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Jason didn’t have long-term dreams, like long-term future aspirations. He had always found it weird that all his classmates knew where they were going to be years down the line.
Jason never liked to think that far ahead, because when you're always on the move there’s never room for anything else, never a next step that isn’t a stone's throw from the last shitty situation. From a small apartment in Crime Alley to a few different motels on the East End, to a condemned restaurant in Little Italy, and finally to a tent in Sheldon Park tucked away between a red maple and chestnut oak tree during May.
“Did you know that apples start out as flowers?” His mother’s voice was wistful, her fingers combing through Jason’s hair. It curled around his ears and along the nape of his neck, he knew he would need to cut it soon, she didn’t like him to look ‘unkempt’, he liked it long though, it felt nice against his forehead.
Jason was still tired but school started in an hour and he knew he couldn’t miss it, it was the only place he could take a shower but for that, he had to get there early.
“The blossoms can be eaten themselves! Apparently, they taste sweet,” Shiela said, her smile was infectious, it wasn’t often these days that Jason saw her smile. “They symbolize new beginnings.”
Jason picked up his hoodie and bunched it in his hands. It had a small hole now near the wrist, the seam had been coming undone, and suddenly it was all Jason could focus on.
Shiela loved to talk about plants, she had always wanted to have a garden to fill with all of her favorites. Jason knew all of them, Shiela tended to repeat herself and Jason never mentioned it.
“Have you ever had one?” Jason didn’t really know why he asked, he needed to leave soon.
Shiela looked tired now, the dark smudges under her eyes more pronounced, “What? An apple blossom?—” Her smile looked a bit pained, titling down the corners of her mouth.
“—Or a new beginning?” She didn’t look him in the eye as the words left her mouth, busying her hands with her own jacket.
Jason put his hoodie on, the mornings were still a bit chilly. “Either I guess…” He said, meaning it as a joke but it didn’t matter. This morning wouldn't taste like apple blossom anymore, it would be sour like green apple.
“No. But I’d like to.” His mother’s voice was quiet.
Jason left the tent, his mother waved him goodbye, and that was that. He tried not to think about whether or not her new beginning would have him in it. He wondered if this would be the last conversation they’d have for days because she couldn’t bear to speak to him. He felt hollow. But maybe he was just hungry.
It never mattered where he was, there was always one thing that was consistent: He was always hungry.
When Jason was little his mom used to look at him with her eyes glassy and wet and say she was sorry, she never specified what for, but he knew why. He felt it in his gut when the pad of her thumb brushed his hollow cheeks. He had just turned eleven, far too old for baby fat anyways. He liked to think it made him look older, more like how he felt on the inside.
Living in Sheldon Park had been nice enough that Jason thought that he might add it to his mental list of fond memories with his mom. He knew that he’d need it at the rate she was using, she wouldn’t be around forever, or maybe even next year. Jason had always put those thoughts away and busied his hands, he needed to check all his usual spots for food, then take inventory, then scout for new places to sleep when the park eventually fell through.
Just when Jason felt like he had made sense of the chaos that was his life, it got worse.
It was the month after Sheldon Park, now they had been staying in an apartment building that had been vacated because of black mold or something. He had woken up, his head resting on his school backpack wrapped in a hoodie he hadn’t worn in days because the weather had been too warm. When he realized his breath was the only breathing he heard.
At first, he thought the worst, that she was dead. But she was only dead to Jason because she had left him.
His mom was gone. Left him behind. What was he going to do? Would he stay here? Was she still in Gotham? Did she even want to see him if she was? Jason’s eyes scanned their room and their bags, most were gone, except a small cloth bag filled with a bruised apple and two bananas he had gotten from the market.
He thought about how she had gotten the new beginning she wanted, and that it didn’t include him.
Jason wished for sweetness, something, anything, to chew to wash away the bitterness. He wished for his own apple blossom. He would be sure to savor every petal.
What was he going to eat? How long would he have to make his fruits last?
There was someone hyperventilating in the room, with a start Jason realized it was his own breath. He clenched his hands to stop the shaking, his cheeks felt wet and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do.
