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Jason was the first to be hit with the new wave of toxin.
So when he was dosed, they didn’t realise that it wasn’t actually fear toxin. More like truth serum with a big dose of novocaine mixed in. Something that made people pliable, vulnerable, emotional, and completely shattered their internal filter.
In the wrong hands, of course, it was incredibly dangerous. Getting it off the streets was naturally a top priority.
Also a top priority for Tim and Dick was gleefully filming the effects on their phones, because drugged and loopy Jason Todd was absolutely adorable.
First, he was so grumpy. Not angry, not menacing, not murderous. Just grumpy and pouty like a big giant toddler. He didn’t WANT to sit in the Batmobile. He didn’t WANT to go to the Batcave. Okay fine, he’d go to the Batcave in the Batmobile but ONLY if Batman put on the siren.
What did they MEAN, the Batmobile didn’t have a siren? That was STUPID. They were STUPID. Batman was STUPID. Big dumb STUPIDHEADS.
When they arrived in the Cave, Jason continued his petulant grumbling. Bruce advised that it would probably be a good idea to isolate him so that he wouldn’t inadvertently expose any sensitive personal information to them while under the influence of this new drug.
Dick and Tim absolutely 100% respected this opinion and didn’t want to violate their brother’s boundaries-
-but also, come on, this was seriously going to be their only chance to ask Jason these questions and get anything close to an honest answer. They’d cross his murderous angry bridge of wrath later.
So while Bruce plugged Jason’s blood tests into the Batcomputer and worked to develop an antidote, Dick and Tim supervised their brother with fervent dedication.
“Jason.”
Jason’s head swivelled a tad too far to the left as he tried to pin his slightly-crosseyed gaze on Tim. Tim snapped his fingers, holding up his phone and trying to get Jason to stay in frame.
“Jason,” he repeated. Jason’s gaze found him, eyes widening. “Good job, hey buddy.”
“Tim!” Jason was very surprised to see his brother, who had been with him on patrol when he’d gotten gassed, travelled next to him in the Batmobile, assisted him in the decontamination shower, helped him redress, and had brought him to the isolation chamber they were now sealed in. “When’d you get here?”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” asked Tim, doing the Gen Z zoom into Jason’s face.
“Fuckin…” Jason frowned, swinging his legs on the cot. “Fuckin bullshit! No sirens?! No fuckin… batlights? No Batlights on the Batcar? Bat…fuck. Batmobile! No batlights on the batcar? Fuckin Bat bullshit. Fuckin’ batshit.”
“Amazing, thank you,” said Tim, as Dick faked a coughing fit. “Do you have any other suggestions for Batman, while we’re taking notes?”
“Yes!” answered Jason emphatically. “Number one. Kill the Joker. Number two. Kill the Joker. Number three… ha ha hahaaa… Guess what it is?”
“Is it Kill the Joker?”
“It’s Kill the Joker! Haaaahaha. Okay. Number four. Sirens on the Batcar. Number five. Um. Better snacks. In the Batcar. Number, fuckin’ whazzit, eight. I want a glass of water. Number nine. Where’d my suit go?”
“You took it off to be decontaminated.”
“Why, what happened?”
“You were sprayed with a new toxin,” explained Dick patiently for the fifth time. “Somehow it got through your filters.”
“Oh no, am I okay?” Jason looked very concerned.
“You’re fine,” assured Dick. “We’re keeping you here nice and safe while Bruce synthetises an antidote.”
“Pffft, Bruce” sneered Jason. “I’ll synthetise my fuckin foot in his face, he fuckin’ injects me with bullshit.”
Loopy Jason was a very sweary Jason, whose Park Row accent – prominent at the best of times – slurred his words to mush. He continued muttering garbled threats, some in Spanish and others in some approximation of League dialect mixed with Portuguese.
“Hey Jason,” Tim clicked his fingers again, trying to get things back on track. “Who’s your favorite brother?”
“I don’t have any brothers.”
