Bruce really did mean it. He wanted the absolute best for Jason.

Jason felt a hand on top of his head, gentle enough to make the boy look up, which he reluctantly did, sad green eyes peering out from underneath dark eyelashes.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce began honestly, surprising Jason enough where his lips almost opened to gape. “I should have realized this would be uncomfortable for you. I guess I should have talked with you beforehand about the budget.”

“The budget that doesn’t exist in Wayne World?” Jason mumbled, looking down again. Bruce slid his hand down to grab the boy’s shoulder in reassurance.

“It does exist–it’s just a lot higher than you’re probably used to,” The older man explained. “I’m not saying you need to dress like me, or wear fancy brands to blend in–you’re your own person, you have your own style, and I think that’s great. I guess I’m…trying to say that if you want, you can buy whatever’s on clearance, if that’s what you’re comfortable with. But you don’t have to be afraid of getting something regular price, or even overpriced: you deserve whatever you think you need.”

Bruce didn’t know if he was making any sense, a filthy rich white guy trying to explain consumerism to a former street kid. At least Jason was looking at him again, blinking up with wide eyes as he listened intently.

“I know you don’t control how you feel, but I mean this, Jason: you don’t have to feel guilty for letting me buy you things. It’s my job to provide food, clothes and shelter for you. I’m going to do that no matter what, even if things change between us, between our–other identities. You don’t owe me anything for providing basic necessities. That’s what…that’s what a father is for.”

Bruce thought he may have went too far with his last comment, fighting on whether or not he should have said it, but it was done. He didn’t think he could bear it if Jason made a sassy remark about how Bruce wasn’t his real father, that’s why he was so uncomfortable with the situation, but Jason surprised him. He was always surprising him. The boy seemed much more relaxed, nodding while still looking up at Bruce, green shining a bit brighter than before.

“Yeah…I’m just not used to it, I guess,” Jason replied, remembering the chaos of his childhood that always lacked a central father figure, someone he could depend on for everything. “You’ve never done anything to make me feel this way, but I just always feel like I have to live up to the Wayne name—I guess that’s why I feel pressured, why I try really hard to not make trouble for you. I want to live up to all your expectations of me, but I…I don’t know how.”

“Because you’re not a Wayne—you’re Jason Todd. You’re you,” Bruce reminded him. “So, you have to ask yourself, what kind of a name is Jason Todd? What do you think of when you hear that name? What kind of expectations do you have for yourself? That’s much more important than mine, or anyone else’s expectations.”

Jason considered this point for a minute, doing some profound thinking for standing in the middle of a department store on a Sunday afternoon.

“What if I don’t know? What if I don’t know who Jason Todd is, yet?” He questioned fearfully, grip tightening on the jeans he held.

“That’s perfectly fine,” Bruce smiled again. “It might take a while, but I know you’ll figure it out one day. That’s something I’d like to help with—if you’ll let me.”

“Is that another thing a father is for?”

Bruce felt a different sensation in his chest, body feeling a little bit lighter, even if Jason hadn't technically addressed him as “Dad.” Unable to speak at the moment, he ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately and hummed in agreement. Jason finally gave a small smile of his own, and slowly put both pairs of jeans into their cart.

“Okay—we should get going. We still have a bunch of stuff from Alfred’s list we need to get, right?”

“Right.”

Feeling like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and burdened with someone else at his side, Jason followed Bruce over to the active wear, where he picked out three pairs of athletic shorts, two from clearance and one regular priced, also finding a few dry fit workout shirts for training. He was surprised that Bruce had a good eye for fashion, considering it had been years since he was a teen, and considering he basically only wore suits and a bat costume, but once he knew Jason’s favorite colors and styles, he got very good at suggesting things he might like.

Together, they found Jason a light jacket for spring, a cool, rugged looking jean jacket on sale for eighteen dollars, a pair of comfortable cargo pants and a pack of patterned socks. He grinned wider than Bruce had seen all day when he found a pair of gray Wonder Woman sweatpants to go with his red Wonder Woman shirt. Alfred was absolutely going to take a picture of Jason wearing the outfit and send it to Diana, Bruce just knew it.

Jason was still keeping an eye on their final price, a deal catcher if Bruce ever saw one, but he seemed a lot more relaxed about the process, now that he was reassured that his guardian buying him clothes wasn’t going to put him in debt to the man.

Shopping for winter clothing was a bit tougher. Winters could get harsh in Gotham, as Jason knew painfully well, so he knew he may have to spend a little more if he wanted to not freeze to death waiting for the school bus come November. He saw a coat that reminded him of the one he shoplifted a few years back, a coat that appeared to be very warm and sturdy, only for it to get ripped at the slightest pull and let in the sharp Gotham winds all winter long.

Determined to get a coat that lasted, Jason hunted through each and every rack, eyes narrowed in focus as he finally found one he liked: it was colorblock style, red on the shoulders and hood, white for the torso and dark blue for the sleeves. It was puffy and secure, fitting perfectly around Jason when he tried it on; so absorbed in how cool he looked, Jason hadn’t even thought about the price, biting his lip when he grabbed the tag and saw $119.99 printed.

No wonder it’s so nice.

“Do you like that one?”

“Well…it’s okay,” Jason forced himself to shrug, as if he wasn’t that impressed. “But it’s—expensive.”