He looked around at the scuffed wood floors and then at the dust floating calmly in thin streams of light from the window, and thought that he had no one to hold in his tears for. So he wept, sobs wracking his thin body until his head throbbed and his throat felt raw.
After a while, there was a slip into a comforting numbness that made the cars outside fade and the ringing in his ears turn into an underwater whooshing sensation.
His own voice felt far away, so he spoke to bring it back, “I’m okay… It’s fine, I’ve got this—” His voice hitched, “I know what to do.”
He was slow to pack away his hoodie, and the fruits, and put on his backpack. Now that he was finished he could be strong. He just had to find a task to focus on, a goal, but not like his classmate’s goals, where failure was an option. His task was simple: Survive. Make it to your next place to sleep. Find your next meal.
He climbed down the building’s fire escape, exiting the small haven he had called home for the last two weeks, he reentered the world of Gotham. Where there was no one to rely on but himself.
In the months that followed ‘The great escape’ as Jason liked to call it. He found that hunger is best handled with a more detached approach. It was like food looked for people who’s belly’s were already full to appear in their hands and on their plates. He had to act like he didn’t need it, didn’t want it.
When Jason was twelve he found that he had a bad habit, when his stomach ached he would chew on his fingers, not hard enough to break the skin, it helped ease the pain. He found it interesting that they sometimes tasted like salt, or metal, sometimes earth. The habit wasn’t a problem until it made him sick, really really sick. He couldn’t eat for days then, and could barely keep down water.
Now he was careful not to touch his mouth, it was for the best. His lips were chapped anyways. What hurt worse was going to school when he got better, no teachers asked, and no classmates noticed. He didn't go back after that.
When summer was coming to an end that was when he met Bruce, his hoodie had been stolen in the days prior so all he had was his t-shirt and jeans which were both stained. Jacking tires had always been something Jason knew how to do, in theory. There were a few stashes of tools in three different alleys in Park Row, so when he saw a big modified car he dragged over a lug wrench and got to work.
Three tires in he’s busted, and gets driven back to the “Bat Cave”— Stupid name— and then taken through a secret door at the top of the stairs. The man wearing the cowl takes it off and Bruce “Brucie” Wayne is looking down at him with an expression Jason can't read.
His expression is weird, it’s a mix between fond and pained. Then his hand is outstretched, palm facing up— It clicks, and then Jason is placing his hand in Bruce’s—He’s leading him somewhere, winding through hallways passing bedrooms, and a room Jason was pretty sure was referred to as a “study”. There were fireplaces in this house, more than one. Then they made it to the kitchen.
Jason wasn’t on to be “bought”, but he was so damned close. There was. So. Much. Food.
So Jason decided it wouldn’t be too bad to live with the guy, for his sake—someone who dresses up as a bat and calls himself “Vengence” clearly has some social problems to work on— and Jason was ready to help him.
Bruce brought him to a ‘guest room’ because he had so many to spare apparently. It was beautiful. Jason couldn't think of another word for it, the wallpaper with its subtle pattern, the duvet in soft pastels. It looked sweet.
When he woke up in the morning he thought he was dead, nothing hurt. There was no awkward crick in his neck, and none of his limbs had pins and needles. He brushed his fingers over the duvet before he got up to leave.
There was a knock at the door.
“Breakfast will be served downstairs. I can accompany you if you’d like, young sir?” A man with a posh British accent spoke clearly on the other side of the door.
When Jason opened the door he was greeted by a tall man with thinning gray hair in a suit, he said his name was Alfred. He led him down some stairs and passed at least two statues, around three corners or so. He was a leaf in the wind, there was no way he’d find his way without him.
There was another kid at the dining room table, a teenager with dark hair wearing a soft blue shirt. Bruce was sitting next to him, he stood when Jason approached the end of the table. With an open hand, he gestured to the other boy.
“This is Richard, but we call him ‘Dick’. He's my son.” Bruce’s smile was kind, not the one for the cameras.
“Well, that’s just mean. What did he do?” Jason huffed in disbelief.
