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Jason grit his teeth as he stalked back to his apartment.
Swinging open the door he placed his helmet on the dresser, running his hands through his hair.
He walked into the kitchen to a half-asleep replacement.
Sorry, Tim Drake. His target.
Jason felt a sharp spike of rage threatening to burst out of his chest.
He took two deep breaths before approaching Tim.
“You’re kidding me.” Jason reached up to his head to find nothing but hair. That he wanted to rip out.
Shit.
No wonder Alfred had so little hair, he had traded it for sanity.
Jason watched, unimpressed as Tim startled awake and stared right through him.
He looked so young.
Jason had thought he would be at least his age, but Tim looked fourteen at best.
Jason’s hand curled around his gun before deciding, no, this is a kid, and settling down opposite Tim.
“Oh. You’re alive.” Tim seemed mildly surprised, instead choosing to yawn and pick at the cereal he had poured himself.
“Yeah. Help yourself to my food.”
“There was no food. This is store-bought and tastes terrible. How are you surviving?” Tim grabs a mug filled with coffee that sloshes around dangerously.
“I don’t even own that mug. Where did you find all this stuff?”
“At the regular people food arsenal.”
Jason pinches the bridge of his nose before deciding thats too much like Bruce and choosing to put a fist under his chin instead. The pit anger was still bubbling in his stomach, but it had settled for now.
“How old are you? How did you find me?” Tim looked away, instead looking into his bowl full of soggy cereal.
“Is your vocabulary limited to ‘how’s? I’m..twelve? Thirteen? Who knows. Want some? The pit must be starving.” Jason watched Tim munch on his cereal and shove his bowl towards him.
“You don’t know your own age? And uh, thanks?” Jason accepted the bowl, hesitating.
“And you didn’t answer my last question,” Jason added, suddenly remembering Tim averting his gaze.
“It’s not poisoned. Yeah, my parents and I never celebrated my birthday. Anyways you must be like, so confused right now. I know its the pit because there isn’t many ways to resurrect someone; Ra’s, magic, and faking your death were the only possibilities. And I’m pretty sure you did die, unless you were faking it, and you’re eyes are green now too, so that solidifies my inference.” Tim chewed for a good minute, leaving Jason to wait an uncomfortably long period of time for him to continue.
“For the identity part, it was pretty simple. I mean, you were practically leaving tracks everywhere. You said Bruce’s name at that train station, not many people can cut off the grabby leg thingies, blah blah blah,” He finished, jumping up to open the fridge and pour himself a cup of coffee.
“Wow. Uhm, okay. Can we talk about the ‘parents not caring about birthday part first? And how old are you again? Because if you’re twelve thats just… really impressive. How long have you been with Bruce?”
“A year? We really don’t need to talk about that. I figured out your identities and chased you and B around.” Tim ducked his face into his cup, face burning.
“Me and B? We really do need to talk about you not knowing your own age.”
“You don’t know yours! Yeah, uhm, I followed you around when you were Robin. So I volunteered to be Robin after you uh, died. Sorry about that, by the way, I could give up Robin if you wanted to-“ Jason shook his head as Tim rambled.
“It’s fine. My problem’s with Bruce, not you.” Tim’s face brightened into a smile that was Dick-worthy.
“Also, I was dead. I have validity if I don’t know my age.” Tim rolled his eyes.
“I’ll call Dick to ask him about my age. Wait, give me a second.” Tim whipped out a model of the Bat-phone Jason hadn’t seen yet and pressed some numbers before Dick picked up on the second ring.
“Tim?” Dick’s voice rang clearly from the speaker. True Bat-phone quality indeed.
“Hi, Dick. You’re twenty-three, right?”
“Yeah, why do you ask?” Tim shot a look at Jason, then back to his phone again.
“Nothing, just calculating my own age.”
“Tim, what? Do you not know-“
“Bye, have a wonderful day!” Tim hurriedly clicked off the call and pocketed his phone, turning to face Jason yet again.
“Good news! You’re nineteen, and I’m thirteen!” Tim clapped his hands excitedly.
“You know how worrying this is, right?”
“Yeah but do I care?”
“No you don’t.”
“No, I don’t.”
Jason blinked at Tim.
Tim stared back, and snatched the mug, holding it like a newborn baby.
Jason sighed.
“I tried-“
“And failed.” Tim was beaming now, the little shit. He had broken into Jason’s home after figuring out his identity and now wanted him to go and talk to Bruce.
“Listen, Tim, you don’t get it.”
“Oh I don’t get it? Well, the feeling is mutual, Jason.” Tim’s grin fell off his face completely.
“You’re just a kid. A scarily smart one, but still, a kid. I died and I came back. That stuff has an effect on you. It’s the Joker, or me. He has to choose.”
Tim’s face smoothed over into cold professionalism, nothing like the bright, sarcastic kid he’d met earlier.
This was the kid who had figured out Batman and Robin’s identity when he was barely nine. Who lived alone in a dark mansion for years. Who had sacrificed his peaceful life, volunteered for the chaos and gruesome job of being Batman’s partner; so that Batman wouldn’t do something he would regret.
His voice was emotionless when he spoke.
“I know you died. Everyone blames themselves, Jason. But what you’re saying, what you’re trying to do? It’s not what Jason would have wanted.”
“I’m not that Jason anymore.”
“Jason. You’re the same person you were four years ago. You have to see it.”
An idea formed in his head.
An idea that made far more sense than a thirteen year old figuring out the Red Hood’s identity.
“Drake. Bruce sent you here to convince me that proving my point was bad, didn’t he? You didn’t figure all that out on your own. He did.” Jason’s vision was swarming with green.
Tim had been manipulating him this whole time.
Tim’s eyes widened.
“No! No! Bruce didn’t tell me to come here, I came here myself, Jason you have to-“
“No. Tim, leave.”
“I can’t, Jason. Just believe me! I figured this out myself. You can’t take out your anger on me just because I’m the nearest target.”
Jason stood up and leaned across the kitchen island, green eyes blazing.
He extended his hand toward’s Tim’s neck.
Tim scrambled out of his seat, dropping the mug in the process.
It shattered, coffee slipping into the cracks of the ceramic tiles of the kitchen.
Jason’s vision cleared into a light green.
He backed away, chest heaving.
Silence, except for Tim’s shaky breaths. He was pressed against the oven, hands shaking slightly.
Tim took a deep breath.
Fuck. What had Jason done? Assuming it was Bruce all over again, letting the pit rage engulf him.
And worst of all, he had enjoyed it.
Enjoyed scaring Tim. Killing those henchmen.
What had he become?
Jason watched Tim collect himself, blinking several times at the ceiling.
Tim’s eyes darted to Jason’s horrified expression.
“I- Jason.”
“Could you, at least think about it, going to Bruce and talking it out instead of killing? Just- just try.”
Tim looked at Jason one last time before silently passing by as he walked towards the door.
Jason sat heavily back down onto his seat, hand in his hair.
“I never wanted to be Robin, you know. I did it for Bruce.” Tim smiled sadly before closing the door behind him.
Jason stares at the spot where, moments ago, Tim had been joking with him.