Chapter Text
Jason doesn’t know what the hell was going on in his head.
He was used to the gravelly, tortured shouts of his pit rage yelling at him to–
Kill the Joker, Hurt the Replacement, Ruin—
You get the point.
But now there was this other voice, a murky yet incredibly melodious woman mumbling in his ear in a way that was way too elegant for his usual anger issues to comprehend. She (he wasn’t going to assume any gender but something was telling him that she was a she) appeared soon after his return to Gotham, making Jason really think that yup - he’s actually gone insane now. One does not hear two different things in their head and register as mentally sane. At least the pit voice had an explanation for existing, this woman had none!
Lies, he heard her say. I most definitely have an explanation.
Well, Jason tells the weird woman voice, "are ya goin’ to tell me ‘yer explanation?!
The woman was silent once more.
Fuck, Jason was losing his mind.
This lady wasn’t as random as the pit, at least. She seemed to encourage his whole ‘killing the Joker’ thing which was great because he really didn’t feel like dealing with a Jiminy Cricket in his brain telling him that he was being ‘morally incorrect’ - it would probably end in a lobotomy.
She was, however, very against one certain form of violence. Specifically, his violence against the replacement.
Do not call him that. His name is Tim.
Why ‘dya care so much? Jason thinks right back, groaning out loud.
I’d rather you two get along.
What, so ‘yer playing some weird platonic-matchmaker ‘ere?!
Yes.
Yup, Jason had no fucking clue what was happening.
…
He decided to ‘investigate’ his repl– Tim, making up random stories to explain why the hell he was so interested in a fifteen year old boy. From pretending to be a recovering drug addict who had forgotten the world around him to just pretending that he never really noticed the shift when the second Robin (him) died (he very much noticed the shift. Especially the shift in his living status.) Anything that wouldn't make him seem like a weird fucking stalker (even though the latter was true).
(Though, it was weird that everyone just… believed him. Why this city always seemed to help him, in some way or another.
I’ll always help you, the lady in his mind whispered.
Why? How? He pleaded.
There was no answer.)
Regardless, the covers worked and Jason Peter Todd, or Richard Peters, or fucking Timothy Todd could start observing, using the numerous random 'incidents' that totally occurred as a decent-enough excuse to supply for why he kept asking questions about the kid. He expected for people to call him weird or creepy, but none of them were.
Because you’re just two years older than him. You’re still a child under all of this, dear.
…Jason did not want a therapy session from a woman in his brain. She was way too distracting.
So, here he was instead, hidden in the Gotham shadows that hid him just as comfortably as they have his entire life, watching Repl—
Tim.
Tim, fucking hell lady— save some civilian kids. They started thanking him, speaking with that comfortable Crime Alley slang that Jason always reverted too when his life felt too opulent to be real, the mansion too large to be home.
And then Tim responded in kind . Not just in kind - if Jason didn’t know better he’d think that the kid was just like him; a Crime Alley boy ‘saved’ by a cat-fucker. But no, this was just… replication.
But it didn’t feel like Tim was just copying an accent well, he had the movements. He had the unique slang and tone that just screamed Crime Alley and familiarity.
It. It felt… comforting to hear. Just a hero who sounded and felt like another one of you, one who was going to actually keep you safe. God only knows how comfortable the civilians felt.
Jason was slightly in awe. He also felt incredibly invalid now, because holy fuck this wasn’t a replacement - this was an honest-to-god upgrade.
Wait— wait no, this makes things worse, actually. Bruce fucking Wayne actually just picked someone better right after Jason was gone? Did the man hold any shame?
Did ‘is dad even care about ‘im—
Kill him. Kill him and get your—
You don’t know the full story, dear.
God, can this woman shut up?!
I refuse to let you spiral. Stay in the shadows, dear.
Jason, for some rhyme or reason, listened to her. As they usually did in this hell-city, the shadows wrapped around him with the strange warmth only found in the midst of Gotham’s twisted humidity. He let out a breath that he hadn’t realised that he was holding in the first place, the green seeping out from his veins as his mind cleared, the dampness of the dark soothing the part of his soul that was wholly Gotham's.
Better?
“Who— who ‘re ‘ya?” He whispered as he closed his eyes.
You don’t need me to tell you, dear. Just know that I am always on your side.
And somehow, in the depths of his hometown's darkness, he believed her.
…
He kept watching quietly, his results remaining similar to his earlier attempts. This was a smart kid who, instead of punching mainly head on like the rest of the family, put his brain in overdrive in order to dissect as much information as possible before guaranteeing his victory.
A caring boy who would jot down notes on every person he saved. Jason remembered seeing him help a little girl, and he remembers when her brother moved them out of the house and closer to Gotham University. He didn’t need to stalk for that part, he just used the passwords to the Batsystem that Brucie-Wucie never bothered to change.
Honestly, he should have expected that his very-dead-son would come back to life with a more morally unjust agenda and the willingness to exploit his systems. There should be a contingency for that somewhere, but Jason isn’t complaining about the fact that there isn’t.
The kid was just too fucking good in every way, and Jason wanted to be jealous - he swears to god that he would have just punched the kid already for being so fucking perfect–
But that god damn mind-lady kept reminding him of his ‘worth’ and shit. So Jason couldn’t pit rage anything, thus not really having any desire to cause much major damage to a kid just trying his best.
And by god was that kid trying.
Through the power of accidentally learning the League of Assassin’s coding system, Jason got the ability to encrypt most of the bat’s files. And Tim’s files said a lot; he had massive charts and spreadsheets organising just how every dialect of Gotham spoke and acted - not even in a stereotypical way, he had percentages of the commonality of different slang! The sheer amount of information would have been almost creepy if Jason hadn’t seen Tim constantly jotting down whatever he could.
The kid was an upgrade, for sure - but he had made himself an upgrade.
And– fuck man, Jason had to respect that. He even felt proud when he saw his successor do Jason’s signature spine kick.
He’s your brother dear, you’re allowed to appreciate his presence.
He’s not my brother. He wouldn't want me ‘t-be.
Is that concrete evidence, or are you just trying to convince yourself, dear?
God, this lady really loved playing therapist. And she was stupidly good at it too, making him feel good about himself or some shit.
…Would they let me back in?
Dear - in their eyes, you’ve never left.
…
Jason comes back. It– it goes surprisingly well. Especially with Tim.
(“You– Jason’s back?!”
“Trust me Timbo, we’re all even more shocked than–”
“Can you help me be better at a Crime Alley posture?! I got the accent down but you always had this specific posture that I cannot for the life of me figure out - also there's this word that I couldn't understand--”
Jason couldn't really process a word coming out of his brother's mouth right now, but he glanced at Dick; who gave an 'I know what you are' smirk and signalled towards the grinning younger boy hurriedly opening his notes.
And oh fuck. That grin was way too convincing.)
…
“‘Yer Gotham, right?”
I thought you’d take less time to figure it out.
“Shaddup, didn’t expect this hell-city to be a therapist.”
“...”
“Have ‘ya ‘blessed’ Timbo too?”
I don't talk to him, no.
“But ‘ya have, right?”
Who hasn’t, dear?
...Jason couldn’t argue with that.