Chapter Text
You enter the cave. You are alone, today. Dick is in Bludhaven, Tim is off with the titans, Cass comes as goes as she pleases, and currently it pleases her to go. Even Alfred is taking a rare weekend off, to reconnect with an old friend from his time serving the Queen.
Jason has been dead for years.
A flash drive rests on your desk. You did not put it there. There is a note next to it.
You read it. It says, in Talia’s handwriting:
“The drive contains a video of a recent conversation I had with the vigilante who killed the Joker. It is not in my interests to keep it confidential.
Beloved, I understand that you will not believe what is discussed here without evidence, but I ask, at least, that you watch it in its entirety.”
She does not sign her name. She knows she does not need to, with you, and she has never been one to do things unnecessarily.
You run the standard tests, to make sure the drive and note are safe. You would not be yourself, if you did not.
You take out the laptop that you keep especially for opening suspicious flash drives, (replaced after each use, of course, to minimize security risk) and plug it in.
It is, indeed, a video.
You run more tests, and then you watch it.
-
It opens with Talia sitting alone in what appears to be a safehouse. The room she occupies is small, and likely a sitting or living room, judging by the fireplace in the center of it, the bookshelves on one of the visible walls, and the two leather armchairs facing each other, one of which she occupies.
The fire is blazing, and for the first minute or so of footage, it is the only sound, Talia’s breaths too quiet for the microphone to pick up.
She sits neatly, posture perfect, as she always has. Her immaculate nails curl around a half empty glass in her hand filled with an unidentifiable liquid. You are unable to discern much about it, beyond a yellowish color consistent with lemonade, but guess that it is likely not alcoholic, as Talia is not the type to willingly impair herself when alone.
Especially not when she’s being recorded.
There is an especially loud pop from the fire, and a log shifts slightly. Talia raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at it, but does not otherwise react.
A few more seconds of near silence.
A door creaks, and footsteps can be heard. They walk steadily towards the microphone, before pausing for a moment in what is likely the doorway of the room. After that moment is over, they resume walking, and an unknown person enters your field of view, sitting in the empty armchair.
“Jason.” Talia says, voice smooth and unperturbed.
You suppress a flinch. You have not believed in coincidences for many years, but Talia is not stupid, and she does not believe you to be stupid.
The person sitting across from her is not someone who could be mistaken for Jason Todd by a blind man, let alone the man who raised him. There is more to this.
Your fists are clenched, regardless. Time has done little to dull his loss.
The stranger inclines their head to your once-lover, greeting her in return with, “Hey, Talia.”
It is clear, from their expressions, that they are familiar with each other. They seem cordial, though it will be difficult to tell how closely they regard one another without continuing to watch.
Talia rarely asks things of you. You do not know why this is the exception.
“So, to what do I owe the infinite pleasure of your company?” The stranger asks, tone light but sarcastic.
You place their accent as West Coast US, clearly influenced by other areas, though you’ll need to hear them speak more to identify just where.
Their voice is approximately in the middle of the average pitch range for a female. It is neither especially melodic nor especially harsh.
They enunciate clearly, but have a slight hiss on the “S” sound that may denote a lisp. When they had opened their mouth to speak, you’d noted the very slight pronunciation of their upper jaw, consistent with an overbite, most likely due to tongue thrust.
Jason had always had an odd verbal tic with his “S”s. He’d sometimes spoken like he expected to have a lisp, and had been surprised to find it gone.
You’d never identified the cause. There were always more pressing issues.
The stranger looks nothing like Jason. They sound nothing like Jason. What game is Talia playing?
Talia smiles, lips painted perfect red. She asks, “Is it so unbelievable that I simply missed you? You hardly call anymore. What am I to do, without you there to mock the world’s small idiosyncrasies?”
Her voice is the same honeyed tone it always is, when she is being friendly. There is a part of you that misses the games you’d once played together.
The stranger snorts.
“Yeah, because you need so much help with that.” They give her a bland look. “Cut the pleasantries. We both know you’re not the type to visit without an ulterior motive, so just come out with it and we can get it over with.”
The way they speak is eerily reminiscent of your second son. Not in any specific usage of word or phrase, but in the way they approach the conversation as a whole.
