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“Am I really going to live here with you, Bruce?” Jason had asked his first night at the manor. “Is it really okay?”
“Of course. What’s mine is yours, Jason,” Bruce confirmed gently. “You’re welcome to everything in my home—it’s your home now, too.”
Jason still clearly remembered that first night at Wayne Manor, mostly because he had been happily obsessing over Bruce saying this was now Jason’s home. To think, only four weeks ago he was sleeping on an old mattress in a moldy, abandoned apartment, swiping tires for kicks and weighing little more than eighty pounds—now he lived in Wayne freaking Manor, the nicest house in all of Gotham, and didn’t have to pay any of the bills. He had even gained some weight already, Bruce weighing him in at eighty-seven pounds, putting the numbers in a chart so they could keep track and make sure he was healthy.
Even if Jason Todd’s life had suddenly taken a drastic turn for the better, there were still some issues quietly raging under the surface. Wasn’t it always something with Jason? That’s what his social worker used to say.
School wasn’t the biggest adjustment for Jason. He worked hard to catch up with the other kids who hadn’t registered halfway into the term, spent his free time reading sections of the textbook the class had already covered. Even sleeping in a queen sized bed with silk sheets wasn’t hard to adjust to (it was the easiest, in fact, for a boy who loved naps and sleeping in general), nor was wearing brand new clothes that didn’t have holes and smelled like smoke. Not even having two people share the house with him was the biggest adjustment.
No…the biggest adjustment for Jason was the food.
Poor little Jason had lived on the grimy, dangerous streets of Gotham for a few years before Batman found him. During that time of his life, Jason had eaten only small meals, if you could even call them meals. They were more like multiple snacks eaten together, even though they didn’t really go together, taste-wise. Anything he could slip into his pockets was a meal for him, candy bars, gum, peanuts, chips, jerky, Pop-Tarts, licorice…if the store was especially busy, sometimes Jason could sneak a can of soup or spaghettios into his hoodie (which didn’t taste great at room temperature), and maybe snag a sandwich from the refrigerated section, if he was wearing a bulky hoodie. He tried not to steal big items, though.
Jason didn’t want to steal—it didn’t make him feel good, and he knew it was wrong, but he also didn’t want to starve to death.
When Jason was able to sell car parts and other useful items to criminals, he used the money to buy a warm rotisserie chicken, loaded nachos, green Gatorade and a cosmic brownie from the convenience store on the corner. He ate everything at once, reveling in the rare taste of food that was actually heated up, as close to a homecooked dinner as he could get. Jason then wouldn’t have to eat for a few days after, shrunken stomach bloated from such an excess of heavy foods, which kept him from stealing, because he didn’t need any food at the moment.
Today, living in Wayne Manor, life was very different.
“Alfred’s a great cook, so if you make him a list of your favorites, I’m sure he won’t disappoint,” Bruce had told Jason the first morning they sat at the dining table together. “I don’t know where he learned it, but I’ve never gotten a bad meal from him. What’s your go-to meal?”
In the moment, Jason had completely panicked, because he couldn’t afford the luxury of having a favorite food, but Bruce was doing his best at trying to make him more comfortable, and Jason didn’t want the man to think he was ungrateful for the attempt.
“Uh…pizza.”
“I should’ve guessed,” Bruce snorted. “You’re in luck—Alfred makes the best homemade pizza around. Breakfast and fruit pizza, too.”
“Great,” Jason nodded stiffly. Truthfully, he couldn’t remember the last time he ate pizza, much less what it tasted like. And what the hell was fruit pizza? Was it some foreign concept or something? Fruit and tomatoes didn’t exactly go together.
Even so—Jason would have eaten it. He didn’t want to starve. It always came down to food, didn’t it?
Alfred cooked three meals a day nearly every day, even when Bruce was out galivanting around Gotham and Jason was at school. Whenever Jason woke up and came downstairs, there was at least three different types of foods on the table for breakfast, along with several different drink options. Alfred would ask “Master Todd” what he wanted to drink, then pour it into the glass himself, like their scoundrel of a Robin was royalty. Jason still sat down in a shock at the table every morning and every evening, in disbelief over having someone to cook him actual meals, and to be with him while he ate.
Jason didn’t need to eat three meals. He didn’t need two meals a day, if he had enough at the first one. Hell, he used to go days without eating, which proved that he didn’t really need more than one course, because that one course could keep him full for quite some time. He wasn’t a whiny kid by any means; if his stomach wasn’t grumbling consistently, Jason would ignore any signals his body gave him. He didn’t need to eat.
Jason Todd wanted to be a good boy for his new family, though, and so always ate everything on his plate, even when he wasn’t that hungry, down to the last crumb.