Tim was pretty sure the sound Dick made would haunt him in his dreams for the rest of his life. It was a broken, tiny sound, like the dying wheeze of an undernourished bird who’d fallen from the nest. It was pitiful.
Jason continued, oblivious to the heartbreak he was causing. “I have a bunch of GOOBERS,” he enunciated clearly, “who think they’re my brothers just cos we wear matching outfits and we’ve lived in the same house and sometimes we have the same dad. GOOBERS.”
“Who’s your favorite goober?” asked Dick, recovering admirably.
“Roy.”
Dick was appalled. Tim elbowed him out of Jason’s light. “Why is Roy your favorite goober?”
Jason made a kind of choking sound, dribbling slightly down his chin. “He does that.”
Tim nearly dropped the camera. Dick went absolutely beet red.
“He does what?” asked Tim again, for science.
Dick grabbed for Tim’s phone. “C’mon, we’ve had fun, I don’t think we need to-“
Jason made the sound again, this time with helpful hand gestures. “Kkkkuurrrssshhh. Boom. Splosions.”
“He makes explosions?” clarified Tim, to Dick’s great relief.
Jason nodded emphatically and nearly fell off the cot. “BIG ones. Fuckin… peeeeew! Rockets ‘n’ shit. So cool.”
“Very cool,” agreed Tim.
“But he’s not your brother,” said Dick, unwilling to let this go despite the line of questioning having already given him six grey hairs. “Bruce isn’t his dad.”
“Bruce is a DAD?!” Jason asked, horrified. “Bruce had SEX?! Nooooo. Why are you making me think about my dad having sex?”
“Yeah Dick,” said Tim, swivelling to film his older brother. “Why would you do that? Gross. Weird.”
“Never mind,” sighed Dick.
Tim turned the camera back to Jason. “Jason. Red Hood.”
“Me!”
“Yes, you. Do you have advice for young superheroes?”
Jason levelled a serious stare at the camera. Well, Tim’s thumb. Well, where he thought Tim’s thumb was (he was seeing three of them).
“Don’t steal Batman’s yogurt. The lil fuckin strawberry ones with a tiny plastic spoon. Don’t do it.” Jason’s voice dropped to a stage-whisper. “He gets so maaaaad! But psst. I’ll tell you a secret.” Jason leaned close to the phone, flopping his head to rest on Tim’s hand like a half-sedated St Bernard. “The secret is. I know it makes him mad. And.” His whole body started shaking with silent laughter. “And I do it anyway!”
“Even though it makes him mad?” asked Tim, gently patting Jason’s cheek.
Jason nodded, eyes bright with mirth. “Even specially BECAUSE it makes him mad!” He was so proud of himself.
“Wow, you’re like a super-villain,” remarked Dick, who’d been blamed for the yogurt thefts and was absolutely going to get a copy of this video to clear his name.
Jason frowned. “I AM NOT.” He raised his head and glared at Dick. “Goober.”
Dick beamed. “I love you, Jason.”
Jason forgot what they were doing and immediately beamed back. “I love you, Dickface.”
“Oh my god,” whispered Tim, zooming in.
“Ah-hem.”
The three froze and turned to find Alfred standing in the doorway, a disapproving slant to his moustache.
“I think that’s quite enough,” said the butler archly.
Tim switched off his phone guiltily. “Sorry, Alfie.”
Dick looked down. “Sorry, Alfie.”
Jason waved. “Hi Alfie! I’ve been drugged!”
“I can see that, young sir,” agreed Alfred. “We’ll let you get some rest to sleep off the effects. When you wake up, I’ll get you some breakfast.”
Jason flopped back onto the cot. “Okay Alfie,” he said to the ceiling. “I’ll prolly sneak out before then though.”
“As you say, sir.”
“Just letting you know, if I’m gone, I’m not kidnapped. I’ve just sneaked out.”
“Quite so.”
“Kay. Night Alfie! I love you.”
“Goodnight, Master Jason.”