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Jason was dead and Batman was off the rails and careening towards an epic train wreck. Even to himself, that sounded ridiculous. As if he’d been thinking about it, and rephrasing it, over and over, trying to distance himself from it, make it unreal by repetition.
What had once been an exciting adventure, watching Batman and Robin subdue violent people with the minimal necessary force to save victims, had turned into a horror show. He was expecting a jump scare at any moment. He could easily imagine this Batman throwing a batarang into a mugger’s throat. He could imagine the blood destroying what remains of the unofficial vigilante system that kept Gotham’s criminal ecology from collapsing entirely.
Tim loved Gotham. He loved the smog and the mutant rats, and the amazing survivors in Crime Alley. He wasn’t keen on the mostly corrupt police force, or the homicidal super villains, but at least those had been stable situations.
Although… research showed that before Batman became active there really weren’t any ‘themed’ villains. Just gangs out for a buck with simple specializations, like protection rackets, drugs, prostitution, robbery, burglary, personal assault, etc. Standard for a large city, really.
So, Batman was both cause and effect? During the interval between Robin 1 and Robin 2, Batman had been more violent, but that had been a subtle ramping up.
Tim considered the options. Batman might need an emotional support partner, but Tim could hardly put that in a CraigsList ad. Possibly one of the mercenary mailing lists that Tim had found on the Dark Web would work- but Batman obviously wouldn’t accept an adult, or else Nightwing wouldn’t have moved to Bludhaven.
A substitute child… no, Tim couldn’t ask a child to deal with Batman the way he currently is. Tim toyed for a moment with the thought of volunteering himself. He could blackmail Batman with his secret identity, but that had many possible fail points.
First- he wasn’t physically fit enough, despite all his roof climbing and stalking. He was undersized, a condition not likely to change, due in large part to his habitual inability to sleep the recommended number of hours per night in order to release human growth hormone. Add to that Gotham’s toxic atmosphere, his mother’s dismissal of prenatal care when she was carrying him, and his randomly fluctuating diet based on whatever a nanny, and later Mrs. Mac, felt like preparing… yeah, Tim was not built to beat on bad guys.
Secondly- even if Batman took him on and trained him just to be a following along cheerleader, that would take months, during which Batman could cross his self imposed line and… whoops, no going back.
Thirdly- Batman could simply have one of his Justice League pals wipe his secret identity from Tim’s mind.
That… that last absolutely terrified Tim. Memories are linked, and his mind was complicated. He knew he was neuro-divergent, with a brain full of patterns and connections. He doubted any mind bender would be able to cleanly remove a few names. He didn’t know if he’d wind up a mindless vegetable, or even just forget all the times he’d stalked Batman, which would be bad enough- he’d have huge gaps.
Scratch Tim becoming a new Robin.
Ok, so, there were still two more possibilities to improve Batman. One was fairly simple. Kill Joker. It wouldn’t do much, but it seemed worth the effort. Minimal effort when outsourced properly.
The other would be to bring back Jason. That seemed impossible, but this is Gotham, who knows? It’s worth a try. Cloning? Tim had found some possibilities in Lex Luthor’s data files.
Tim had couriers deliver photos of Batman’s escalating violence to a selected few people, along with suggestions for a solution to a problem that impacts all of them.
Harley Quinn knew where Joker’s stashes are and she was upset that he had left her behind to kill Robin. No one likes being tossed aside. Riddler and Catwoman were brilliant. Two-face made a useful diversion, and for a sufficient payment in fresh beef, Killer Croc was willing to allow free passage through the sewers beneath Arkham.
Joker died in the least dramatic way possible. He was found, days later, when complaints about the smell coming from the abandoned warehouse caused to the police to break in. By then the ‘accidentally’ broken canister of Joker gas had been long since harmlessly dissipated. Rats had eaten on him, but he was still clearly recognizable. What a pity, such a terrible accident. No one minded, except the street sweepers who had to clean up after the impromptu parade when Joker’s demise was officially verified.
Once Tim was sure no one was visiting Jason’s grave, it was simple enough to bribe the groundskeeper to dig it up. Neither of them had expected what they found when they opened it. Jump scare indeed. Jason was alive, not well, at all, but alive. Obviously traumatized mentally, and physically damaged with hypoxia to his brain, plus injuries trying to claw his way out of his coffin.
WHY had he been autopsied? Wasn’t the cause of death obvious? That was just added cruelty to Jason’s poor body.
An additional bribe got the empty casket returned to the grave and filled in. For enough money an Uber driver took Tim and zombie Jason back to Drake manor.
It was puzzling. Even in Gotham, people usually stay dead. Except for Joker. Hmm… possibly Joker’s blood allowed resurrection and as an added sick touch, he’d injected Jason with it? Or maybe someone was bribed to do it while performing the totally unnecessary autopsy? Hmm…
Tim sent messages to Riddler and Catwoman, requesting they steal Joker’s corpse, cremate him, seal the ashes in a metal box and send it to Metropolis along with a request for Superman to shotput it into the sun.
Then Tim warmed up a serving of Lazarus water from the pool beneath Gotham. He’d found it long ago when hunting for the Batcave. Once boiled and filtered of impurities that caused homicidal mania (yes, Tim had tested it on injured mutant rats), and blessed by a reputable sorcerer, it made an excellent, mostly side-effect free, curative and restorer. It wouldn’t bring the dead back to life, but Jason already had that covered.
He mixed it up in a chocolate milkshake and helped Jason drink it. He wiped the dribbles from Jason’s chin, and helped him lie down again for a true restorative sleep, accompanied by growth to his full potential, since Tim had given him such a large dose.
That was one of the side effects Tim hadn’t tried to remove. He thought about using it himself, but he was never hurt badly enough to make it worth the inevitable fuss, and necessity of creating a new identity and finding a new source of income. Also, his favorite nerd t-shirts wouldn’t fit. He was comfortable in his skin, why stretch it?
“Hi,” Tim said once Jason’s eyes finally opened, clear and blue, and beautifully, intelligently, sane. “Can I have your autograph?”