He would eat three meals if Alfred cooked three meals, would eat some of every course and every side dish. After his small stomach expanded over his jeans, Jason would drink another glass of milk, or finish off a few extra bites that weren’t enough to save for leftovers. He ignored his body’s signals, telling them things were different now, that they had more food to store, so they needed to keep more in his body, just in case.
Who knew when his food privileges would end? Who knew if this would be his last meal before being thrown back out to the streets? Who knew when Bruce would start limiting his food intake to save on groceries, so he had more money for Batman gadgets? Jason had no idea which meal was going to be his last, when it was all going to be ripped away again. He had to prepare for anything, prepare for the worst.
And so, he ate. Jason ate anything Alfred gave him.
“Would you care for collard greens with vinegar dressing, Master Jason?” He asked the third night Jason lived at the manor.
“Yes, please!”
Jason choked down the slippery vegetables, tasting the green leaves wetted down with sharp vinegar dressing with an impassive expression. How could he let Alfred know that collard greens were gross? He couldn’t. They might take away the rest of his plate, and when Jason found himself unadopted, he would be begging for green leaves with vinegar.
Drinking wasn’t as difficult a task—Alfred had given Jason a glass for his room the first night, for him to fill up whenever he pleased. He mostly drank water from the faucet, because he didn’t want there to be evidence of missing juice or milk visible in the fridge. He figured those were for meals only. Water was okay, though: humans needed only water to survive, not juice or milk or tea. When it got really hot one day last week, Alfred put cucumbers in the water; Jason liked that, and wished he could have it more often, but never dared to cut into a new cucumber, in case Alfred had been saving it for something and got mad that it was used.
Things were better for Jason Todd than they had been—enormously better, in fact, but the issue of food was beginning to become a noticeable problem.
Tonight, Jason and Bruce trained until very late. It was nearing two a.m. when they finished, Jason all sweaty and muscles aching pleasantly—he was also hungry. Just a little. Just enough where he briefly noticed his stomach feeling a bit empty, quietly moving around, trying to sense if there was any food inside it could digest.
“Good work,” Bruce praised, peeling the athletic wrap off Jason’s hands. “You’re a quick learner.”
“I’ve been in my share of fist fights, Bruce! I’m really scrappy!”
“That you are,” His guardian murmured, ribs still slightly sore from where Jason had belted him with a tire iron. It was, admittedly, a great swing. “That’s enough for tonight. Go shower and get to bed.”
“Okay—goodnight!”
As Bruce finished cutting the tape off Jason’s hands, the boy’s stomach growled. Jason really didn’t understand why…it was a bit dramatic of his stomach to have the audacity to growl when he had just eaten that evening. Alfred made lemon garlic pasta for dinner, and Jason ate his entire plate, which, if you saw the size of the Wayne plates, you would understand that a plate’s worth was plenty. They even had dessert tonight, cinnamon caramel cookies that almost made Jason drool. Even Bruce ate one.
Speaking of Bruce, Jason frantically threw a glance over his shoulder to see if the world’s greatest detective had noticed. He was tossing the used tape into the trash, not looking in Jason’s direction, instead focused on arranging their training space back to its original condition; Jason took this chance to scurry out of the Batcave and back to the manor, taking his grumbling stomach with him.
The manor was quiet at this time of night, and as Jason trudged along with his aching muscles, he tried to think of anything else aside from his hunger.
It really is a great place to live, Jason thought thankfully, feeling warm and happy as he walked down the long hallway leading to his bedroom. No mold, no leaky ceilings, no creaky floors, windows and doors that lock…what more does a kid need? I even have a yard, now! That’s really cool. I’ve never known anybody that has a yard, and now I have one all to myself.
Jason’s stomach growled again, causing him to cringe, putting a hand on his stomach as if to keep it quiet. It was no use, though—Jason’s body was accustomed to crisis, and whenever he was hungry, his body immediately responded with starvation tactics. Desperation from a young body begging for proper nutrients. Nature couldn’t be ignored, and could only be put off for so long before it became maddening. Now, Jason wasn’t starving by any means—his brain knew that, but there was no use trying to reason with his stomach.
…Just a little snack. They’d barely notice anything missing. It wasn’t really stealing, anyway— both Alfred and Bruce said this was his house, too, and that included everything in the pantry. If they accused him of going back to old behaviors, stealing to satisfy his needs, he was going to bring up what they said, but Jason knew all too well that adults would rather die than admit they’re being hypocrites.
Instead of turning left, where his bedroom door was, Jason kept heading straight, crept down the staircase and made a quick detour into the kitchen.
