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He had planned for it.
Weeks of anticipation that made him jittery, careful hypothetical scenarios crossing his mind and covering everything that could go wrong and everything he would do, all the words he would say, all painted in the pit-green that was so familiar.
Tim Drake. The third Robin. The Pretender.
His replacement.
He couldn’t wait to throw every single one of Bruce’s lies on his face. He thought he was so good , so better than him, than everyone else, the perfect detective that had figured out Gotham’s most guarded secret.
Hmpf. As if.
He would tear apart those delusions, and maybe break a few bones in the process. The kid needed to know what being Robin truly meant.
It meant being a soldier in a never-ending war that ultimately served one man’s ego, leaving corpses of children behind, only to be forgotten.
Well, he would make sure to be remembered this time around.
The Tower still recognized his genetic signature, and most of the Titans were away anyway. Those who had stayed were already asleep, and he made sure they stayed that way. He almost felt sorry for entering Raven’s room without her permission: Raven had always been severe with him, but also kind. She never treated him unfairly or compared him to the precious Dick Grayson: Raven was someone he didn’t want to fight if he could help it.
Now, the colorful little bird that was doing God knows what in the kitchen at 3 a.m.? He was fair game.
Or unfair game. Whatever. If he wanted to play hero, he had to know the consequences.
Jason watched, from the dark hallway, the pretender dragging his ass around in the kitchen. The poor excuse for a vigilante was small for his age, thin, and pale. Pathetic. He was wearing the uniform but not the mask – sloppy? Overconfident about the Titans sleeping habits? Or Batman didn’t even fucking care anymore? - and his movements were slow and lethargic. Maybe he was recovering from a wound?
No matter, it would be his funeral either way.
Yes, the green whispered in his mind, and he saw no need to push the thought aside.
A small pause before lowering his mug was the one telling sign that his presence had been noticed. The pretender stepped closer to the knife block and took a very controlled sip of his tea.
“Kon? Is that you?”
Superclone wasn’t in the Tower and he knew that. Nice try, little bird.
He took off his helmet and entered the kitchen, allowing the soon-to-be-broken bird to get a good look at him. It took only a few seconds for recognition to rain down upon him, and Jason couldn’t help but smirk, while the green started to appear in the corner of his eyes.
Oh, yes, little bird, you know me. Remember those nice moments we shared in the graveyard?
“Well, shit ,” the pretender said. Oh yes, he was definitely remembering Jason getting real close to his jugular. “I must be really tired if a mild concussion and 37 hours without sleep are enough to make me hallucinate with an older version of Jason who dyes his hair and looks like a shredded homicidal maniac.”
Shredded homicidal maniac? Ha, he would be offended if it wasn’t true.
He allowed his smile to grow and took a step closer. Now, this whole hallucination thing? That wouldn’t do. Jason had a whole performance prepared, and little Tim needed to be aware of the situation.
Maybe a punch would wake him up.
He was ready to start his speech when the replacement opened his stupid mouth again.
“In a scenario where I start to have Jason-hallucinations, I hoped they would at least be closer to my old dreams, and not,” he had the audacity to gesture at him dismissively, “whatever the hell this is.”
The green practically burned inside him, demanding the pretender to be put into his place, but a little detail caught his attention.
“You used to dream about me?” he repeated, slowly. Now that didn’t sound right. Little Tim shouldn’t know anything about him, aside from Bruce’s lectures on how not to be Robin. Nothing that would warrant dreams, plural. “We never even met .”
Tim shrugged, the little shit. How come Alfred hadn’t trained that out of him already?
“Not in the literal sense of the word, no. But I did use to follow you and Batman around to take the pictures, so I saw a lot of you as Robin. I was very lonely- I mean… An eager kid with nice dreams of flying over Gotham’s buildings with Batman and Robin using my own grapple hook.” Wait for a second: follow him ? Back when he was Robin? Impossible. He would have noticed. Tim would be too young. There was no way… “I used to daydream about how awesome it would be if Robin taught me how to fly, and you were the best Robin.”