“Nothing it’s just an older kind of nickname.” Bruce looked sheepish. Dick looked amused.
Jason wasn’t convinced.
Living at the manor was honestly a big surprise, he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from anything he encountered. What were all the soaps in his bathroom for? What was a bedcover for? Where did Bruce keep his Batman cowl? How did Alfred keep appearing everywhere and how did he know when Jason was about to touch one of the fancy vases? And most importantly:
Where the hell was the kitchen again?
He saw Dick around the manor and he seemed nice, a bit busy. He made time every couple of days though to take a trip with Jason, at first to familiarize him with the layout of the manor, then the gardens, and then convincing Jason to tag along when Dick went into Gotham to do some errands. His errands often led them to an arcade or the movies, and one time it was a roller derby.
Jason's not sure what business Dick had in the roller derby but he could've sworn he saw money exchange hands. Not that Jason would ever snitch.
Alfred was the best, he had made Jason his own pumpkin pie for thanksgiving, a whole one, all for himself. He didn't eat it all himself though, he slipped some onto Dick’s plate while helping Alfred in the kitchen. The rest he wrapped very carefully in a dishcloth and placed on the lowest shelf in the fridge. Dick had thanked him and Jason had worn an innocent confused expression, eyes wide, slight frown. He wasn’t going to take all their food, so it wasn’t like he was giving anything up, nothing was ever really his.
Bruce kept asking him what foods and toys and games and clothes and everything he liked. It wasn’t that it was really that annoying, it was more confusing because Jason didn’t know a lot of the answers himself.
And Jason had known Bruce well enough to know that he wouldn’t take that well, he would insist on remedying the situation and it would undoubtedly mean that Jason would spend his afternoons shopping with him. It wouldn’t be so bad, but he would hate to put him out like that. Jason wasn’t selfish. He was hungry though. Bruce started to notice that.
Bruce had enrolled him into another school and he was currently doing an online program before going in person to "make the transition easier". When he finished his studies, which consisted of a suspicious amount of literature being the topic of interest, he found a jar of peanut butter outside his bedroom door. There was even a teaspoon on top.
The taste was really nice, it was the smooth kind with a hint of vanilla. The next morning at breakfast he asked Bruce, who said he "thought he might like it."
Of course, he liked it.
But Jason wasn’t going to admit that, so he just thanked him instead. Bruce must’ve taken it as encouragement. Soon there was no shortage of new items for Jason to try, never more than one at a time though. Bruce knew Jason would be overwhelmed and it helped Bruce narrow down Jason’s food preferences.
There was a plate of what looked like fish on rice. Then there were potatoes stuffed with cheese and spring onion. A cup of what tasted like liquid chocolate. Some squishy squares were covered in powdered sugar, when he bit into one it was a clear pink. A pastry with apple slices arranged in a flower, filled with some kind of jam. He particularly liked the soft cheese on slices of baguette.
Some things were elaborate, some homey and simple. Warm and cold, crunchy and soft, sweet and sour. Bruce looked happy every time Jason asked him a question about the foods, or expressed his like— or dislike— for anything!
It was perplexing, how much joy Alfred, Bruce, and even Dick were expressing hearing him talk. Jason warmed at the feeling of being heard. But just like his foods, sweet and sour, none would be forever. He was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Jason wasn’t even sure how it came up, or what finally got him to ask. But he did. He wanted to try.
The second winter he lived at the manor when Jason was thirteen, he asked to try an apple blossom. Bruce had only looked at him with a thoughtful expression and then simply agreed.
Jason didn’t see him for the next two days, he watched the snow cover the manor gardens and grounds in a layer of soft white, he thought about how warm he was and how well he could feel the texture of the fainting couch he was sitting on. How real he was.
When Bruce came back he was holding a small box, he had found an apple tree blooming in the middle of winter. He had found one just for Jason.
He held the new beginning in his hand and picked off a delicate pink petal. It tasted subtle and sweet, nothing remarkable, but the gesture meant everything .
He wasn’t hungry anymore, he was finally full, and warm.
And home.