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The Tower was too guarded. It housed supers and metas. And, as if Jason’s life—unlife? Talia hadn’t managed to convince him he wasn’t a zombie yet—wasn’t hard enough, it also had top-notch security to boot.
There were too many unknowns. Too many uncontrollable factors. Only a complete idiot would try pinning down the Replacement when he was there. The Pit might make him angry, yes. It might make him reckless. But Jason Todd was no idiot, as evidenced by his multiple scholastic awards, scholastic awards that were abandoned, covered in dust, tossed in the trash, replaced by whatever stupid achievements the stupid Replacement could scrounge up.
So, Jason did the logical thing. He followed the little cuckoo bird home from school like some two-bit, half-witted criminal, plotting out the best corners to nab him. He spotted over a dozen. A dark alleyway where someone could lurch out and cover his mouth, dragging him in. A block-long stretch of street without any cameras for Oracle to spy with, where anything could happen. Not to mention the sheer distance between Gotham and the manor itself.
Sloppy. This was the uppity upstart who they replaced him with?
Not once did the Replacement look around. He seemed utterly unaware of his surroundings. Jason didn’t even need to hide. He was walking a mere thirty feet behind him in broad daylight—or whatever passed as daylight.
Jason glowered at the green-tinted clouds blocking the light, looking sort of like pond scum. Logically, he knew that they weren’t green, just as he knew that his jacket and guns weren’t actually green. The stupid Pit made everything look green, but they weren’t.
Jade, mint, sage, and lime. Emerald. Forest, fern, olive, and pine.
Green, green, green. He was getting sick of green.
The freshly mowed grass across the street could’ve been lush and fresh or dead and brown, but he couldn’t tell the difference. Sometimes, a splash of red appeared in his vision, but for the most part… green.
It was like Christmas, just without the gifts, family, good vibes, and, well, anything that made the holiday a holiday.
Sometimes, Jason just itched to make something bleed, just to bask in the crimson and scarlet shades. He wanted to make explosions that blazed a blinding orange-yellow across his vision for a split second before being infected by toxic green. He wanted the white-hot flash of gunfire...
Was this why the al Ghul's were homicidal maniacs?
Well, no. Jason was pretty sure Ra's al Ghul was just flat-out evil. Talia... well, Talia was Talia. She didn't mind a little death, but she not-so-secretly disdained senseless murder as 'a waste'.
His green-tinged vision slowly darkened as the Replacement walked closer and closer to Wayne Manor… and promptly took the turn right before the manor.
Jason watched in disbelief as the Replacement unlocked a different gate and plodded up the long drive. Taking a split second to contemplate his actions, Jason hurried to scale the wall and follow, keeping out of sight in the shrubbery. He didn't account for a small stop before the manor, but it was an opportunity he couldn't justify missing.
There was something wrong.
Jason observed his prey. There was sinking feeling in his stomach at the imposter’s slow, heavy trudge. He took in the stooped shoulders and lowered head, the fumble of keys as the Replacement struggled with the very simple task of unlocking the door. The key slipped out of clumsy fingers, bouncing off the Replacement's shoe.
There was something Jason was missing, something that niggled in the back of his head, screeching and beating against the green…
…Wow, someone had a bad day a school.
The Replacement stared at his hands in betrayal, looking done with life. He slowly looked down at the key, as if contemplating just giving up and laying down next to the key forever.
Uncomfortable, Jason shifted. Did the Replacement do this every day? Just go home until the big, bad Bat summoned him into the night? It was starting to look less like Bru... like Batman replaced him and more like...
...Well, he wasn't sure, but...
Nah.
The Replacement was just gathering supplies. Yeah, that’s right. He’d grab some project stuff, maybe a textbook, then head to the manor. To do projects Jason never got to do. Yes. That’s exactly it.
The green snarled, taking the opportunity to rear up again.
With a renewed fire in his eyes, Jason sized up the building in front of him. He noted the lack of cars and absence of lights. He took in the slim architecture, the wide, thick windows, and the type of locks on said windows.
His lips twisted up in a cruel smirk.
With its lack of exits and taunting glimpses of escape, this place could be a perfect little bird cage.
Take a safe place and destroy it. You’ll never feel secure again, Replacement, no matter how well-protected you make your nest. You’ll always remember that I found you where you felt safest. And you'll know that if I could do it once, I could do it again.
It was the perfect opportunity. This whole time, Jason never considered that the Replacement might have another stop somewhere, a base that was so unguarded and isolated, so perfect for his purposes.
Forget the Titan’s Tower. Jason had the Replacement trapped in the place he was raised, filled with happy memories of being content and loved by his family.