Jason liked to think of himself as a talented sneaker, but as he didn’t yet know which cabinets squeaked and which did not, he stuck with the fridge this time around. The bright white hurt his eyes, Jason squinting as his gaze moved quickly over the available items bathed in angelic light: leftover peppered salmon, a few pieces of sliced ham, red grapes, grilled corn, baby carrots, Greek yogurt, cheddar cheese, protein shakes…couldn’t take too much of any one item, or else Alfred and Bruce would know he had been sneaking food.
I don’t need a lot, anyway—just enough to make my stomach realize I’m not starving.
Stealthily, using old skills he picked up on the streets, Jason crept a quick hand out and carefully opened a glass container, wincing at the slight pop! noise it made. Using two fingers he grabbed a piece of ham, closed the lid and next went for the grape bowl, tearing off a stem with several grapes attached from the main bundle. Because the cheddar cheese chunks were right next to it, Jason skillfully pulled up the saran wrap and snatched a chunk, replacing the wrap exactly how he found it.
Then Jason heard a noise.
Footsteps. He heard footsteps, and they were heading towards the kitchen. Jason had nowhere to go! If he stayed by the fridge, he would be caught red-handed. If he hid behind the kitchen island, the person coming would sense his presence. Jason was resourceful, though—he was used to ducking into alleys and garbages to hide from law enforcement. He pressed the fridge door shut silently, then leapt for the handle of the cabinet underneath the sink and crawled in, winding himself around pipes so he could close the wood door behind him.
Darkness overwhelmed the tiny area, Jason clutching his ham, grapes and cheese in one hand, using the other to hold himself steady. Bruce had entered the kitchen—Jason recognized his precise, but heavy footsteps when he stepped onto the kitchen tile. The fridge door opened once again, Bruce having to give it a good tug, because Jason had only just closed it, and the frigid air momentarily resisted against being opened again. Bruce apparently wasn’t suspicious, though, because he didn’t hum or grunt like he usually did when something bothered him.
Under the sink, amongst cold pipes and spider webs, Jason bit his lip anxiously, practicing the silent breathing method Bruce recently taught him as he listened to the older man rummage around. A few containers were shuffled, some things moved, Bruce trying to decide what he wanted before spending another few hours on the Batcomputer. Every time the noises stopped for even a second, Jason was terrified that his stomach would give another inopportune growl, or that Bruce was already onto him. They (Alfred) didn’t call him the world’s greatest detective for nothing.
By the time the third silence came around, Jason was sweating, and began holding his breath, in danger of squeezing the grapes he worked so hard to steal. A moment later, however, the fridge door was shut once again, and Bruce’s footsteps changed from stepping on the tile to the hardwood of the hallway, volume decreasing as he ascended the staircase. Jason waited an extra five minutes cramped underneath the sink pipes before quietly opening the little wood door and crawling out.
Half of Jason expected Bruce to be standing there when he came out—he was even more stealthy than Jason, but thankfully, he was nowhere in sight. Not wasting anymore time dillydallying, Jason glided out of the kitchen and up the stairs, nibbling on evidence along the way, darting to his own room before the ghosts tattled on him.
Hopefully the drop of moisture on the floor from the grapes will have dried by morning.
Next time, he was definitely going to go hungry: no food was worth the anxiety sneaking into the kitchen at two a.m. caused Jason. Now, his stomach hurt for a much different reason.
~*~
That Saturday, Jason went to the public library to see if they had the third book of a series he was reading. The nice librarian lady put it on hold for him the moment it came in, so Jason checked it out and spent a few hours reading in a cozy corner. When it was time to head home and do his homework, Jason waited outside on a bench for the bus to arrive, reading the entire ride and nearly missing his stop; Alfred always said to call him if he needed a ride, but Jason didn’t mind the bus. He was used to riding the bus, anyway, an old habit from his past life.
Jason kept his new book carefully tucked under his jacket as he walked out of Gotham and towards the large property of Wayne Manor that stood over the city like a gilded castle.
“Alfred—I’m back from the library,” Jason announced when he stepped inside, slipping his shoes off before advancing to the living room. Alfred wasn’t there dusting as expected, so Jason strolled to the kitchen, but that too, was empty. Using the new listening skills Robin had been developing, he zoned in on the entire mansion, focusing intently on what noises he heard: there were no footsteps, no mumbling, talking, whistling or rummaging. Nothing was being moved, nobody using the elevator, no echoes of any movement whatsoever.
Right! Today is grocery day, and Bruce said he’d be at the office until late, the boy recalled. If Alfred left at two like usual, he won’t be back until three-thirty, and that means…
I’m all alone.
Forgetting all about his book in favor of opportunity for food, Jason tossed it on the counter and ran to the pantry, climbing up the frame to grab the box of custard creams Alfred kept on the top shelf, one of his favorite British cookie snacks. He snatched one of those, then went for an individual size pack of white cheddar popcorn, thrilled when he spotted apple and cinnamon granola sitting right next to it. Grabbing that bag as well, Jason jumped down and put his spoils on the granite island, then scurried towards the fridge and threw the door open wildly.