The best Robin , the little shit said, sounding nostalgic.
The green inside him burned and roared.
How dare him!
“No,” the grow, the denial came from the deepest of his fucking soul. “I don’t know what game you thinking you’re playing, Pretender, but-”
“Oh , give me a break, weird Jason hallucination,” Tim snapped. As if he had any right to be angry. As if he was the one who had been wronged. “I think I would know which Robin is my favorite Robin. It isn’t myself, because I’m not that arrogant, and it sure as fuck isn’t Dick, because all I’m old enough to remember from his time as Robin was that he used to do unnecessary fancy acrobatics – which, by the way, was how I found out he was Dick Grayson – and get into repetitive arguments with Batman. Sure, he is the original boy-wonder and I bet they were amazing together back when he started, but GOD Dick was such a dick when he was a teenager. His teamwork with Batman was all off by the end of their partnership. And don’t even get me started on the uniform: sure it was a homage to his family, which again, BAD IDEA as far as covering their secret identities went, but he could at least have added some shorts if pants were just too much for him.”
A small part of Jason’s mind was wondering how he could talk so fast and still make sense. A big part of him was burning in green rage and demanding him to be silenced, because those were lies, because this couldn’t be right, how dare he talk about Robin as if he was an authority in the matter…
But a bigger part of Jason, the part that had always resented the original boy-wonder, the part that couldn’t possibly accept that he had once wanted Dick’s approval, the part that was insecure and hurt, only cared about one thing:
“You don’t think Dick was the best Robin.”
Because, as far as he knew, there wasn’t a single person in the whole world that didn’t think the original sidekick was incomparable.
No one except the Robin in front of him.
“Weren’t you listening? I said, as far as I remember, no, I don’t think he was the best Robin. The last months of the original boy-wonder were painfully uncomfortable to watch, to be honest. I was like, a nine years old trying to follow freaking Batman and Robin across Gotham’s rooftops, hoping to see them kick ass together, and more often than not I ended up eavesdropping on some serious teenage rebellion.” There was… so much to unpack there. Nine years old? Following Bruce and Dickhead? And Dick was throwing a pissing fit? Well, that last part he could actually see. “I bet not even the villains were surprised when he left to be his own hero with his own godforsaken costume.”
How could he have forgotten Dickie’s first version of the Nightwing costume? No one could judge him for grinning a little. “Discowing.”
“Yeah, exactly,” the boy said, taking another sip of his tea. “Now, of course, Dick gets points for being the original and for giving so much magic to the whole ‘being Robin thing’. He also gets extra points for giving stupid names to every-single-item on Batman’s arsenal. It’s just too hilarious to think that broody, cryptic Batman goes around throwing batarangs and driving the batmobile.” He… He used to think that it was fun too. “But yeah, Dick’s only my second favorite Robin.”
The Pit was still demanding the little bird’s blood, but he forced the green to rescind, for now, considering how chatty the tired – concussed? - Robin was being. Maybe he could explore that weakness.
“So you would be the third? The worst Robin?” he asked, testing the other’s temper.
The little bird didn’t disappoint.
“First of all, fuck you, weird muscular version of older-Jason,” he cussed, pointing an indignant finger at him. Sore topic, apparently. The new Robin wasn’t so secure of his position, then. “Secondly, I am the best detective between all the Robins, and the best at team-leading and lying to Batman.”
Lying to Batman? Him? The perfect new model?
He would have been surprised if he hadn’t noticed the boy deflating a little.
“But I wasn’t chosen for the job like Dick and Jason were, I imposed my presence on Batman’s life and pushed him to accept me as his partner. The first time he saw me in the costume he said I wasn’t Robin and that I would never be. He said there was no reason for Robin to continue to exist.”
He stared directly at him, and his blue eyes were full of hurt.
“He didn’t want me, because I wasn’t you.”
