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Bruce meets Jason Todd on a Wednesday night. Nothing in his life, after that, has ever been the same.
Throughout his life, Bruce has seen many, many things. Most of them are, probably, considered traumatic, though he himself doesn’t exactly think of them as such. For each traumatic experience, however, has been one that’s weird. There’s the Condiment King, for one, and the whole sentient turtle thing; his rainbow costume even makes the list.
Even with all of those weird experiences, Bruce is certain nothing could have prepared him for this.
So- Bruce meets Jason Todd on a Wednesday night. It’s been a long one, filled with run-of-the-mill thugs and Selina robbing petty things just to piss him off. That’s, at least, what he blames for why he doesn’t notice Jason at first. Once he does notice him-
There’s no turning back, in Bruce’s opinion.
Now, his first glimpse of Jason is his big, puffy vest as he leans over the wheel he’s painstakingly trying to roll away. He’s not close enough that Bruce can see his head- it’s obscured by shadows and the way they fall makes Bruce assume, at first, that the vest he wears is too big for him.
Then, after a moment, Bruce realizes that’s not true at all. The kid straightens, face still impossible to make-out, and lets the tire drop onto the ground with a thud. His arms are thick with muscle and it’s obvious that his vest is actually too small. It’s the kid that’s too big for it. (Bruce winces internally at the wording and swallows it back. It’s true- the kid looks like he could bench press Bruce if he really tried, regardless of his sub-five foot height.)
“What are you doing?” Bruce asks, just harshly enough to make the kid stumble back into the light. He immediately tries to fix his tone- but freezes when he gets a glimpse of the kid’s face.
Below the neck, the kid is the tiniest, buffest kid Bruce has ever seen in his life. Above the neck, is a completely red head, composed of a material that looks to Bruce like dull, rusting metal that seems as though it’s been superimposed onto a particularly expressive grown man’s face.
Without thinking, Bruce finds himself taking one step back in shock, and then one step forward in concern. “Chum-” is the only word he gets out before the kid rushes towards him, head- it is metal- slamming right into Bruce’s gut.
“Back off, you big boob!” the kid screams, as the momentum and shock send Bruce falling right onto his ass. Bruce gapes wordlessly, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, before the kid starts scrambling for the mouth of the alley.
“Hey-” Bruce stumbles to his feet and over his words. “Kid, wait-”
Against all odds, the kid stops, turning back for a moment. “Don’t tell me the big ol’ bat has a lecture for me,” he snarls.
As he wraps an arm around his gut, he tries to grin. “No lecture. I’d just like the wheels to my car back, son.”
“I’m not nobody’s son.” His voice sounds oddly normal despite the- and Bruce reasons it has to be some sort of helmet, but can’t for the life of him figure out why he’d even be wearing one- helmet on his head. “Especially not yours.”
Bruce lets his eyes slip closed for a moment. He thinks back to Dick, little and brave and exactly what Dick needed in his life. Dick’s no longer so little- he’s taking college courses, now, and stops by the manor every weekend for dinner- and maybe that’s what makes Bruce’s heart begin to ache as he takes in this odd boy in front of him.
He doesn’t feel safe, he reasons. That’s got to be why he’s wearing such an… odd helmet. Stolen from something? Somebody?
“Can I get you something to eat, chum?”
“No,” the kid replies, without missing a beat. “I’ve got zero idea who you are, if I’m being honest, even if you’re supposed to be the infamous Batman.”
There’s nothing in this entire scenario that claims Bruce can trust this kid. There’s nothing in the way the kid talks that solidifies the idea, either. All Bruce can think about is Dick, despite the fact this kid looks nothing like Dick, so he does the stupidest thing he could probably do.
It’s irrational, (Batman is not irrational, but Bruce Wayne is); it’s irrational, but Bruce takes off the cowl, even though his stomach still hurts and his car won’t be taking him anywhere anytime soon, and he says, “My name is Bruce Wayne, son. Can I get you some dinner?”
Perhaps just as irrationally as Bruce had acted, the kid takes no more than a moment before he nods his head. Bruce thinks- here’s the moment, here’s when the kid takes off that helmet of his-
But the kid doesn’t. In fact, he rubs the back of it like one would their head and he reluctantly admits, “I’m Jason Todd. You’re not weirded out?”
“By?”
Jason gestures to his head. “I was born like this, you know. Mom said I just popped out all red and shiny and it took everyone a second to realize” -and he adds finger guns, perhaps for comedic effect- “this was ‘normal’.”
“Normal,” Bruce echoes.
It’s not a helmet.
It’s his head.
“Can you-” Bruce gapes, again, mouth feeling dry. “You can eat, can’t you?”
Jason looks at him- and it’s then that Bruce realizes the expression on the mask actually shifts, just the tiniest bit- and looks at him like he’s a fucking idiot. “If I couldn’t eat, how the hell would I still be alive.”
“Language,” Bruce automatically says. “I don’t know. It’s a fair question, isn’t it?”
“I can and will headbutt you again.”
So they get dinner. They eat at a shitty diner Bruce and Dick have been visiting for years and the lady working the counter doesn’t even blink as she takes Batman and “Red Hood’s”- as the kid so eloquently introduces himself when she asks- orders.
Five hours later finds Bruce in the manor, standing outside of Jason’s room, wondering if it was all just a fever dream- wondering if there really is a kid, buff and tiny and complete with an actual metal head, laying in that bed.
Just before he can open the door, he realizes something.
He’d never even told Alfred.