There was so much to pick from, but Jason knew he couldn’t choose from the leftovers or dishes prepared for tonight’s dinner, setting his sights on the fruit drawer. There were two apples left, one that was plump and colorful, the second thinner and bruised—Jason grabbed the second apple, and also the lemonade pitcher. He poured a small amount into his glass with a few ice cubes, carefully placing several ice cubes into the pitcher so no one would notice the difference in how high the lemonade reached the sides. It would be watered down later, but that was a problem for tomorrow. Nothing mattered when Jason had the chance to eat.
Knowing he had to be quick, even if he had a solid forty-five minutes until Alfred would be home, Jason drank three sips of the lemonade and got to work. In his mind, he was eating on the streets again, and had to be fast if he didn’t want the bigger street kids to rip the food from his grasp. Snacks were gourmet meals to kids like them, and Jason couldn’t afford to share with anyone unless he felt particularly bad for them.
Jason barely tasted the popcorn, chewing and swallowing quickly, hardly waiting for the food to get down his throat before he took two bites of the custard cream, vanilla crumbs falling onto his hoodie. He’d have to get rid of that evidence later by doing his own laundry, which he often did, too quick even for the fast and furious Alfred Pennyworth. That was another problem for later, though—
Now, all Jason focused on was eating as much food as he possibly could.
Just in case. Just in case the manor burned down, or Bruce got mad at him for leaving a mess in his bathroom and kicked him out, or just in case Wayne Industries’ sales tanked and they couldn’t afford dinner tomorrow. Just in case Batman and Robin were imprisoned and starved starting tonight. Just in case Alfred wasn’t happy with Jason’s grades and said he couldn’t eat a full meal until he improved them. Jason’s thoughts were all hypothetical, but being homeless had proved to him at a young age that hypotheticals often happened—
Especially if they were bad hypotheticals.
Jason stuffed his face with snacks, ignoring how his small stomach was protesting at the speed at which it was filled; he consumed half the bag of granola with a large silver spoon, had one bite of his custard cream cookie left, four pieces of popcorn, half of the mushy apple and a sip of lemonade to drink when the kitchen door suddenly swung open. So absorbed in his desperation to fill his needy stomach, Jason hadn’t even heard them coming.
“Jason?”
It was Bruce.
Jason froze with the spoon halfway up to his lips, froze like a defenseless rabbit when it was finally spotted through the long grass by a hungry predator. His heart reacted the opposite way, accelerating wildly, triggering his body out of starvation and into fight or flight. The heavy consequences of his actions became very vivid to Jason: not only had he eaten without permission, eaten stolen goods, he had eaten a lot. It wasn’t just a candy bar or a pack of chips—it was five items, an apple, popcorn, a cookie, granola and lemonade. And he was caught red handed, no excuses.
If Jason were still on the streets of Gotham, he would choose flight. He couldn’t run now, though, closed in and trapped inside the kitchen, the only way out being past Bruce, who stood in front of the door.
That left Jason with the second, less favorable option, even if he was quite good at it: fight.
So? You’re going to fight the Batman? A voice laughed at him. Good luck with that. You’re screwed.
Bruce was quiet for a few dreadfully long seconds, the silence so tense it would make anyone squirm. At least, Jason found it tense, mouth snapping shut into an anxious line; he felt that his eyes were wide, but he couldn’t help that, staring with dread and fear back at Bruce. Subtly, Jason dropped the granola from his silver spoon back into the bag, but tightened his grip on the utensil in case it would be needed as a weapon.
“I thought I heard you come in,” Bruce continued like nothing was wrong, advancing around the kitchen island. “Did you find some good books to read at the library?”
“I—I thought you were working late,” Jason croaked, not hearing Bruce’s well-meaning question.
“Dodged a few phone calls and got out early. Wanted to work out a bit befo—”
“I’m sorry,” The boy interrupted breathlessly, anxious to explain himself. “I’ll—I’ll pay for it.”
Bruce’s expression changed to one of confusion as he stopped a few feet from Jason. He probably didn’t mean to, but even in a plain black t-shirt and sweatpants, Bruce looked intimidating: he was so big, and Jason so little, that even if he didn’t moonlight as a vigilante, the older man could take Jason out with a few hits. It was a chilling thought that made Jason’s grip on the spoon become white knuckled.
“Pay for what?”
“The—food. That I ate,” Jason continued, knowing it was useless to lie, as the damning evidence was right in front of them. “I’ll…I can get a job to pay for it!”