LIES! The pit roared in the back of his mind, demanding that Tim paid for it in blood and violence, but he didn’t allow it to show.
He couldn’t lose control now. The little bird was this close to starting to spill Bruce’s secrets for his “hallucination”, and he needed to stay in control to hear it.
“Jason was the Robin that cared ,” he continued, and something completely different from the Pit turned on his stomach and the taste of bile flooded his mouth. “He was the Robin who talked to the victims, that made sure everyone was safe and okay, that made Batman laugh.” No, no, Batman hated him when he was Robin, because he wasn’t Dick, that wasn’t- “He flew higher than anyone, he didn’t have a single drop of fear or cowardice in his blood, he fought and brawled more fiercely than even Batman, and he had the wickedest, crazy smile that made thugs shit on their pants.”
Why was he saying that? He knew it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. He didn’t-
Tim Drake slammed his hand on the counter and stared Jason down, daring him to contradict him. “Jason was my Robin, the Robin I watched from afar, the big shoes I had to fill, the one who set the bar so fucking high I never thought I would be able to reach, so you can bet your metaphysical ass he’s my favorite Robin.”
This.
This wasn’t-
Where was the proud and full of himself Robin he had painfully stalked the past weeks? Why was he saying those things as if-
As if Jason had mattered to him.
No, the Pit whispered. Don’t lose focus. You came to teach him a lesson.
But it was hard to listen to the Pit when there were sharp blue eyes full of anger and pain forcing him to stay grounded at the moment.
Remember what he took from you.
“You really wanna me to believe that Jason, that Robin , meant so much to you, when you’re here wearing his uniform and using his name?” He forced the words out. “When you just took his place in the family-”
“The what now? ” Tim snapped again, glaring at him like he had kicked his dog or something. He was offended and pissed. “I didn’t take Jason’s place in the family. Bruce didn’t adopt me, I don’t even live in the Manor, I’m not his son! ”
He screamed the last word, and Jason. Jason had to force the Pit down again because this, this was something he hadn’t actually confirmed. He had avoided the Wayne Manor at all cost. He had only supposed that Tim was staying there.
With a heavy sigh, Tim focused once again on his mug.
“I had parents, you know,” he said, softly. That was right, Tim Drake was no orphan rescued by Bruce Wayne’s pity. “Sure, they weren’t always around and I basically raised myself since I was six and I’m about 87% sure my dad didn’t know my age,” So. Much. To. Unpack. What. The. Actual. Fuck. “But I have my own home to where I go back after a patrol when I’m in Gotham. I’m not Bruce’s son,” he repeated, lowering his eyes to his mug once again. “I’m not his son , and he doesn’t want me to be. No one could ever replace Jason in his heart.”
He dropped his shoulders, grabbing his mug, his eyes distant and unfocused. Accepting that what he was saying was true.
But Jason couldn’t.
“Yeah, I’m not buying what you’re selling, Pretender,” he said, and fuck his voice for failing him. “My body was still warm in the grave when he put you in my place, and you want me to believe I mattered so much to him?”
And Tim seemed almost offended by his words.
“You’re dumb as hell for a hallucination coming from my mind”, he deadpanned, and this time Jason couldn’t stop himself, he had to take a step closer, because his vision was turning green again and the Pit was burning.
Tim’s only reaction was to raise his mug and tap the porcelain. It had the quote “You know my methods. Apply them.” in the porcelain.
Sherlock Holmes. Of fucking course.
That heathen had no idea that Miss Marple was the superior detective. He should beat him just for that.
“Let me explain this slowly to you, Not-Jason,” the little bird continued. “ Batman , Batman needs a Robin . Robin is a mantle, is a title, and its purpose is to help Batman. Dick outgrew it, Jason would’ve probably outgrown it too in his own time, when he decided to create his own bad-ass vigilante persona.” Just full of assumptions, this little shit. “Batman needed a Robin because he was going insane, and violent, and he was losing control. It didn’t have to be me, it could have been anyone else, as long as they kept him in check. The only reason I am Robin is because I decided to step in.”
