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Jason almost laughs as his access code pings green and the basement side door opens. He's surprised by the ease of his recon. Batman rarely appears at the Tower, but Nightwing inherited some of the old man's paranoia. Yet, the proof of incompetence is there. Or, a more disturbing notion, sentimentality.
He shakes the thought. He's not here to reminisce or even judge. He has a Tower to scout and a room to find. Because while he was training with the League, his replacement was getting cozy in the Manor. Six months in his suit and the newest Robin finds himself without parents and under Bruce's protective arm. Of course.
Everything is as he remembers. No drastic layout changes. Some added decor, but that's expected whenever new members join.
Jason is surprised to find his old room empty. Untouched. Dusty. His gut churns at the sight. Sure, there are plenty of rooms in the tower, but this isn't the Manor. Heroes come and go. There's no reason to expect that Big Bird wouldn't put his shiny new brother nearby. Even so, some may take a permanent residence until they get their feet under them. No one actually makes it their home. Maybe a home away from home that doesn't exactly exist on the USPS network. The point is someone must have used his room.
He closes the door and moves on.
The room he seeks is on a different floor entirely. Apparently, the more junior members are on a floor below the seniors.
Jason slips inside, quiet as a mouse. He's positive everyone is away but one can never be too careful.
Inside, with only the sliver of moonlight through partially drawn curtains and his improved eyesight, the room is in chaos. He might have even believed his replacement has already been disposed of. The place is absolutely ransacked. But, upon a second sweep of keen eyes, it's just the making of a teenager. The bed isn't made - not even a half-assed attempt. The comforter has fallen to the floor and the sheets are bundled into one corner. The pillows aren't even arranged properly at the head of the bed.
Jason steps inside and lets the door close behind him. Rounding the bed, he finds clothes piled in a corner, on top of a duffel bag. The closet is actually empty. Not even a single hanger in sight. No hamper. Nothing.
He spares a glance to the walls. No artwork or picture frames. This is certainly the making of a teenager's bedroom without the teen in question. Even Nightwing's room feels like his own. Even Jason-
No.
Jason pokes around for anything useful. It seems that all non-necessities were taken. He can't recall if Robin is on a Titan’s mission or back in Gotham. No matter. He returns to the closet. There was a weak panel Jason would hide stuff in. There's a moment where his mind begs to wander down half shrouded memories.
A pack of cigarettes hidden behind metal. A tense moment hiding in the shadows of a long corridor, hearing the consequences of a well-planned prank echo. Laughter. Laughter.
Jason whirls, hands curled so tight his fingernails make indents on his gloves. He stopped short of slamming a fist into the wall. He has one purpose here and it's not going down memory lane.
Refocused, he kneels in the entrance of the closet and flashes a light. There. In the corner, the lip of a panel is sticking out. It's nothing noticeable unless one knows what to look for. Their rooms are mirrored but the same.
Jason swallows his frustration. He needs to focus.
The panel is hiding an old tablet. Its cover has seen better days, cracked and dirtied. The screen is covered in the unmistakenable greasy fingerprints of a teen. Honestly, his replacement is a slob.
Maybe that's not fair-
Nope. Focus.
Jason gets comfy on the closet floor, booted feet stretched out and a clear view of the door. The tablet is naturally locked with a password. He plugs in a decryption key and lets it run. It's a solid five minutes until the screen unlocks. He'd be impressed if he was interested in giving the twerp any complements.
Fascinating.
No connection to Wi-Fi or bluetooth. No games. No apps except the standard stuff. Not even Candy Crush.
The device storage seems dedicated primarily to videos. All local, no backups.
Naturally, there's a password to open the gallery. A thirty-five characters long password. Why does some moody teenager need a password longer than the alphabet?!
And! To top it off, another encryption on each video!
Jason manages to open the most recent - three days old. It's a forty-minute video. He's calling it after this. He can't believe he's about to listen to some second rate’s monologue.
Timothy Jackson Drake appears on screen. No mask. No suit. He's hunched over, illuminated by his phone light.
A smooth tongue whispers in Jason's ear.
Violence against the poor replacement.
The Subpar Robin.
The Unworthy.
The Fake.
Nothing matters more than getting even.
Revenge is priority.
Revenge-
“I can’t do this anymore.”
Jason snaps back, nostrils flaring to take in the filtered air. The green tint fades from his eyes and he refocuses on what's before him.
“I-I… I really-” A sob, choked off by a great inhale that forces the boy straight. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” The replacement curls, chin touching his ankles as his shoulders cover his ears.
There's a delicious curl of satisfaction in Jason's gut.
Replacement laughs, low and bitter. He wipes at reddened cheeks, trying to brush his tears aside.
“Didn’t start right.” He clears his throat but the phlegm must be thick because it's a few minutes of sniffing then coughing then sniffling again. “This is, uh… Captain-” he snorts and Jason rolls his eyes “- Captain's Log number… five-three-two. It's July 19th at two-forty-eight a.m. Location - classified. No supers or bugs, so privacy is as good as it’s going to get.”
A fucking video-diary. It’s Jason’s lucky day. Cue the eye roll.
“Um…” He licks his lips, eyes distant. “I like the work. The cases. Solving… stuff. I like helping people.” His eyes return to the tablet. “But, B is…”
Jason tenses, immediately shifting the tablet to rest on a thigh and looms over it.
“I never expected anything. I show up. I do my work. It’s like a nine-to-five, which I enjoy.”
Who's the cuckoo trying to convince? The little shit loves being robin. A suit worn by a dead boy that should have stayed dead-
“It was more bearable when mom and dad were alive.”
Jason blinks back the green hue. He recalls the article on the plane crash. Pity.