“Why would you pay for it, Jason? You’re just a boy. You’re not responsible for buying groceries just yet,” Bruce huffed in amusement. His amusement quickly dropped when Jason’s anxiety didn’t stop, right hand trembling around the spoon he held, green eyes wide and blown back, gulping harshly so no tears could come up.
Bruce didn’t quite grasp the reason behind Jason’s fear, why he offered to pay for the snacks he had eaten innocently, a hungry kid on a weekend afternoon—but he was smart enough to realize that Jason needed some kind of reassurance that whatever terrible thing he thought was going to happen wouldn’t. Taking a few steps back, Bruce spoke again, hoping to break the frightened intensity consuming the kitchen.
“Alfred won’t like that we had just snacks for dinner,” He hummed thoughtfully. “We better heat up some leftovers: do you want the hotdish, or the parmesan veggies?”
Jason’s appetite had died the second Bruce stepped into the kitchen, the moment he stopped tasting cinnamon granola on his now tasteless tongue. His mouth had become so dry he couldn’t respond, opening and closing his mouth uselessly. This was definitely a test from Batman—if Jason ate, he was gullible and a glutton. If he didn’t eat, he was proving that he didn’t need three meals a day to survive, and Bruce would tell Alfred to stop cooking him food.
“We can share, how about that? A little bit of both for each of us.”
Jason didn’t say a single word, nervously watching Bruce’s every move as he dished out the leftovers onto two plates, heating them up in the microwave. The opened snacks sat on the cold granite, now going untouched, nudged aside when Bruce set Jason’s steaming plate in front of him on the island. He left one stool between them, pouring himself some water and refilling Jason’s small glass with the watered down lemonade. While the fridge was open, Bruce also grabbed the last apple from the fruit drawer.
“This apple looks a lot better—here,” Bruce replaced the mushy, half-eaten apple with the more colorful one. “An apple a day keeps the doctor away, so they say.”
Jason looked up at him with a paralyzed expression that took Bruce by surprise. The boy glanced away a moment later, hesitantly moving his spoon towards his plate, but not daring to eat just yet. Bruce took his own seat and decided to shut his mouth for the time being, watching Jason out of the corner of his eye. Only when his guardian had taken three bites did Jason cautiously scoop up a spoonful of hotdish and slowly put it in his mouth, chewing very cautiously.
He, too, seemed to be watching from the corner of his eye.
Bruce and Jason sat in complete silence, quiet chewing and drinking the only sounds in the entire manor. Once in a while Jason would shift on his stool, causing the legs to creak, which sounded terribly loud and rude to the poor boy. It was the most stressed he had ever been during a meal, unable to chatter like he usually did, too worried about Bruce suddenly pulling his plate away and telling him how much of a pig he was. But Jason wasn’t a pig—he was just scared that every meal would be his last. He didn’t want to be a street kid again—more so, he didn’t want Bruce to think he wanted that life back.
Jason couldn’t untense any muscle in his body or taste a single thing for the entire meal.
Mercifully, Alfred eventually came through the front door, hauling several bags of groceries inside, and both Bruce and Jason leapt out of their seats to help. Jason felt blind as he mindlessly unpacked groceries, forcing himself to ignore the exact spots Alfred was placing everything, telling himself it was pointless, because he would never be allowed in the kitchen again. Bruce would probably tell Alfred all about how Jason was sneaking snacks in the middle of the day, and the kitchen would be off limits from now on—maybe they would even put a lock on the door.
“I trust you both had a good day?” Alfred said as he put some lemons into the fridge.
“Sales are up in the robotics department, and I snuck my way out of a few meetings, so, yeah. Did you happen to get my…”
“Super Greens protein powder with fifteen organic super foods and collagen, yes. And you, Master Todd? How was your day at the—”
When Bruce and Alfred turned to look at Jason, the boy was gone, kitchen door swinging behind him.
“He’s getting rather skilled at sneaking around,” Alfred commented, raising an eyebrow. “Did something happen between you two?”
“Why do you always think it’s something I did?”
“Because it often is, Master Wayne. Aside from eating the leftovers two hours before dinner, what did you two do while I was gone?”
Bruce sighed heavily, guiltily, helping Alfred organize the remaining groceries and put them in their respectable spots.
“Maybe it was something I did…I don’t know. I found him eating snacks when he got back from the library, and he acted like I caught him selling family heirlooms on ebay.”
Bruce explained Jason’s strange reaction to being “caught” eating outside of meal hours, how he offered to get a job so he could pay Bruce back for everything he ate, his tense energy as they ate together. Alfred frowned thoughtfully as Bruce spoke, the younger man now anxious to hear his reaction, and hopefully some useful advice along with it. Sure, he had raised Dick for several years before Jason arrived, but Jason was very different from their first Robin, and even with Dick, Bruce often went to Alfred and begged for advice.