No, that was what Batman allowed you to think. No one was that good, the whole story about the genius kid that figured out Batman’s identity was just a pretty lie Bruce had painted for him.
But he used to stalk Dick when he was nine, and you years later, maybe he IS that good , another part of his mind reminded him, and he was so distressed that he almost lost the second part of the pretender’s spiel.
“But Bruce needs his family. Bruce needs Alfred, Dick, and Jason, his sons. Sure, I’m kinda part of that family now too, the same way Barbara is, I guess, but not in the same way Dick and Jason are. That place I could never fill, and I don’t want to.”
He suddenly froze, as if he had realized something. Jason could only wish that it was the truth: that there was no detaching Batman from Bruce. They were not his children, they were soldiers.
Tim lowered the mug and rubbed his face, tiredly. He seemed defeated, and that didn’t sit well with Jason, although it was the whole point of his visit. He was supposed to be the one to put that look on his face.
“Okay, yes, maybe I wanted to be part of the family, like a third son or something, but not taking Jason’s place. Never that,” he finally confessed, and Jason almost attacked him right that second. Greedy little thing, wasn’t he? Wanting even more when he already had everything. “I guess… I just wanted someone who cares .”
He lowered his head, and whispered: “It would be nice, for a change.”
And Jason snapped.
Not like he usually did; not like he had intended when coming here.
Something inside him simply clicked, like a cog coming back to its place, making an old gear start to turn again. The green cleared from his vision and Jason saw, really saw Tim for the first time, pieces of information that he already had falling together to form the picture he hadn’t seen before.
Following Batman and Robin when he wasn’t even old enough to start middle school. Parents that didn’t know his age. Practically raised himself. Didn’t stay in the Manor. Lived vicariously through the memories of past Robins. Only fifteen.
Tim Drake was a neglected kid.
Just a kid.
And honestly, could he blame a kid for wanting to become Robin? For falling for Bruce’s well-crafted lies?
Yes, the Pit whispered, and Jason told the Pit to shut the fuck up.
“Then you would be disappointed, kid,” he said, slowly. “Bruce doesn’t really care. If he did, he would never, ever, let you put on this uniform, no matter how annoyingly insistent you were.” He turned the helmet in his hands: if Bruce cared, wouldn’t he have made a move to stop Jason from becoming a crime lord? Wouldn’t he have done something about the neglected kid he was sending to fight Gotham’s craziest? “That is the uniform that got me murdered. And he didn’t even kill that fucking clown.”
And that was the biggest betrayal of all. What kind of father – that had the power to do something about it – allowed his kid’s murder to walk away, knowing full well he would come back eventually? Didn’t he deserve to be avenged? Didn’t Barbara deserve it?
“Well, yeah,” Tim agreed. “But that’s Superman’s fault.”
And once again, everything came to a halt, and Jason momentarily lost his train of thoughts.
There was nothing about Superman in the reports Talia had provided.
“What?” He almost choked on his words, but the kid didn’t even blink.
“What what?”
“What do you mean that’s Superman’s fault? ”
“Oh, the first time the Joker made a public appearance after he killed you, Batman gunned for him,” Tim explained, and Jason held his breath. He definitely hadn’t heard anything about that. “I don’t really know if he was going to kill him or not. Normally I would say no, b ecause that’s his rule, but he was pretty unhinged after your death. Superman decided to not take any chances and went after him to prevent him from trying, I guess. Now we’ll never know for sure. To be honest, they don’t really talk about that time.”
Jason didn’t know if he should be impressed or worried with Tim’s ability to drop bombs without even blinking.
If the kid was telling the truth – which he didn’t doubt, the little bird was barely awake and convinced that he was hallucinating – then there was more to Batman’s reaction to his death than Talia had told him. He shouldn’t be surprised, the only agenda that Talia really cared about was her own.
The betrayal still hurt, though.
