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Upon his arrival to Gotham, Red Hood, or Jason Todd rather, decided to put his plans on hold. Why, after years of plotting and planning and stewing in his anger at being replaced and never being properly avenged, would he ever decide to not go through with his very carefully thought out revenge plot?
Because Timothy Drake is a freak of nature.
He got to the tower using his codes as he’d planned to. It looked empty, but he knew his replacement was in there somewhere. He’d found the boys room, which seemed empty but he knew not to underestimate a Robin. Using his helmets night vision he’d looked around to find the rich little fuck he was about to kill and instead found his own face. Everywhere.
There were photos of him on the wall like how a normal kid would have posters of artists or movies they liked. Photos he doesn’t know could have possibly been taken covering the walls like wallpaper. Some of them were of Dickface and the Big Bat, but most of it was him. It was fucking weird.
The green of the pit rage started to recede in his confusion and mild horror as he flicked the lights on, the only face he was seeing was his own from four years prior, before he’d died. As his mind started to fight itself, the rage versus the Jason who’d died in that warehouse, he decided to leave.
While attempting to escape what appeared to be a Robin II fanatics bedroom, he walked face first into the kid he’d come there to kill in the first place. Well, it was more like the boy walked face first into him, but potato tomato or whatever the fuck.
Instead of acting shocked or getting into some sort of fighting stance like he should have, the little fucker just blinked up at him a few times before his face went red. “You didn’t see the photos did you?” He asked, voice flushed with so much embarrassment it was a marvel he wasn’t just melting into a puddle on the floor.
Jason, fully decked out in his Red Hood gear and standing in the middle of the very well lit bedroom covered in photos of his face, just blinked at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you, replacement?”
The replacement, who is rapidly moving from the creepy stalker freak to concerningly unphased probably unwell category, staggered into the rest of the room and looked around at all the photos. “I really like Robin.” He stated as if he was giving new information. “I’m kind of a fan.”
“No kidding.” He deadpanned, still just staring at the kid who didn’t even bat an eye at having a clearly homicidal stranger with guns strapped to his legs in the middle of his bedroom in what was supposed to be a very secure superhero base.
Then the shit just nodded, turning to the closet and opening it to reveal even more photos of him, some of them even out of the mask, and the kid smiled a little at them as if proud. “I was kind of obsessed with him, that's sort of why I got this gig in the first place.” After that he seemed to get a little sad, frowning as if ashamed. “I was never meant to be Robin, but B was killing himself, I couldn't just do nothing.”
What the hell was this kid trying to pull? Why the hell was he unloading all this shit on a guy who broke into his bedroom in the middle of the night. Why was he even awake right now? This kid was going to be the death of him, he quickly realized.
“Dick was so skilled, he made the position and he could do flips and he was just so good at everything. And Jason-” He cut himself off with a sigh. “He was good. I met him a few times, always helped me down when I got stuck while taking photos. He bought me dinner once. I’ve never met someone with so much… good in them.”
The green of the pit flickered in and out in his head when he was being talked about like this. It was bittersweet. This kid, really he was just a kid he was realizing, looked up to him as some sort of role model. Here he was, a literal serial killer, and this child thought he hung the sun and the stars. “Really?” He rasped.
“Yeah. Nobody… They don’t really talk much about him at the manor. Dick and Bruce I mean. Alfred will tell me stories, he’s big on preserving memories and stuff, but it’s still so raw for them.” The boy looked so genuinely sad that something deep inside him wanted to reach out to comfort, as silly as it was. “Sometimes they slip up and almost call me Jay. I pretend not to hear them but I do. Then they get all sad and sometimes won’t talk to me for days after.”
That couldn’t be true. He’d been replaced so soon after his death. Dick hadn’t even come to his funeral. Bruce had a fucking monument in the cave calling him a soldier, like he was nothing more, not his son like he’d always said. They were all liars. Timothy fucking Drake was a liar. He had to be.
His vision was going green again and he almost reached for his gun before Tim spoke again. “I feel bad. I know I’m not supposed to be Robin. Nobody can replace Jason. They certainly don’t want me to. I had to blackmail Bruce. Can you believe it? Me, scrawny pampered rich heir to the Drake fortune blackmailing The Batman? What a joke.”
Hold up, what? He’d mentioned not being the right fit for Robin earlier in his rant, but he’d assumed that it was in an inferiority complex way, not a genuine forced himself into the role way.
“I figured out their identities and threatened to release my evidence if they didn’t let me be Robin. I had to though, so I don't regret it. Not really. Batman was at an alltime low, Bruce was killing himself, even Dick was going crazy. I mean, he killed the fucking Joker. B had to bring him back just so that Dick didn’t fully lose it at the idea of killing another human, though that man is hardly a human in my opinion. Another reason I’m a shitty Robin. I… I hate the idea of killing another person, you have to understand, I will always follow the no kill rule. But that thing hadn’t been human in a long time.”
What. The. Fuck. Jason was pretty sure he was shaking now, could feel something wrong, no, not wrong, just incredibly intense brewing inside his chest. Tears filled his eyes after hearing evidence of his family actually caring for him. This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t be.
“And look at me now!” The boy laughed a little hysterically, running a hand through his hair. “A poor excuse for a Robin, can’t even stay up a few more fucking hours. I’ve been drinking so much coffee it hardly affects me anymore. I don’t get it, how did they stay up so late, how did they always perform so well, how were they always perfect? How was he always so perfect?”
When the first tears started moving down the boy's face he couldn’t help but revert back to his Robin days, wanting to comfort the crying kid in front of him. He held up his hands to show he meant no harm, which is hilarious given that he was plotting his murder not even an hour ago, and spoke softly. “I’m sure you make a great Robin. I mean, you wear pants. That’s better than any Robin before you.”
The kid let out a wet laugh, wiping his eyes with his hand and sniffing a little. “Sure. Oh fuck, now I’m crying. If Bruce could see me now I’m sure I’d be fired in a heartbeat. I know Dick is all, it’s okay to have feelings, and stuff but I know that he’s just saying shit. I have to be better than I am if I want to live up to the Robin mantle. Jason- he just set such a high standard. How the hell am I supposed to follow that?”
In an attempt to further comfort him, he reached out and patted the boy's shoulder. That proved immediately to be the wrong move when Tim’s head snapped up to look at him and he screamed, jumping back. “Oh my fuck! You’re real! Holy shit! How did you get in here!?”
At least now he seemed to feel the motivation to get into a defensive position, a shit one, but one none the less. How long has it been since this kid slept? Whatever, he could sleep when he’s dead. Oh right! Jason was here to kill him! To be honest, he didn’t really feel like it anymore. So, he just stood a few steps back toward the door. “I’ll just leave.”
“No! No you have to tell me how you got in here!” The kid insisted, though he still looked inches away from death. Someone should tell him that Robin actually got plenty of sleep and he didn’t have to stay up all the time, but he has a feeling nobody would. Who the hell is taking care of this kid anyways? He looks awful.
“I’m good. See you in Gotham Timberlina.” He said, waving once before stepping out of the room and quickly getting the hell out of the tower before the kid called reinforcements. Maybe the boy's rant chilled out the pit for a few minutes, but he was positive that if the Bat showed up it would be a totally different story, a decapitated head in a duffle bag story.
Maybe he’d find a way to contact Dick and not so subtly hint that the kid needed serious help. Maybe he’d do that anyway, just to confirm Tim’s stories about everything. It seemed unlikely his absence made that much of a difference, but maybe he wouldn’t have to hate his brothers as much as he hated Batman. Maybe he’d also stop by to visit Alfred. Maybe.