“I see. Master Todd does act rather unusually when it comes to food—it sounds as if he’s having trouble adjusting to living life with a silver spoon in his mouth,” Alfred concluded.
“He…huh?” Bruce replied stupidly.
“I’m sure it’s difficult for you to understand, Master Bruce, as you were born with a silver spoon and have never had it leave your mouth since. You have never known what it is to go hungry, to be unsure whether or not you would survive because food is not readily available to you. From what I comprehend, Jason is used to scavenging and stealing food to survive, correct?”
“Yeah…”
“It must be difficult for him, then, living in an environment so unlike his previous one—instead of shoplifting, feeding himself with low calorie snacks and not knowing when his next meal will be, Jason has an entire kitchen filled with nutritious food and beverages, available whenever he feels hunger or thirst,” Alfred said. “That’s quite a shock for a little boy who was not too long ago homeless, hm? The heart can accept being saved much more quickly than the body. The body never forgets routines, especially the harsh ones.”
Alfred cleaned up Jason’s mess left at the kitchen island, sweeping away the popcorn and cookie crumbs while Bruce contemplated. He hadn’t really thought about Jason’s eating habits before, except knowing initially that he didn’t eat as well as a young boy should, given his unfavorable living situation. Jason always ate well at meals, and had thankfully gained a bit of weight since his arrival, which Bruce thought meant his eating habits were just fine. He knew pieces of Jason’s sad past, but never thought food would be the hardest habit for the boy to change.
Bruce picked up the book Jason left behind, The Chronicles of Naria, Book 3: The Horse and His Boy, brushing a few crumbs off it so the pages wouldn’t be stained. Jason treated all his library books with the upmost respect—Bruce wanted him to do the same with his body. But how did he make sure that happened?
“My advice, Master Bruce, is to be your usual self. All we can do is normalize our meals and our eating habits until Master Jason is able to adjust. Eventually, we will show him through our actions that there’s no more need for desperation, for hoarding food ‘just in case,’ for stealing food that is rightfully his for whenever he needs it,” Alfred continued wisely, holding out the apple Jason hadn’t touched to Bruce. “Food for the heart, as they say.”
~*~
Jason finished out his first month with Bruce relatively happily. He had his own bedroom, a place to return to after school, someone to look after him, and he got to be Batman’s sidekick. That was Jason’s favorite part about his new life. Even if he were still a street kid running around shoplifting during the day, if he got to be Robin at night, Jason would be happy—
He was thankful he didn’t have to fend for himself anymore, though.
Sure, Bruce had subtly began speaking more about food instead of just silently implying normal eating habits (for all the socializing Bruce Wayne had to do at his ‘job,’ he wasn’t very smooth about more casual topics), and yeah, Alfred casually asked if Jason wanted any custard creams in his hidden stash of food in his closet, but it was kind of nice, Jason secretly thought, having people that actually cared about his eating habits.
Bruce now made a point to ask if Jason was hungry at least once a day, and whenever Jason said no, followed up by mentioning that if he did get hungry later, he could have a snack. In awkwardly, nearly subtle ways, Bruce would make it known that it was always okay for Jason to go into the kitchen and get food; before and after training, he would ask if Jason wanted food, or would suggest he nibble on some protein during their sessions. Sometimes Jason was pretty sure Bruce faked hunger as an excuse to offer Jason food, too.
The pantry was more full than usual when Jason caught a glimpse recently, letting his eyes linger a bit longer to take note of more child-friendly snacks, like Cheez It crackers, banana chips, honey mustard pretzels, Welch’s fruit snacks, and his favorite, cookies n’ cream Pop-Tarts. How did Alfred know that was his favorite Pop Tart flavor? Maybe Bruce liked them—but Bruce Wayne liking cookies n’ cream Pop-Tarts? Jason didn’t see it. Anyway, he was going to eat all of them, so Bruce would never know they were even in the pantry.
Jason liked to think he was getting better about not binge eating at meal times and depriving himself some days because he didn’t “need” to eat, but his heart still sped up a few beats whenever he walked by or entered the kitchen. Like today, when he was strolling through the hallway with the fourth Narnia book in hand and Alfred called out to him from inside the kitchen.
“Master Todd! Could you come in here for a moment, please?”
Jason stopped in the hall, clutching his book tightly with both hands—he disobeyed Bruce/Batman’s orders all the time, but to disobey Alfred seemed wrong. He was the real man of the house. Jason slowly turned back, stepping closer to the kitchen door, where he hovered for another moment. There was really nothing to be guilty about, he told himself: he hadn’t taken a snack from the pantry unless Alfred or Bruce offered, hadn’t eaten too many servings at dinner the last few days, hadn’t deprived himself of water…he had been good.