Yet, it didn’t matter in the end. He had died three years ago; Bruce had plenty of time to come up with a Superman-proof plan to eliminate that motherfucking clown. He could have acted, but he chose not to.
And the Joker was alive.
“Dick did kill him, though,” Tim calmly said.
It was like a slap to his face.
Another cog fell into place, yet this machine was refusing to start.
Because there was no universe in which he believed Dick Grayson would break the golden rule.
“What?”
“The Joker captured me, told Nightwing he had killed me, started to taunt him describing your – Jason’s – death, and Dick lost it. Completely lost it. He beat him to a bloody pulp and his heart stopped beating, so, you know, dead .”
And Jason… He could see it clearly. A warehouse, a beaten Robin in the ground, a laughing Joker gloating about his death, and a furious Nightwing-
Everyone and their dogs knew Dick was emotional. People simply chose to fixate on the happy, easy-going parts of his personality. But Jason, who had been on the receiving end of Dick’s disgusted glares, knew full well how terrifying the first Robin could be.
“He got better though. CPR and everything,” the kid nonchalantly said, and again, who the hell taught this kid this fucked up level of emotional response?
“Nightwing killed the Joker after he captured you,” he repeated, slowly, to center himself. Nightwing, the first Robin, Dick Grayson, the golden boy, killed someone to protect a Robin and avenge another.
He did it for him, not for you , the Pit whispered. He should have done it for you back then.
No. There was something not even Talia could have spun in her favor: Nightwing was in space when he died, he only came back to Earth weeks after everything had happened. There was nothing the former Robin could have done for Jason, but he came through for Tim.
And yet.
Dick, not Bruce.
“The Joker captured you, which only proves my point: as long as that clown is alive, Robin will never be safe. Batman lets you use those colors and he doesn’t even protect you. If Bruce cared enough, that green-haired motherfucker would be dead .”
Tim propped his cheek on his fist, seeming unimpressed. “And then he would win.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“The Joker would win,” Tim repeated, monotonously. “That’s exactly what he wants. If he pushes Batman over that edge, if Batman kills, he can no longer be a vigilante, Gordon wouldn’t cover for him anymore. He would be a criminal. He wouldn’t be any better than the Rogues he fights. The Joker would be dead but he would ultimately win, because Gotham would lose her only spark of hope. And that would destroy Bruce, too. He needs to be Batman, I don’t think he knows how not to be Batman anymore. It would kill him.” He sighed. “Is that what you want, definitely-not-Jason? You want Bruce dead?”
And Jason… he could follow that cold, analytical thought process. If considering only Batman, the urban legend, the vigilante, then Tim was right. Killing the Joker would end Batman and everything he represented. That Tim was able to see things like that told Jason more about his replacement than any previous research and information gathering.
For Tim, Bruce was Batman.
For Jason, Bruce had been a father.
And there lies all the difference in the world.
But that was between him and Bruce, and this kid who still thought that Robin could make a difference had nothing to do with it.
Jason sat in one of the island stools, allowing his helmet to rest on the marble. He rubbed his face and stared thoughtfully at the kid: one of his pupils was clearly more dilated than the other, and he had big dark circles under his eyes.
That kid needed sleep, like, yesterday.
“You think that what the Joker wants is to push Batman to kill him?” he asked, simply because he wanted to keep the conversation going.
Tim shrugged.
“No, I think that what the Joker really, really wants is to get fucked by Batman in the sexual sense of the word, but that’s absolutely disturbing so I avoid thinking about that as much as I can.”
No jury in the world would condemn him for almost falling from his chair.
“What the fuck, kid! ”
He didn’t know what was worse: that it was so obviously true or that a fifteen years old with the emotional awareness of a teaspoon was the one to point that out for him.
“You made me think about that. You made me think about Joker’s sexual fantasies. I hate you so much right now, you’re the worst hallucination ever.”
The kid was wrinkling his nose and God helped him, it was almost cute.