The lack of obeisance to Talia, which one would expect from anyone associated with the League, that reminds you so of the way Jason had never quite seemed to grasp the notion of using deference to denote respect.
The deadpan drawl, so familiar when it had been the one Jason defaulted to as long as you’d known him.
The vocabulary, the utter lack of attention given to the words used even when they were ones he couldn’t possibly have picked up before coming to the manor, because he didn’t even say them in a Crime Alley accent, so how did he seemingly know them from the moment he stepped into your-
You aren’t here to think about Jason. Jason is dead. He’s dead and he’s not coming back and if you let yourself hope otherwise it would kill you, and this stranger looks nothing like him so what does it matter, if they talk like he did and Talia calls them by his name?
What does it matter? He’s dead. You saw him buried.
Talia, in the note, had said that this stranger is the vigilante who killed the Joker.
He died about a month ago, shot in the head and chest multiple times. The witnesses identified the killer as a person of unknown gender, somewhere between 5.5 and 6 feet, identifying features covered.
Apparently, they’d just walked up while he was monologing and killed him without saying a word. Then, they’d walked away.
There are enough murders in Gotham daily that you didn’t feel especially bad, not pursuing that case. You would bring in his killer if you ever found them, but there was no particular reason to go looking.
The Joker didn’t exactly have many friends. He’s not been missed. Even if you brought the killer in, there’s little chance of them being convicted. You wouldn’t be surprised if someone gave them a medal.
If the one who killed the Joker is League, though, you’ll have to give it a more thorough investigation. It’s unlikely that someone Talia associates with is particularly altruistic.
On the video, Talia’s smile fades at the stranger’s words. She takes a sip of her drink, before regarding them with an almost mournful expression.
“Yes, I suppose I am not.” She admits, softly.
You sharpen your focus. So far, the video has held little of direct interest, beyond its existence in the first place. If they’ve finished with formalities, though, the meat of the discussion is coming.
“In this case, I visit because I am… curious.” She says.
You lean forward, slightly, as if to better hear, though she is speaking at a normal volume.
“There are many mysteries surrounding you, Jason. I had hoped some would be answered by waiting and watching, but doing so has only raised more.”
Again, the name.
What relationship do these two have, that Talia would not only be curious about them in the first place, but willing to ask them straight out? It’s not her style to interrogate unless whatever she’s after can’t be gained through her information network.
And the League’s information network is not one to be scoffed at. When even your own and your family’s identities are laid bare to them, how is it that an unknown manages to keep secrets of interest to the Demon’s Daughter?
“Huh.” Says the stranger. “Makes sense, I guess. I’ve never been one for explaining myself.”
Silence hangs, for a moment. The fire crackles.
The stranger sighs. “Well, ask away, then.”
Talia cocks her head. “Just like that? No dodging of the question, no storming off, refusing to answer?”
The stranger quirks their lip into a wry smile. “Eh, sounds like a pain. And it’s not like there’s much point to hiding stuff, anymore. Any plans I had went off the rails ages ago, so now I’ve offed the clown, what’s it matter?”
There’s something resigned, in their voice. Talia nods, in acknowledgement.
“I have always wondered why you make no attempt to contact your family. You have expressed awareness of how you are mourned, but never any desire to return to them.”
Your breath catches in your throat.
Jason is dead.
Why does Talia speak to this person as if they are your son?
The stranger averts their eyes, visibly uncomfortable with the query. They shift in the armchair until they’re sideways, drawing their knees close to their chest and staring at the fire.
“It’s… complicated.” They say.
“Uncomplicate it.”
The fire pops.
“I don’t even know where to start.” Says the stranger. “My life’s an impossibility stacked on a miracle stacked on an absurdity, and they’re all so damn tangled it’s near impossible to pull them apart.”
Talia, seemingly, is content to leave the silence that stretches between their words uninterrupted. It’s likely for the best. The stranger’s speech is halting, hesitant in the manner of someone who has many things to say but no idea how to say them.
It was common for Jason to do this, when dragged into emotional conversations. So verbose outside of them, but once they started all his words would seem to dry up.
He’s dead.
“You never figured out why I ended up like this after you put me in the pit, right?” They ask.
Talia shakes her head. “No. I have theories, but you have not elaborated on the mechanism of your transformation beyond admitting awareness to it.”