Bruce grabbed the tag from Jason and flipped it over, showing him the second yellow tag that cancelled out the original.

“It’s actually on sale for sixty. See? That’s a steal. Do you like it?”

“I–”

“Don’t think about it too much, J,” Bruce shook his head. “Do you like the coat?”

Jason looked at himself in a nearby mirror, moving his arms around to check the movement on the shoulders. When he was satisfied, he looked back up at Bruce and nodded.

“Great. We got a winter coat, a scarf, gloves and a beanie—now we just need shoes.”

“We’re gonna get shoes, too?”

“I won’t admit this to anyone aside from you, Jason, but I love shoe shopping more than a woman does,” Bruce said seriously, putting an arm around Jason’s shoulder and pulling him towards the shoe section excitedly. “Buying shoes is a big task—you have to consider the length, the width, the fit, the style, the heel, the material, the height, if the color matches more than one outfit, and…”

“On second thought, maybe I should do this alone,” Jason joked.

“Not a chance, kid.”

As it turns out, Bruce actually did know a lot about buying shoes, though most of his knowledge applied to dress shoes. For now, Jason just needed some new sneakers and winter boots; the boots were easy enough to find, more expensive than the boy would have liked, but Bruce assured him they were good quality. There was an entire row dedicated to sneakers and not much on clearance, Jason slowly making his way down the row, trying not to stare too hard at all the cool shoes.

“What about these bad boys?” Bruce suggested, grabbing a sample shoe off the display. “You like red, right?”

“Bruce—those are light up sneakers.”

“What? Are light up shoes not cool anymore?”

Jason hit his arm playfully, becoming interested in a pair of mid-rise white and red athletic shoes. They looked flexible and comfy, one box in Jason’s size remaining, so he took the box and tried them on; it was very unusual, seeing himself wearing shoes that were brand new. It almost felt wrong, putting something on his feet that were so clean and spotless—Jason had to remind himself that he, too, was now clean and spotless. Mostly.

“Is sixty-five dollars expensive for shoes?”

“Seems to be about average. Do those ones fit okay? Is the heel comfortable? Hop around a little and see.”

“Hop around? Like this?” Jason demonstrated his hopping skills by playing imaginary hop scotch across the carpet.

“Perfect,” Bruce chuckled. “Okay, we’ll get those ones for training—why don’t we look for some casual ones, too? Something you can wear to school.”

Jason was going to own two pairs of shoes? The idea baffled him. In a daze, he boxed up the athletic shoes and placed them in the cart, following Bruce to the next row over where the casual sneakers were. Almost immediately, Jason spotted a pair of low-top Converse with white canvas and a unique design of spray paint art. There were stars, X’s, smiley faces and even a butterfly printed on the fabric; they were the coolest looking sneakers Jason had ever seen.

Jason admired the shoes, wincing a bit when he saw the price just as Bruce walked up with the cart.

“These ones are eighty dollars. Is that too much?” He asked carefully.

“Not at all.”

“Are you sure? I can look in the clearance section, see if there’s any over there…”

“Try them on, Jason,” Bruce encouraged, picking out his size and handing him the box. “I’m sure they’ll look good.”

Jason sat down and slid into the Converse, walking up and down the aisle to test their comfortability; as expected, they looked really cool, but Jason didn’t want to be greedy. He really didn’t need such expensive shoes…there was probably some plain red ones that would work just as well in the clearance section, but…he wanted these ones. He gave Bruce a certain look, another silent question being asked, if it was really okay to buy something purely because he liked the style, and when Bruce returned that look with a smile, Jason smiled, too.

Everything checked off Alfred’s list, Bruce and Jason went to wait in line behind a young woman and her two children. The kids were whining and fussy, one begging for a toy they wanted and the other sniffling because he was hungry and wanted a snack, but Jason thought their mom was doing her best. She seemed pained at spending over eighty dollars, splitting it onto two different cards and pocketing the receipt—Jason was so absorbed in watching the woman leave, thinking she reminded him a lot of his own mother, that he didn’t even hear the final total for his plethora of items.

I’m more fortunate than a lot of people in Gotham, Jason thought, absentmindedly watching the cashier pack all of his clothes into a bag. But…I don’t have to feel bad about it. I’m still one of them—I can still help them in a lot of ways. I’ll help them, so they don’t have to feel bad, either.

“Hey, Bruce?” Jason prompted as they walked out of the store, four heavy bags in hand.

“Hm?”

Jason hesitated for a moment, but Bruce had once told him if he wanted anything, all he had to do was ask. Asking was difficult for someone as prideful, as misfortunate as Jason Todd, who rarely had what he needed and as a result, tried to get everything himself, but Jason was learning.

He was learning, just like Bruce was learning.

“Do we have time to stop at the bookstore on the way home? It’s okay if we don’t—I can go another day. If you’re too tired and want to get home, I understand.”

Bruce was looking at Jason with a soft expression when the boy glanced up. Yes, Bruce was tired from last night’s patrol, in addition to Jason’s evening training, but did any of his fatigue, aches and pains really matter when his son was looking at him like that, so full of hope and anticipation? No. This is what fathers were for. Bruce couldn’t bear to let him down, ever.

And he hoped he never would.

“I’m never too tired for a little reading,” Bruce said, ruffling Jason’s dark hair up. “Let’s go.”