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Jason has known for a long time that he has burdens in this world.
At first, that burden is himself. He’s responsible for keeping himself out of the foster system using whatever means necessary. Sometimes this was by stealing tires — because seriously, it's their fault for parking a car in such a shitty area anyway — and sometimes… well.
Selling stolen tires only paid so much.
Jason was burdened at a young age with the knowledge of how fucking twisted people were. He was burdened with knowing that batting his eyelashes while on his knees sometimes gets him a tip good enough to buy a hot lunch from the hot dog stand on 5th street, not just the canned stuff. He was burdened with knowing that it's okay to cry and beg every once in a while, to let his absolute devastation show on his face, because some sick fucks liked that.
Most importantly, though, he was burdered with the knowledge that he was forever tainted. And the second Bruce discovered that about him, there was no chance he'd even let him say goodbye before he kicked him out of his life.
And so he makes a vow. He will never think about it in fear that somehow people will read his mind. He will bear the weight of his dirtiness alone and this way, Bruce won’t hate him more than he already does for being Red Hood. This way Jason can hang on to the belief that even though Bruce loathes him now for being a disappointment, he wouldn't refuse to touch him and carry him to the Batcave if he's ever hurt. This way, at least Jason can lie to himself and late at night, imagine the possibility of his father loving him again.
It had been a dark chilly night when he'd first met the Batman. Jason had eyed the Batmobile from afar, weighing the pros and cons. On one hand, if Batman were to catch him, he'd be done for. Batman would put him in juvie or maybe even foster care where it would hurt more than it ever does now… because here, his body at least pays. There, he'd be so hungry and his stomach would feel like it's caving in and still he'd have to bear the weight of their touch.
On the other hand, it was getting so, so cold, and Jason knew that these tires would be enough to buy him a thick jacket from the thrift. He'd have to forgo a couple of meals for a few days, but he'd finally get rid of the ever-present ache in his bones.
Decision made, Jason charged towards the Batmobile, immediately getting on his knees on the cold, dirty gravel and getting to work. He was a grown-up now, he was twelve, and so he's much faster than he was when he was a unexperienced kid and just starting out.
Jason had gotten three tires off when he heard a gruff voice booming from behind. “You've got some guts, lad,” the voice said.
The boy froze, his body still but his thoughts going a mile an hour. Because that was definitely Batman. That was Batman that caught him and he was such a fucking stupid idiot because what was he thinking why'd he keep going. His greed is going to kill him. He should've just stopped at three and ran away and shit
Jason ran for his life. He ran and ran and ran and took so many turns it made him dizzy. It was pointless, though. This was Batman.
The dark-haired boy froze when he realised he'd entered a dead end, Batman right on his tail.
Jason slowly turned around, plastering smirk #4 on his face. He'd practiced this one a hundred times in the mirror. It was the perfect mix of sheepishness and seductiveness. It had worked on even the most stubborn clients — the ones that swore up and down they weren't attracted to him because he's young, and they weren't like that, but then given the chance they’d- they’d- whatever. He had to focus on the task at hand.
“If you let me go, I promise to return your tires and not to steal ever again, Mr. Batman, sir,” Jason ground out, keeping his voice light.
Batman looked back at him, expressionless. “Where are your parents, kid? Do they know you're out late stealing tires and getting yourself into trouble?”
Jason knew this was his only chance to improve the impression he'd left stealing some goddamn tires. He forced some excitement into his voice and replied, “My parents won't be a problem, sir. They won't even have to know.” He still had no reaction from Batman. This was going so much worse than expected.
Batman stared at the boy for a few minutes, watching him slowly start to squirm. The boy had a sort of acceptance to being cornered here that made Bruce think he had no one to save him. Right, probably an orphan then. He opened his mouth, trying to keep his voice gentle and said, “What's your name, lad?”
The boy stared at him for a few seconds, sadness and anger flashing on his face before he schooled his features again and answered, “You can call me Jay, sir.”
“Alright, Jay, you're coming home with me,” came the reply.
And the hope, the tiny, miniscule sliver of hope that maybe Batman was different, maybe Batman wasn't going to touch him like that, maybe he was going to be the first to refuse, to insist that Jason was just a child evaporated. Jason just nodded silently, biting his tongue and trying so hard not to give the vigilante the satisfaction of seeing his tears.