“Why are you so sure I’m a hallucination?”
“Well, because if you really were Jason Todd miraculously back from the grave you wouldn’t be here.”
Oh, look at the little Robin, he was so sure he knew all about his predecessor. Such a shame he was so damn wrong.
“Oh, and where do you think I would be, kid?”
Tim rolled his eyes and then shook his head in discomfort, and Jason added “no self-preservation instinct” on the list of the kid’s faults.
“The Manor, obviously. You should go see Alfred.”
And just like that, all amusement disappeared and an old wound started to hurt again.
“Alfred.”
Tim nodded.
“Yeah, and after you let Alfred know you’re alive, you would go scare the hell out of Bruce. You would need Alfred to convince Bruce you’re real and not Clayface or another shape-shifter or alien or zombie. And if Dick’s stories are true, then you two would start screaming at each other but end up hugging anyway. Then you would let Dick know you’re alive in the most troll way possible, and spend the next 72 hours avoiding his emotional neediness.” Well, it was a reasonable picture he was painting, except for the fact he had no intention of ever going back. “The next on the list would probably be to pay the Joker a visit with a crowbar.”
Now that was a sentiment he could get behind. Not so bad, little bird.
“But you wouldn’t come here. You don’t know me, I’m not your brother, I mean nothing to you.”
He couldn’t help but grin maniacally. That know-it-all kid definitely could use some humility lessons.
“Maybe I would wanna know what the fuck you’ve been doing with my name and my costume. Maybe I would want to beat the living shit out of you so you know what happens to Robins who stray from the nest.”
And the damn kid had the audacity to look unimpressed.
“Okay, first of all, this is not your costume because it has pants , thank you very much, I worked hard on it. Second, if you try to beat me I will beat you right back, asshole.” He took a deep breath. “And then I would tell you that all I ever wanted as Robin was to uphold your legacy and take care of them for you.”
And here they were, back to that inconvenient hero-worship.
“And if I told you I wanted the name back?” he asked, although that was literally the last thing he wanted in the world.
“Well, if you looked like this,” Tim made an encompassing gesture. “I would tell you to take the whole costume too because you’re a little too big for the scaly panties.”
Those damn scaly panties, he was never living that shit down.
“You really would give up on being Robin?” he insisted, and practically could see the hesitation in the kids’ eyes.
“I’m not ready to let Robin go. I love being Robin, and I enjoy being B’s partner.” He chugged the rest of his mug, one of his hands grabbing the counter for dear life. “But I stand by what I said before. I became Robin to help Batman first and foremost, not because of some deep-rooted desire to be a hero. But since I ended up being good at this and enjoying it, I don’t think I want to stop. Yeah, it would be like losing a limb, but I could just create my own vigilante persona. After all… you also weren’t ready to let Robin go, and it was taken from you.”
There was no mistake about the pain in his voice.
“That didn’t answer the question, kid,” he insisted.
“I’m not ready to let Robin go,” he repeated, vehemently this time, and then threw his head back, the concussed idiot. “Fuck it, I would not give you Robin back. I would, however, move earth and hell to convince you to become your own hero. I’m sure you would come up with something so much better than Discowing.”
Well, at least he only had the scaly pants to haunt him. Dickie had those, Discowing, the mullet, and the nipple piercing. Everyone should remember the nipple piercing.
“Maybe we could even go around kicking ass together,” Tim added, almost dreamily, which was practically a punch on his gut.
“I can’t believe you have hero-worship syndrome towards me.”
“I thought we had already established that you were my favorite Robin,” he answered, unapologetically.
What this kid didn’t understand was that the Robin he remembered was dead. He was not the one who crawled out of his grave and was thrown in the Lazarus Pit.
That was Jason Todd.