So why do I still feel like eating is a crime?
Ignoring his own insecurities for now, Jason swallowed tightly and pushed the door open, only taking a few steps inside the kitchen. Alfred had a magazine open on the island, several plates and bowls spread around, utensils once neatly arranged, but now lying everywhere; his apron was dirty and his sleeves were rolled up as he placed some chicken breasts into one of the bowls.
“Would you mind grabbing that small glass bowl for me?” Alfred smiled. “I seem to have run out of clean hands.”
Jason set his book out of the cooking zone and grabbed the smallest bowl he saw, placing it closer to Alfred. Dozens of spices were laid out, ready to be used, none of which Jason could pronounce without some difficulty, which he figured meant Alfred was cooking something that required a very high skill level. He had never really seen Alfred cook, yet—food just magically appeared on the dining table at six every evening, heat waves radiating, delicious smells oozing from each dish.
“Uh—what are you making?” Jason asked, trying not to show how interested he was.
“Chili chicken and hominy hash. We’ll add a bit of chili powder, cumin, cinnamon and lime for the chicken breasts, roast the hominy with squash and bell pepper, and voila! Dinner is served.”
“Oh. Cool.”
“Would you like to help?” Alfred asked suddenly. “It can be put in the oven that much sooner if you were able to cut the peppers for me.”
Jason Todd cooking? He didn’t know how to cook. He was probably as bad as Bruce, but Jason at least had the excuse of living on the streets, never owning an oven, or even a microwave to try and cook something. He didn’t want to be a bum like Bruce, though—one day, if he ever had a family of his own, he would want to cook for them, like Alfred cooked for him, because it was…nice. It was nice having someone to feed you. Could he ever be that someone, one day?
“Okay,” Jason agreed, rolling up his sleeves, ready for business. “Er…how do I cut them?”
He felt a little embarrassed that he didn’t know how to cut simple vegetables, but Alfred kindly showed him how to hold the knife and the best method for dicing. The butler didn’t seem nervous at all about handing a twelve year old a knife, which in term made Jason a little less nervous, eager to prove that his cooking skills were better than Bruce’s. Once he got the hang of using a knife in this capacity, Jason was able to dice all the peppers up on his own.
Alfred gave him an apron, too, and showed him how to evenly distribute spices onto the chicken breasts, all while telling him disaster stories of Bruce’s attempts to cook. There were many things Bruce Wayne was skilled at, but unfortunately cooking and baking wasn’t one of them—occasionally he could make toast without burning it too badly. Following many years of recipe failure and food poisoning, he finally accepted the fact that he couldn’t cook, and settled with just paying the bill for groceries. Alfred preferred this, because he didn’t have to clean up the kitchen as much.
In between stories Alfred would narrate what he was doing as he did it, showing Jason how to arrange the chicken breasts and how to fry hominy, a fancy word Jason had never heard before, which he thought was a name for some kind of bean. It didn’t look very appetizing until they put squash and oil with it; once the hominy was in the oven on a baking sheet, Jason couldn’t wait for it to come out.
Bruce came home around six, and, not finding Jasn in the cave training, went searching for the boy in the mansion. He looked in the boy’s bedroom, his usual reading nooks, the third floor, not finding him in any of those spots—the last place in the entire mansion Bruce thought to look was the kitchen, where he was surprised to hear two voices inside. Curious, Bruce peeked his head in, further surprised to find Jason standing on a stool beside Alfred wearing an apron covered in spices and juices.
“Bruce!” Jason greeted him, smiling brightly and pointing at a dish of sizzling chicken. “You’re home just in time! Alfred and I made chili chicken and home-nini.”
“Hominy.”
“Yeah, hominy!”
“You let Jason cook?” Bruce asked incredulously, amazed he didn’t see any blood. More than that, all of the food looked properly cooked, not burned in the slightest, neatly steaming inside unchipped serving dishes.
“Well, he’s certainly not you, Master Bruce, so yes—I did allow him to cook,” Alfred shot back with a cruel smile, handing Bruce a basket of buns. “Now, if you would so kindly carry this to the table, we can eat. Master Todd, please carefully grab the chicken dish, and I’ll be right behind you with the hominy hash.”
“I get to carry the chicken?” Jason asked in awe.
“It’s only fitting that you be the server, Master Todd—after all, you did make it.”
Jason quickly became serious, securely grabbing the hot dish with his comically large oven mitts, frowning with concentration as Bruce held the door open for him. Once all the dishes were presented and everyone seated, Jason waited anxiously for Bruce and Alfred to taste everything—he was supposed to go first, but couldn’t bring himself to put his fork into the chicken or hominy hash until he knew if it tasted good. If it didn’t, well…Jason would still eat it, but he would be disappointed in himself.
