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Everyone has been adjusting to the floating notepad that is the ghost of Jason Todd. Sure, it’s absolutely hilarious to watch him narrate his actions via writing, and also vaguely unsettling how he seems to know everything about everything and everyone, he’s an excellent older brother. Until he goes missing.
It’s a normal Saturday. Everyone wakes up and goes about getting ready for the day. Then the little things stand out a little more. None of the doors are slamming. The piano isn’t playing itself. Jason’s notepad is right in the drawer where Tim had left it, no sign of any movement. So, naturally, everyone starts freaking out. Thus commences the manhunt for Jason Todd.
All of his usual spots are empty. Tim and Steph try the ouija board in his bedroom, the library, the piano room, the attic, and everywhere in between. Damian and Cass walk around with a random supernatural activity detector from the Batcave, all while Bruce and Alfred watch in confusion.
“Master Tim….Miss Stephanie…what are you two doing?”
“Looking for Jason, obviously.”
The words leave Steph’s mouth without an ounce of hesitation. Alfred’s eyes darken.
“Master Jason is no longer with us. To make a mockery of his death is horrific. I am going to leave now, and I expect you two to have sorted yourselves out. Death is really no joking matter.”
Alfred turns and leaves the room. Both Steph and Tim stare after him.
“Does he…not know? About Jason’s ghost?”
Tim poses the question first. Then it dawns on Steph too.
“Not just Alfred. Bruce. Dick. Babs. None of them know.”
“Shit.”
Steph and Tim abandon the ouija board in favor of an emergency family meeting in the attic where Damian and Cass are.
“Alfred doesn’t know Jason’s a ghost. Neither does Bruce. Or Dick. Or Babs. Well, maybe Babs knows. But she hasn’t said anything.”
Everyone gapes at Tim when he says this. But now that he’s said it…it makes sense. Bruce goes out of his way to avoid looking at the notepad that is Jason. Alfred keeps calling electricians about the lights. Dick hasn’t been at the manor for weeks — he wasn’t there for the revelation of Jason’s spirit haunting the manor. Babs doesn’t visit the manor that often during the day, which is when Jason’s there. Of course they don’t know. Damian voices the question first.
“Do we tell them? Todd obviously hasn’t. He must have done so for a reason.”
Everyone considers this for a few minutes.
“We should ask him once he gets back. If he doesn’t want Bruce to know, we should respect it.” Cass says.
Everyone considers once more, before agreeing. And so, they wait. They patrol. They eat lunch and dinner. Lunch is an awkward affair — Alfred stares clean through Tim and Steph, as if he’s looking into their souls. Bruce does not eat lunch that day, giving some bullshit excuse about working on a case.
Jason returns that night, and immediately, Duke notices a few things. For one, he’s visible. Secondly, his hands are stained a darker color that looks almost opaque in comparison to his ghostly body..
“Uh, Jason, my man…you good? You’re looking kinda…dead. Wait, bad word choice–”
Jason chuckles at Duke’s words, before pausing.
“You can see me? Like, actually, ‘there he is, Jason Todd in the not-quite-flesh’ see me? Is it ‘cause you’re a meta, or?”
“Not sure. Let’s go find someone else.”
And so, the two of them set off. Steph, Cass, Damian, and Bruce are on patrol. That leaves Tim and Alfred at home.
“Hey, man, why’re your hands darker than the rest of your body? Has it been like that since you died?”
Jason looks down at his hands.
“My hands are a little darker than the rest of my body? Yeah, they are. The explosion I died in — I clawed at the door, trying to get out. Guess it’s part of the ghostly aesthetic, so I’ve had bloody hands for years.”
Jason’s voice is dull and resigned, and Duke frankly doesn’t know what to say. He stops right as they reach Tim’s door, which Tim opens shortly afterwards.
“Duke. Jason...wait. You’re here. Like, I can see you. You’re….really tall. I thought you’d be small and still look 15, but you’re like, OLD, not to be rude–”
Jason sighs, but his lips are curving up in a way that’s undeniably fond.
“I get that a lot — well, I think that a lot. Not many people out there that can comment on my appearance.”