“But what if I wasn’t that Robin anymore?” he asked, because he needed the kid to understand that. With a practiced motion, he removed his domino and allowed the kid to see his Pit-green eyes. Tim’s jaw fell slack. “What if I came back wrong, insane, violent? What if I started to kill the scumbags instead of sending them back to the corrupted system? What if Batman told you that I’m now the enemy? Then what would you do, Robin? ”
He blinked a few times, quickly, as if considering his question.
“I guess I would have to beat some sense back into your thick skull,” he said. The answer was simple, but all about his body language screamed determination.
Fucking Robins. They never knew when a battle was lost.
“And then what?” he pressed. “Send me to Arkham?”
And Tim stared him down as if he had just said the most stupid thing in the world.
“What? No! Are you crazy? Or course not! Then we would have to find out how you came back, what made you insane, how to help you recover…”
Annoying little detective.
“Are you forgetting about the murders?”
“Batman and Robin cannot condone murder,” he answered simply and well, that was the response he had expected, right? That was how B trained his perfect little soldiers. “But Bruce would always want his son back, no matter what. He just sucks so much at expressing that.”
And there goes the kid again naively thinking that Bruce and Batman were different people.
“And what about Tim Drake?” he asked, because Bruce was a lost cause.
Maybe the kid in front of him wasn’t.
He smiled, sadly. “Tim Drake always wanted to be Jason Todd’s friend.”
Well fuck him, just add that one to the ever-growing pile of shit he would have to unpack later.
“That’s all?” he insisted, because he was an idiot too, apparently.
“And I really, really wanted to be yours and Dick’s brother,” he said, with a tired sign.
Because he didn’t expect that childish dream to ever become true. Because he had resigned himself to be a sidekick that went back to his own empty Manor at the end of the night. Because he thought Jason was dead and that Dick wouldn’t want him.
Half of Jason wanted to hug him. The other half wanted to punch him in the face.
He added those two thoughts to the pile of shit to unpack later (or never) and decided it was about time he got the fuck out before he did something stupid.
He got up and picked up his helmet.
“You sure you wanna be a crime lord’s little brother, kid?”
Tim’s unfocused eyes followed his helmet in his hands, frowning in concentration before suddenly throwing hands.
“Oh, you have to be kidding me! Why am I hallucinating about Jason being the Red Hood now?!”
He sounded so indignant , and that was enough to send Jason into a frenzy of laughter he didn’t remember having since the Pit.
Tim Drake. The Third Robin. His replacement. The kid who dropped emotional bombs as if they were nothing and at the same time was so obviously desperate for affection and recognition that it was almost heartbreaking.
And Conan Doyle wasn’t so bad, he would have to admit.
“You’re something else, kid,” he said, when he finally caught his breath. “But I better go now, you need to sleep.”
“Don’t need to tell me that,” he mumbled, like the damn kid he was.
Adorable.
Okay, fine, maybe he would keep an eye on him. At least he wasn’t boring.
“But one last thing before I go,” he said, before quickly flicking his forehead.
Just like he had expected, Tim closed his eyes, taking a step back and cursing profusely. Jason used that distraction to open a window and fire his grapple gun.
“Mother- Jason! You know I’m concussed, you bastard! You-”
And there was the sweet, sweet realization.
Tim slowly lowered his hands, his jaw falling slack and a blush started to cover his pale cheekbones. Yep, that’s right little bird, this whole conversation actually happened and I will never, ever, let you live it down.
“Not a hallucination, baby bird. See ya around.”
He jumped.
Jason didn’t have to turn back to know that the kid was probably watching him from the window he had just jumped from. He ran to his motorcycle and lost no time to put some distance between him and the Tower.
He could feel the Pit stirring inside him again and he needed to be in a safe location to handle the unavoidable fall down. He had come to the Tower ready to teach the new Robin a lesson, he wasn’t prepared for the emotional slaughter.
He never expected the kid would admire him.
Nope, not now, that was definitely something to unpack later. Or never.
For now, it was better to keep accelerating, to leave San Francisco behind, and to pretend he wasn’t painfully aware of the mocking Robin uniform he was wearing under his clothes.