“They-they didn’t know, but that normalcy was… grounding. Even away, the phone calls and texts. The souvenirs. Just…” He bites his lip before he shudders. A difficult thing to see without much light. A shaky exhale. “Just thinking of me.”
Jason doesn't recall the date of the crash, but if this is some-
“I think if I disappeared, B wouldn’t care.”
All the air in Jason's lungs punch out like he's been donkey-kicked.
“I didn't have to be Robin. I walked away when he said no. I did what I set out to do. But he called me back. He called me back. He tested me and tested me. He said I passed.”
Jason can hardly breathe. The green is creeping in.
“My work matters. I matter. But he's so cold. Like he has to force himself to feel.” Another shudder. “I know the work I do helps people. I want to do it. It's just… B would pick up where I left off without a thought. And not in a ‘of course I'll cover for you’ way, but like ‘I was never there to begin with’ way.”
This is good. A little behind the scenes at how the great Batman is doing.
“Even when he tested me, he was trying to push me out. He stopped doing that, at least. He may not depend on me - not even to pretend, but that's better than Dick.”
Two birds, one stone. Really, it's two birds and one bat. But who's counting?
“He's all nice - and genuinely too, I think - but he'll offer to spar or train surf or just hang out-”
Jason sneers at the thought. Of course the pretender gets all that big brotherly-
“-just to make remarks about helping people in a different way. That I don’t need to do this. It’s just-” The teen grits his teeth before, “want to hang out? Fine. But don't act like you're doing me a favor!”
The teen stops his rant, staring off screen for a moment. He must be listening if he's drawn attention.
Jason doesn't want to. He really doesn't want to. But, the kid has a point. Dick was always civil but distant and that was because of Bruce. He never pretended with Jason.
“If this…” Sunken eyes return to the tablet. “If…” He struggles, jaw moving side to side in thought. “I watched the show the other day and the guy was like ‘if you lose your parents, you're called an orphan and if you lose your spouse, you're a widow. But, there's no word to’ - encapsulate? Whatever, ‘describe losing a child’. And I get that. Not like get it, get it. But, you know? Abstractly.”
Jason hates that he catches himself nodding along.
“I don't know if Bruce is cold like this because…”
Jason knows why Tim hesitates here. He knows why the kid checks his surroundings before continuing. It leaves a tangy taste on the back of his tongue.
“Because he lost Jason, but if this is what Jason felt,” Tim shudders, “I’d run to Ethiopia too.”
The mention of that place - the hint of what happened there - is enough for acidic green to fill his vision. His teeth ache to spit venom. His hands become fists, ready to draw blood.
It’s a few minutes before Jason blinks back to the surface. Thankfully, the kid is sitting in silence thoughtful. He checks his hands, breathing a sigh of relief that he hadn't been holding the tablet.
“That’s a thought,” the teen mutters.
Oh hell no.
“I mean, Ethiopia is out of the question.” Tim shuffles on the bed, bringing his phone up. “Maybe no to Africa altogether. The League is pretty present in the Middle East in Asia. Europe is too nice with Supers. Australia is a big fat no.”
Jason thinks that's fair. He's not a fan of spiders either.
“Maybe I can hide in the Amazon. Do online schooling. I mean, I'm not straight A's but-”
Jason never looked at Tim’s academics, but he figured the genius Robin would have straight A’s.
“-I’m doing good. I can manage my time.” The kid’s nodding to his logic and Jason finds himself shaking his head like he can stop the train of thought that already left the station three days ago. “I could drop out, get my GED-” His face twitches, trying to hold onto a sense of control, before it shatters and tears well up. “-but mom.”
Jason chokes. The first memory is of Catherine, smiling down at him for some reason or another. The second is of Shelia, watching in disinterest as that clown-
Whatever steel held back the kid’s dam finally brakes. Fresh tears fall down his face. He holds the camera’s gaze. He holds Jason’s gaze. Words fail him. His mouth uselessly flaps, popping spit bubbles every time it closes.
Jason cracks. He curls around the tablet like he can comfort him through the screen.
Tim tucks his legs into his chest and holds himself. He rocks side to side, crying silently.
“No, no, no,” he mutters. “I-I can’t. I… I wouldn’t do that to- Mom would want me to finish strong. Dad would want me to. They-they’d be proud of my Bs and my project would go on the shelf,” his voice wavers around the word. An important, emotional clue if Jason could be bothered to decipher it. A sharp inhale. “If I go, I couldn’t visit Dad and I-” He hiccups, listing to the side until his balance is lost and he’s curled up on his side.
They stay like that; Jason curled around a tablet and Tim curled up on himself. Heavy breathing in the silence. Undisturbed.
Tim stretches his legs out, breaking the trance.
Jason pulls back. There's a crook in his neck that needs to be stretched. His thumb taps the screen. This is why it's forty minutes long. The kid laid on his side for most of it, silently sobbing.
“I can’t leave,” he whispers. “I can’t - I’m not like Barbara. I can’t break off. Not while my dad is in a coma. Not while I live under Bruce’s thumb.” He harshly wipes at his face. He pants, nose too congested to be of any help. “I’m not Jason.”
Jason’s gut fills with lead.
“I can’t… I’m not - bold.” Tim clears his throat with a cough. It seems he's done talking.
Jason wishes he could hear more about what this kid thinks of his predecessor. Then, he doesn't.
“Well,” he sighs and the smile he tries to force to his lips is all wrong- “Happy Birthday to me.” He gives the tablet a two fingered salute and what once should have been cheery is now depressing, “signing off.”
The screen goes black.
July 19th.
July 19th.
July 19th.
The kid is sixteen and wants to run away.