Duke and Jason enter Tim’s room. It’s quiet for all of fifteen seconds before Tim blurts out what Duke is thinking.
“So, why can we see you?”
“Funny thing is, I have no clue. Bruce’s been seeing me for weeks – fucker’s ignoring me. He just looks away every time we make eye contact.”
Jason’s voice is dark and bitter. His smile is entirely devoid of humor.
“And if he’s not going to accept me back, I might as well do the one thing he never could. I killed the Joker. He’s dead. Gone. No more revolving door of Arkham. No more people can die at his hands.”
“You–you killed the Joker? How? I thought Batman doesn’t kill? I thought you couldn’t go to Arkham ‘cause of all the tech there?”
“I’m a ghost, Narrows. I walked through the walls. And Batman may not kill, but I’m dead. I said I’d kill him as soon as I could pick up a knife and do it. So I did. There will never be another me. There will never be another Babs. There won’t ever be what happened to your parents. Because the clown fucker is gone.”
Jason sinks into the chair at Tim’s desk. He looks…tired. No wonder, honestly. Jason’s been here for years. He probably had to watch Bruce grieve, incapable of doing nothing. Did he watch Barbara get shot? Did he see Joker escape over and over?
For the very first time, it dawns on Tim that Jason’s life –- death? — as a ghost must have been utterly miserable. Feeling helpless like that, and for nearly three years, it’s no wonder Jason killed the Joker the moment he could handle a knife.
Tim’s phone starts blaring with the telltale alarm that tells him to come down to the Batcave.
“Guess the Bat knows Joker’s dead.”
The comment comes from Jason, who looks entirely done with life, or possibly death. Duke and Tim glance at one another and head down to the cave with Jason trailing behind them. Everybody’s mobilised in the cave: Bruce, Babs, Steph, Cass, Damian, and now the two of them with their ghostly ally. No Dick, since he’s still off in Bludhaven.
Nobody reacts to Jason’s presence at first, too occupied with the news. Jason settles on top of his Robin memorial as Bruce begins talking.
“As of 8:37 pm tonight, the Joker has been killed.”
The only response is stunned silence, before Steph breaks it.
“How’d he die?”
“The circumstances of his death were…unusual. He started convulsing on the floor of his cell, clawing at his throat and gasping for breath.”
“So, he choked? How anticlimactic.”
Bruce stops, and Barbara takes over. She fixes everyone with a stare.
“Not exactly. He hadn’t eaten anything. He hadn’t even been lying down to have choked on his own saliva. No. He was strangled. But the cameras caught nothing. The heat sensors caught nothing. The guards caught nothing. He just…dropped dead.”
Tim and Duke exchange a glance, then look back at the corner where Jason disappeared to. Barbara raises an eyebrow at them.
“Anything to add?”
“Nope.”
The reply from both of them is simultaneous — they may know who killed the Joker, but they both know better than to bring up Jason in front of Bruce, Babs, Alfred, and Dick, if he were here. Jason watches from his corner. He hadn’t ended up doing it with a knife – he couldn’t get his hands on one. He can’t open the Batcave’s weapon supply: it’s too high-tech. And Arkham doesn’t keep fire axes on hand, lest the inmates get their slimy hands of evil on them. So Jason had resorted to doing it with his bare hands.
And so, the investigation begins. Could it have been a gas attempt by Crane? No. He had been sedated in his cell. Couldn’t have been either Ivy or Harley — they were spotted together in Gotham Community Gardens. Not any of the other rogues. None of them — all of them had been accounted for. So who?
Over the next few days, the investigation continues, but gets all of nowhere. Dick comes over from Bludhaven, but even with his help, there’s no new evidence. Tim and Duke break the news to Steph, Cass, and Damian. Slowly, a tentative peace settles over the manor. The Joker’s death eliminated the biggest threat to the bats and the rest of Gotham.
Everyone is having breakfast, when the sound of a gunshot and shattering glass hitting concrete echoes through the manor. Everyone freezes, then the mad scramble to the Batcave begins. Nobody expects the sight that awaits them.