The stranger fiddles with their hands, eyes fixed on the fire.
“The Lazarus Pit restores. It takes your body and brings it to its ideal state, fixing wounds, missing body parts, and even reversing the effects of age.”
Talia, of course, is aware of this, as one of the few allowed to use it. You are aware, as well.
Why state the obvious?
“I guess it’s not surprising no one put much thought into what would happen if you combined that with reincarnation.” The stranger says.
Talia blinks, but doesn’t get a chance to speak before they continue.
“A bit out of left field, I know. Is it really that unbelievable, though, with all the other shit that goes down?”
It’s not, honestly. There have been multiple recorded cases of it. Unless they offer proof, though, it’s certainly unlikely .
“I was- for me-“ The stranger stops. Takes a long breath, in and out. “Lemme try again.”
You, as an observer, have no choice but to obey. Talia seems content to let them tell their story at their own pace.
They say “Most universes have a Jason Todd.” and you draw a sharp breath. “Born in Crime Alley to Willis Todd and Sheila Haywood. Sheila flees the country to go suck somewhere else, Willis marries Catherine Todd, who is an addict but otherwise nice enough.”
What game is Talia playing, giving you this conversation? What game is the stranger playing, to pretend to be-
You swallow.
Jason is dead.
“Willis ends up prison and gets killed by Two Face. Catherine dies. Poor little orphan boy Jason ends up on the streets.” Their tone is blank, like they’re bland fact and not your son’s life, though a note of bitterness is present when they refer to Jason by name.
“He survives. Sees the batmobile left unattended. Tries to jack the tires. Gets three off before Bruce spots him. Hits Batman with a crowbar. Gets adopted.”
They know your identity, then. You decide to focus on that, because this isn’t a recording you can afford to lose focus for.
The stranger knows things they shouldn’t. You need to know why.
So you need to watch all the way through, even though your son is dead and the wound has never fully closed, even as they salt it with seeming impunity.
“He ends up the second Robin. Dick’s a dick to him because Bruce is shit at communicating and doesn’t tell Dick he’s picked up a new kid until Dick confronts him about it. He doesn’t kill Felipe Garzonas. He finds out his biological mother is Sheila Haywood and runs off to find her.”
And then he died, and his story ended, and he became nothing more than an object lesson in why child heroism is an awful, awful thing, not that you succeeded in heeding it because you’ve always been unable to stop the children, once the tights are on.
And you placed a memorial that labels him a good soldier so that you never forget what, precisely, you are training these children to be.
If you must accept child soldiers, you will at least protect them. You will at least make sure they know what they’ve signed on for.
“Sheila turns out to be working for the Joker. She tricks the kid, and he gets tortured to death. The bats never find out what she did, so Jason gets buried next to her.”
What.
The stranger doesn’t pause, doesn’t even stumble over what’s either dirty slander or awful truth, and you barely have time to register what they’ve said before their story keeps going and somehow gets worse.
“Six months later, he wakes up in his grave, digs himself out, and runs around Gotham catatonic for a few months. Then some mook notices he uses Robin moves, sells the info to the League of Assassins, and you take him in.”
That’s- that’s absurd.
That makes no sense. Not only do people not just spontaneously wake up six months after being buried, but you’d have noticed.
Really, your son running around Gotham, for months, catatonic, without you picking up on it? There’s just no way.
“You get irritated when the catatonia doesn’t go away and stick him in a Lazarus Pit, healing his mind but giving him magic anger issues. You then train him, deliberately using the combination of his pit madness and trauma to turn him against Bruce. As far as I’m aware, it’s usually a combination of trying to get Tim out the way and testing the waters to see if someone with a bodycount can be accepted by the bats, so you know whether it’s worth sending Damian to meet his dad.”
You don’t know who Damian is. Damian is what you and Talia were planning to name the baby, before she lost it.
You hate all of the pictures the stranger’s words paint.
Talia frowns. “That is… something I could see myself doing, were circumstances different, but I don’t recall you ever being very affected by the pit.”
The stranger waves a hand. “Oh, I’m absolutely affected. I’m just used to dealing with irrationally strong emotions. And that’s really where I’m going with this.” They say.
“Oh?” Talia asks.