Jason contemplated running for it while Batman reattached the tires, but then he figured he'd make Batman more mad, which in turn would make him more rough. He decided he'd try escaping when Batman came down from his high, maybe then he'd be satisfied and would let Jason go.
Jason got in the car and waited for the order to come. He later got to the manor, saw Batman's — Bruce Wayne’s — face and waited for the order to come. He got his own bed in the manor, he got food in his belly and warm clothes, he got Robin, and he waited, he waited. At that point, Jason would've been happy to. He knew he was sick, disgusting for even entertaining the possibility of accepting something so cruel. But Jason knew. He knew dirty street rats like him rarely got second chances, nevermind a chance as good as this one, and he'd be a fucking idiot not to take it.
However, the order never, ever came.
Jason slowly learned, through his time as Robin, that Bruce absolutely loathed pedophiles. Stupidly, he allowed himself to hope again. To dream that maybe one day Bruce would hug him, and he'd know how tainted Jason was, and still — against all odds — he'd accept him. God, he's never going to fucking learn to stop hoping, is he.
Robin had been stretching on the mat behind Bruce when Alfred walked in. Bruce had been staring intently at the case file of a child prostitution ring. He had reached the faces of the victims, when Alfred looked over his shoulder and sighed heavily.
Bruce had nodded in agreement, and then had uttered the words that would destroy Jason forever. Bruce, good Bruce who was Jason's hero and who taught him right from wrong had said, in his usual gruff voice, “They're so fucking filthy, Alfred. They really are beyond saving.”
And Jason had felt his world crumbling down, because Batman thought people like him were filthy. Bruce thought people like him were filthy. His dad thought people like him were filthy. Beyond Saving, he’d said.
And so, even though he'd later go on to cry about it every night for years until he finally died, even though it was a burden so heavy it crushed his chest and pressed against his very soul, he vowed that this secret — this burden — would stay buried forever.
Jason was much bigger now, the feared Red Hood. Although he occasionally terrorised his da- Bruce and his siblings, he also helped them with cases now that things aren't so bad between them all.
The Red Hood openly hated criminals who messed with children, though, and this case was about a child prostitution ring, so he obviously couldn't volunteer to go in as his vigilante identity.
So again, stupidly, because Jason was stupid stupid stupid, he insisted he'll go in as a regular buyer. He put black hairspray on his hair to disguise the silver strands, put on a prosthetic nose and a double chin, wore a fat belly under his clothes, and put contact lenses in. Bruce had been furious with the plan, but who the fuck gave a shit what he thought. Jason's not a kid anymore. Bruce can't control him.
Dick had told him Bruce was worried sick about him, and he was trying to express it in his own emotionally constipated way, but Jason was adamant Bruce's wrath was because it risked exposing all their identities. But Jason would be careful, goddammit, he's not fucking stupid.
And so Jason, under the carefully crafted alias of Drew Johnson, walked into the warehouse to shop for a little child to- shit. To fuck. He has to say it. He'll be saying much more crude things in a few minutes.
He walked slowly through the halls full of cages, cages with helpless little children — some crying, some softly whimpering, some, much like Jason had tried being, completely stone faced. He eventually reached a round table where a couple of men were sitting.
He let his eyes linger on everything, cataloguing entrances, lock types, and patterns for the camera in his eyes to catch. Flitting his eyes down to each of the men individually, he eventually reached the last four men who- oh my god.
Oh my God.
He knew these men. These men they had- oh my god oh my god oh my god they'd been his clients before fuck fuck oh my god oh my god. Fuck it can't get any worse than this fuck fuck fuck
He watched in horror as somehow recognition overcame their features. One of them spoke up, oh my god, “Jay? Is that you?”
Jason forced a smile. He forced his lips to open and his tongue to form around the words, “Jay? My name is Drew. I don't think we’ve met before.” He prayed that hopefully the man would think himself wrong, or that the comms in his ear recording every single word of this conversation would somehow malfunction and stop.
But of-fucking-course Jason Peter Todd wasn't that lucky. When has the universe ever done a good thing for him?
“No! No! I know you,” the man's voice booms, “You were a street kid! Oh, I remember you, such a good sport. So much fight in you! You always made us work for it.”