Jason Peter Todd is visible. Jason Peter Todd is holding a Colt 1911. Jason Peter Todd has shot the Robin Memorial.
Bruce stops and stares. Jason puts the gun down, sinks into a chair, and sighs.
“I was getting really fucking sick of looking at that thing.”
And the room is thrown into chaos. Bruce has frozen to the spot, his eyes fixed on Jason. Not a hallucination. Not-Jason is Jason. Hallucinations can’t cause property damage. Dick throws his arms around Jason with a ferocity that sends the chair rolling backwards. Jason slowly wraps his arms around Dick as Dick begins to sob.
Steph breaks the almost-silence of the room.
“We can see you!”
Dick turns around and stares.
“You knew?! How long?!”
Jason sighs once more, and starts talking. His voice is bitter and venomous.
“Weeks. I’ve been here for years, Dickie. I’ve been here since October 18th of the year I died.”
“Three years. You’ve been here for three years, and we’ve never seen you? Never heard you?”
“It’s like living in the world’s shittiest show. The one where you scream at the characters for being stupid but nothing happens. And, that’s not entirely true. Bruce’s been seeing me for weeks. Fucker’s ignoring me, Dickie. He just…looks past me.”
It’s then that Bruce breaks the silence. The others have slowly backed out of the room. Traitors, the lot of them. But Jason can’t blame them.
“You’re real. Jay, you’re real.”
Jason fixes him with the world’s most withering stare.
“No, I’m a fucking unicorn. Actually, those are probably real. What did you think I was, fake? Use your head, Bruce. Of course I’m real.”
“I thought I was hallucinating.”
That stops Jason in his tracks. Then he starts laughing. It starts as chuckling, but turns to vicious, hysterical laughter.
“A hallucination. A fucking hallucination. What the hell. I give up. I give up. Bring the coffin back here, get the shovels, I’m going back–”
Bruce joins the Crushing-Jason-To-Death-A-Second-Time club, kneeling on the floor to hug his wayward son, who’s still being held by Dick. Jason’s laughter has faded and turned to soft, hitching breaths.
“I thought you were ignoring me….three years, B….three. I’ve been here this whole time. It’s been awful, Bruce. Awful. I had to watch Dick cry when he missed my funeral — I’m not mad about that, by the way. Wasn’t expecting you to fly your ass back down from space. Had to watch you stop eating and sleeping — traumatic as hell, yaknow?”
Jason continues rambling, and Bruce chuckles softly. Jason always rambled when he panicked. He’d ramble when Bruce caught him reading long past lights out. He’d ramble when embarrassed or stressed. He rambled when he got nervous at galas, or when he was put on the spot. His rambles were often massive leaps of logic, and god, had Bruce missed hearing Jason’s word vomit.
“Also, it’s probably hella uncomfortable for your old ass knees to be kneeling on this concrete. Can we go inside? I’m sick of looking at the memorial –”
Bruce, Dick, and Jason stand, and walk out of the cave. The others flee to some random room when the others enter Jason’s library. Dick and Bruce settle on either side of Jason, effectively smushing him, but Jason can’t find it in him to complain. This is his first hug in three years, damn it.
“So, the time in the library. Then in the kitchen. And in the gardens. Your bedroom. All of that was you?”
Jason sighs softly once more. He’s been doing a lot of that since he died. Maybe dying instilled him with wisdom or something. Blessed him with a little sprinkle of brainpower.
“Yeah. First time I touched a person after dying was when I touched your hair in my old room. Surprised you don’t have bald spots yet.”
Dick giggles softly, then messes up Jason’s hair. He’s not solid enough for Dick to feel Jason’s soft hair. It feels cool and smooth, and like the rest of Jason’s body, almost like glass. Dick doesn’t care. He’s too busy hugging his brother after years.
“You look like Shrek. All green and stuff.”
“You need to shut the fuck up, or I will be SUCH a pain in your ass, you’d wish I stayed six feet under.”
“.....I thought he looked rather like Marley from the Mickey Mouse Christmas Carol movie”
Jason stares at Bruce, and remains silent for nearly a minute.