“Is it good?” Jason asked nervously, unable to read Bruce’s expression as he took the first bite. “I—I was the one who cooked the peppers, so…”
Bruce chewed for an obnoxiously long time, getting bits of both chili chicken and hominy in his mouth, looking directly as Jason after he finally swallowed.
“Delicious.”
Delicious? Jason had to taste for himself. He scooped up the hominy hash, delighted with how well the squash, peppers and hominy baked, then took a bite of his chicken breast, glad the chili didn’t overpower the lemon juice and cilantro. So, Bruce wasn’t lying—everything was perfectly cooked to form a good, hearty meal for the three of them to enjoy at a mellow pace, no bite rushed, no flavor left behind. Jason could hardly keep a smile off his face as he ate, cheeks puffed with food and a grin whenever Bruce looked over at him, making him form a proud smile of his own.
Jason thought about getting seconds when he finished his plate, but took a moment to try and listen to his body like he used to—oddly, his body said everything was okay. He wasn’t starving, he wasn’t overweight. He wasn’t too full, nor too hungry. That was a good thing, because Alfred surprised them by bringing out a big bowl of something sweet and delicious, Jason leaning over the table to see better.
“I purchased this from my good friend at the bakery downtown—he makes the best banana pudding in all of Gotham,” Alfred explained, scooping a large spoonful onto Jason’s dessert plate. “Will you do the honors, Master Jason?”
Jason looked between the other dinner guests, wondering if it was a trick: no one gave out dessert for free. He learned that the hard way. Maybe they just wanted him to eat it so they could laugh at how desperate he was for sweets, a poor boy whose lack of table manners was amusing to rich people. Even if a dark voice in his subconscious threatened him with this possibility, Jason felt confident enough in his new environment to pick up his silver spoon and slowly scoop a banana, wafer and vanilla pudding mixture onto it.
“Delicious!” He said, imitating Bruce’s deep voice.
The older men laughed, Alfred harder than Bruce, and they all enjoyed their banana pudding together. After, Jason insisted on washing the dishes—Alfred resisted until Bruce miraculously offered to dry. The poor butler must have been so shocked by that offer he couldn’t come up with any further resistance, accepting the glass of brandy Bruce poured him and aimlessly wandering to the living room.
Jason hummed as he scrubbed the grime off their fancy porcelain dishes, carefully washing everything off until they were spotless. Bruce didn’t say much for the first twenty minutes, listening to Jason hum and drying off the plates at a pace much slower than usual; he couldn’t explain why, but he wanted this memory to take a while, and so didn’t rush through the task like Batman would have.
“So—what will you and Alfred be preparing for breakfast tomorrow?” Bruce asked eventually, happy when Jason snickered and shrugged at him.
“Alfred will have something cooked before we’re even awake! I’ll grab a Pop-Tart before I go to school.”
“Save me one, would you? It’s been a while since I’ve had cookies n’ cream.”
“You like cookies n’ cream Pop-Tarts?” Jason asked severely, pausing his washing to give Bruce a dramatic look.
“Surprised? I was a kid just like you, once upon a time.” Bruce paused, knowing he hadn’t worded that accurately. “Well—not just like you. My circumstances growing up were—drastically different…but I liked cookies n’ cream Pop-Tarts so much I would take each pack and hide them around the house, so only I could eat them, and I would never run out in case my mom told the cook to stop buying them. I guess we have that in common, hm?”
“Oh…yeah.”
Jason looked back down at the dish he held, slowly resuming his motions as he contemplated this new information. Even Bruce Wayne, who had lived in obscene wealth all his life, hid food around the house in fear that it would one day disappear. Granted, his mindset had been more that of an innocently selfish child than a starving child, but it was a similarity nonetheless. Jason finished washing the last dish and handed it to Bruce, who wiped the porcelain down thoroughly and reached upwards to put it away with the others.
“I’ll stop hiding food in my room,” Jason said suddenly, running his pruny finger along the sink’s edge. “And I’ll let you have one of the cookies n’ cream Pop-Tarts—as long as—as long as you promise to let Alfred buy more.”
Jason’s heart pounded loudly, scared that the answer to his one demand would cruelly prove every frightened thought he had about eating in the Wayne Manor. Bruce spoke quietly, however, sounding earnest and kind as he set down the drying rag and gave his adopted son a soft look.
“Of course, Jason. They’re your favorite.”
Alfred called out to them suddenly, telling the boys to come into the living room to watch his favorite British soap opera with him. Bruce put a hand on Jason’s shoulder and steered him towards the door, missing how Jason glanced back at the dark kitchen with a much calmer feeling, finally believing the food it held would still be there for him tomorrow, for all of them to share, together.