“This universe doesn’t have a real Jason Todd. It’s got me instead, and I’m…” They trail off, as if searching for the right words.
What the hell is this conversation. What are you watching. You aren’t called the world's greatest detective for nothing, (and besides, it doesn’t take that to figure out what’s being implied here) but none of the subtext here makes any sense.
It doesn’t even make sense as a trick, because it’s all so patently absurd Talia would have to be stupid to think you’d believe it.
And yet, the stranger speaks and acts like your dead son, implies they’re him after a Lazarus Pit after an unexplained revival, references events they should have no knowledge of, hints at secrets you have no knowledge of, and that’s not even getting into the fact that they claim to have been reincarnated.
None of this makes sense. It would almost be less absurd if it were all true, but that’s impossible because your son is dead.
“What do you mean?” Asks Talia. “Are you not Jason Todd? You were born as such and died as such, I am certain, so where lies the contradiction?”
Why did she send you this video? You’ve never known her to poke at your grief simply to see you in pain, but what purpose could she possibly achieve with this?
The stranger says, “As far as this world is concerned, sure. But last I checked, most Jason Todds don’t react to the Pit like this.”
They pause.
“I, uh. I guess the easiest way to describe it would be to say I got reincarnated from another dimension where everyone here’s a comic book character, but that’s really only my assumption of what happened. Like, I remember another life under a different name where all this was a story, and all the information I got from those memories has been consistent with reality, and I turned back into my old self when dumped in the Pit, but even then I can’t rule out the possibility of it being some elaborate trick, or a hallucination, or- I don’t even know, a fucking prank from god?”
They rise in volume, almost shouting the last words, sounding angry and confused and deeply lost, and damn you for never learning to corral that automatic sympathy that rises in you, hearing them.
Because, though this is weird as hell enough that you’re sure you’ll find something at the center of it, it just straight up cannot be true.
Even beyond the fact that Jason is dead, that Jason cannot be anything other than dead in your mind lest you lose yourself, the story they’re telling is nonsensical on every level.
You’ll definitely have to investigate.
The stranger inhales sharply, as if to stop a sob. “And I just- fuck, man.” They say.
The fire pops. A log groans, collapsing.
“I did everything the way I was- well, I guess I wasn’t “supposed” to do anything, it’s not like I got given a fucking guidebook, but I followed the timeline I knew since at least then I know like, the world doesn’t get destroyed, or whatever, becuase that’s a genuine concern here, which is just awesome!” They bite out, visibly upset. “And I was- it was fine, for a while. Willis sucked ass, but he was never home and then he got arrested. It wasn’t fun when Catherine died, because she was nice and she loved me even though I’m pretty sure she knew I wasn’t a normal kid, but like, being Robin was great! And yeah, Dick was an ass, but I expected that, I was prepared for that. Bruce was an ass too, sometimes, and I was prepared for that too, and I dealt with it. It was fine.” They say, very obviously not fine.
The fire flickers and crackles. They stare into it, and you think they must have spots in their vision, having looked at it for so long.
“And then I got dumped in the Pit, and I guess there was no point pretending after all, since I came out like this.” They say, gesturing their body. “It got- it got Tim to be Robin, at least, which is good. He does a lot of good stuff for the hero community, so it’s- it’s good that things went the way they were supposed to, at least that far.”
Talia looks at them, as she’s been doing since the video began. As per usual, her expression is unreadable.
“That still does not answer my original question, Jason.” She says. “Why stay away?”
They sigh. “Who’d believe me? I barely believe me, some days, and Bruce’s job is to question anything and everything.”
They are not wrong.
“It was nice, to be- to be his kid, for a while. I miss it.” They say. “But he mourned me. He’s still mourning me. And he’s right to, isn’t he? The kid I was pretending to be is dead. Even if I could go back somehow, it wouldn’t be the same.”
The video ends.
You extract the flash drive and put it in a small faraday cage. You place it in a drawer, with the note.
You extract the laptop’s hard drive and smash it with a hammer, as is protocol for viewing suspicious flash drives.
You throw away the laptop, as is protocol.
You place your head in your hands, and wonder where you’re even supposed to start.
You need to talk to J’onn. If there’s anyone who can figure out how much of this insanity is based in fact, it’s him.
Fuck.