“I’m disowning you. Jacob Marley? Are you fucking kidding me? I’m getting back in the coffin. I mean, we’ll have to get my body out first, but still. Come on, let’s go to fucking WALMART and buy me a coffin.”
Dick’s giggles turn to full blown laughter, and Bruce breaks into chuckles. Jason can’t help but smile. But oh, is he going to exact his revenge. One day.
Nobody leaves that couch for almost an hour, but they’re forced to get up once Jason’s corporeal form fades, leaving him translucent and ghostly once more. After a few minutes, the others tentatively creep into the room.
“So…why was Bruce ignoring you?”
Tim asks the question first, and everybody else nods along.
“He thought I was a hallucination. And he ALSO apparently thinks I look like Jacob* Marley from the Mickey Mouse Christmas Carol.”
“I mean, you are green,” Steph remarks, a shit eating grin on her face. Jason looks ready to blow a blood vessel, but before he can comment, Alfred begins speaking.
“The notes on the fridge. Master Jason, I would like to deeply apologize for removing them — I had assumed them to be some cruel prank of sorts.”
Jason sighs, then nods.
“You’re good, Alfie — and, for the record, I thought either Bruce was taking them, or the fridge goblin ate them.”
“The fridge goblin?”
Dick looks concerned and more than a little scared when he asks about Jason’s made up fridge goblin. Alright then, Jason supposes it’s time to create a few more house guests.
“Yeah. The fridge goblin.”
“Todd, you are being ridiculous. There is no such thing.”
“Damian, are you really telling me, the ghost of the house, that there’s not a goblin in the fridge? Brother, I see him every day.”
Everybody exchanges looks. They really couldn’t fight Jason on there being a fridge goblin — after all, it had taken 3 years for them to see him. If Jason said there was a ghost, maybe there was.
“You know, they’re the supporting characters that carry the shitcom. Sitcom. Same fucking thing. Just like Carpet Dog.”
Everybody exchanges looks. Carpet Dog. Right. Maybe years of ghosthood changed Jason, maybe he was telling the truth. Only time would tell. But for the time being, there was peace in Wayne Manor. Up until Jason opened his mouth once more.
“Now’s probably a good time to mention that I strangled the Joker.”
Silence.
Bruce has gone still. Jason’s still sitting there on the couch between Dick and Bruce, both of whom look shocked. Nobody else does — Tim and Duke had clued everybody in several days prior.
“You–you killed the Joker? And we’re the last people to know?”
“Yeah, pretty much. I mean, I thought Bruce was ignoring me, and you weren’t there during the ouija board meeting.”
“Ouija board,” Bruce repeats faintly. “They met you via ouija board?”
“I spent, like, 20 bucks buying it off of Amazon. Lex Luthor wins again.”
“You bought your ouija board from Amazon?”
Dick looks at Steph incredulously.
“I wasn’t going to wait two whole weeks for shipping. That’s not happening.”
“That’s fair, honestly.”
Jason continues talking about how the others had gotten into contact with him.
“They bought the board, set it up in my bedroom with candles and shit, and then Damian rocked up with proper ouija board etiquette–”
“I’m sorry, what now? Proper ouija board etiquette? That’s a thing?”
“Of course there is such a thing. Mother stressed the importance of learning different ways of communing with the dead. To use an ouija board properly, you must have multiple people, ask yes or no questions, and always end with goodbye. It’s not that complicated.”
“Ok. Alright then.”
Dick looks extremely lost. Bruce, much like a lamp, simply sits there like an inanimate object. Jason is green. Not the illness type of green, he’s just green.
“So they got into contact with me, and they gave me a notepad. Then I got to start roleplaying like somebody who had never before cast their eyes upon, nor touched, grass. No, I seriously had to sit there and narrate my actions like one of those freaks on dating apps with all the asterisks.”
Everybody stares at Jason.
“Jason, you can’t even use technology. Why do you know what people are like on dating apps?”
The comment comes from Tim, and Jason just shakes his head in response. No comment. Alright then.
“We never finished talking about how you killed the Joker!”
“We’re just not going to address that.”