Jason watched as the men around prompted the guy to talk more. And- and- oh my god oh my god oh my god it's so over for him Bruce is going to never speak to him again and he's going to ban his siblings from speaking to him too dad please dad dad dad please please I'm sorry I'm so dirty dad dad dad please I'm sorry dad
The man contuined, chuckling delightedly, “He was a street whore. They'd do anything for some bills, even more pathetic than the ones in the cages here. He'd always beg to stop, but we all know they don't really mean it,” he was full-on laughing now, saying, “This one in particular was so feisty though. A slut but he'd never admit it. Must have fucked hundreds of men. Sometimes I wouldn't even pay. It's not like he can go to the police about it. No wonder it fucked with his head enough to make him a costumer!”
Jason's was frozen in place, tears streaming down his face. He watched from far, far away the way the bats barged in from the entrances he'd noticed earlier. As they beat the men up and then went to free the children.
He watched Bruce approach him slowly, raise a hand to put on his shoulder to get him to finally move before hesitating, bringing it down to his sides.
And Jason was burdened again with the knowledge that in that moment, he was no longer his father’s son. Jason had already known Bruce hated him for what he's become after coming back to life, but he'd loved the old Jason enough to tolerate him to get scraps of the dead boy. Now, that innocent boy turned out to be a sham- a lie- a trick. And so Bruce had no reason to even mildly tolerate him anymore.
Jason went to the Batmobile first, so that the police won't see him in his semi-civilian state, before his brain caught up with him and told him that maybe Bruce wouldn't like him around even for this. However, he supposed Bruce would want to end ties with him officially, give him his Red Hood gear that he'd left tonight back at the Batcave.
Bruce threw up twice in the Batcave upon arrival, because his little boy, his Jason, had been violated and Bruce hadn't even known. He hadn't known Jason did more than pickpocket and steal to stay alive. He'd have hunted down each one of the clients — of the rapists, the predators — who had seen a hungry child trying to put food in his belly and-
Bruce tried to compose himself before talking to his son. He took off his gear, showered, and brushed his teeth while practicing apologies in his head. I'm sorry Jason, he'd say, I’m sorry I failed you in this way too. I'm sorry I didn't notice. I'm sorry you didn't have anyone to keep you safe. I'm sorry these people are still out there, happy and healthy while you suffer.
But when Bruce went over to where Jason was numbly staring at the wall, he was shocked yet again.
His boy softly, with so much resignation in his tone, muttered, “I'm sorry. I know how you feel about prostitutes. I know I lied to you for so long but it's not. I mean. I just- you were so- it was just so warm here and I wanted a dad so badly and you loved me. And I didn't want to tell you how fucking dirty I was because I knew you'd send me away. Which was your right! Why would you ever spend resources on a child you thought is beyond saving. But I needed to stay alive and-”
Bruce couldn't take this anymore. He interrupted Jason and said, “Jason, if you saw a kid on the street now, would you think they’re dirty? Or would you think they are victims of what happened to them?”
Jason's head snapped up, his eyes flashing green and his face contorting in anger. He screamed, “This isn't about what I would do! You feel differently. You help these kids and free them and feel bad for them because you’re good. But you also think they’re beyond saving. I've heard you say it to Alfred before. You told Alfred him children like me are too dirty to ever be saved. I'm not a victim! It wasn't against my will or anything! I chose to do this. Stop being cruel and making me say everything out loud!”
He looked up and for the first time in his life saw his dad — not your dad anymore, you stupid bitch; you ruined everything you’re nothing to him now — shattered. He had tears clinging to his eyelashes and rolling down his cheeks. The image of it was so wrong, this was his big, strong, never-fears-anything dad — even if Jason wasn't actually his son anymore — and he's never- Bruce doesn't cry.
“Jason. Jason look at me,” Bruce pleaded, reaching out to hold Jason's face in his hands. Jason was so relieved that his dad was touching him again- and maybe his father didn't think he was beyond saving, that he almost missed the next few words, “Jason, Alfred and I were talking about the buyers. He was telling me that there are some people beyond saving — some people that don't deserve a second chance. And the clients are one of them. Not the children. Never the children.
“Jason you're my son. And you were a child. And you should've never had to resort to that. But you did everything you could to stay alive, and that's never going to be your fault. Jaylad. My baby. My son. You could never do anything to get me to let you go. I love you-”
Bruce was cut off as his son slams into him, curling up in his arms and shaking with sobs so hard they left him gasping for air.
And Bruce, in that moment, makes a vow of his own. Never again will Jason go another second without knowing he's loved unconditionally. Never again will he carry a burden so heavy on his own.