Feeding the embers of his dying anger, Jason started to pick the locks, only to find that the idiot who replaced him had forgotten to lock them. Jason strolled right in. The shoes were pointed to the left, so that was the direction Jason went. He sneered at a jumped-up pottery on display on a little pedestal, taking a glance at the description. That ugly piece of history could feed a Crime Alley family for months. On the way out, he’d be sure to steal or smash it. Let the Replacement explain that to his family. Maybe he'd try to paste it together with scotch-tape and glue. Maybe he’d just get a little fake replacement pot and hope his parents wouldn’t notice.
Jason came to a split and looked back and forth, wondering which way he should go. The hallways were identical, sterile things. Creepy, much? He pulled off his helmet to see if he could hear better without it on. No dice.
He headed to the left at random, hoping that the kitchen was in that direction. In Wayne Manor, the kitchen was the center of the household, with Alfred busying himself over meals, Jason at the counter, doing homework, Bru—
Shut up!
There!
A backpack—the same forest green backpack that the Replacement had slung over his shoulder, the one that Jason had stared daggers into, the whole way to Drake Manor.
It was dropped carelessly on the ground—Jason snarled at the thought of all those poor books that now had new bent pages—at the entrance to a wide-open space. The living room, Jason realized, feet sinking into lush, seafoam carpet, just in time to see the Replacement toss back a handful of chartreuse pills.
As Jason stared owlishly, the kid downed it with a glass of wine.
What.
The.
Duck.
The helmet in Jason’s hand clattered to the ground, knocking some stupid little vase of fake flowers down with it and scattering glass fragments over the floor.
Overdose.
All Jason could see was his mother—not his egg donor, but the woman who raised him—still and cold on the ground.
Between one breath and the next, Jason was kneeling in front of the kid, hands on too-thin shoulders.
“You idiot! Why’d you do that?” Jason shouted, shaking the kid. The kid let himself be shaken like a ragdoll with no resistance, slight frame violently tossed back and forth with the harshness of Jason’s shakes.
His first instinct was to try and make the kid throw up. Training kicked in, though. Doing that was a no-no; he could cause more damage in the attempt.
No, he had to call the professionals.
Looking around, Jason spotted the kid’s phone on one of those useless tables that looked cool but were too fragile to take more than a couple pounds. It was just out of arm’s reach…
But he couldn’t bring himself to let go of the kid.
It was stupid. Letting go of the kid for just a few seconds wouldn’t kill him.
But Jason still couldn’t do it.
Bundling the kid into his arms, Jason easily balanced the kid’s weight as he swiped the phone. The kid helped, pressing close with an almost-inaudible whimper, one hand gripping tight around Jason’s wrist. “It was for you,” the kid whispered, something like hero-worship in his emerald eyes as he stared up at Jason.
The Pit hissed as Jason met those too-bright eyes on a too-pale face. Jason had to fight the urge to gouge out those eyes, remove those—
No.
This was a kid.
“What the fu—” Jason gritted out, his words ending in a hiss as the Pit got the better of him for a split moment. His hand twitched up to the Replac—to Tim’s head, Jason only barely stopping himself from squeezing it painfully, yanking on the hair to bare the Replacement’s throat and—
“You can go home now.” A dreamy smile spread across the kid’s lips. Was there a darker green tint to his lips? Jason couldn't tell through the rest of the green in his vision. “I won’t exist anymore…”
Tim leaned into the touch, as if Jason wasn’t about to kill him and leave his bloody corpse for B to find and clutch close as he took his final breaths—
And what the heck was he going on about? Was the kid trying to kill himself just so Jason could—
“It’s not death, not really,” the kid tries to explain, badly, and shoot, did Jason say that last thought out loud? “That only comes for the alive.” The Hell was that supposed to mean? Tim’s breath was getting shallower, his words starting to go incoherent. That was a bad sign, a very bad sign.
"You're alive, kid. You're fu—" a kid "—fricking alive," Jason muttered hurriedly.
Jason couldn’t look away, even as he dialed a number he knew better than his own. He didn’t even have to look at the keypad as his fingers flew, following muscle memory. As it rang, he snagged his helmet and swung it over his head just in time.
“Tim.”
Jason’s breath caught at the familiar voice. The tone was a mix of Business-Bruce's seriousness and Brucie's enthusiasm, pitched to play into the listener's perception. If someone was listening in on the conversation, Bruce would be able to play the firm CEO or the eager airhead, depending on Tim's cue.
Then, the name registered, and Jason’s vision was flooded with green. Without meaning to, Jason tightened his grip on the Replacement’s hair. Tim let out a small squeak. Jason flinched, stroking clumsy, leather-clad fingers through dull hair, trying to soothe the kid.
“Tim?” B’s voice was alarmed now. Good. He should be. His new son was in the hands of a mass murderer.
“Hello, I would like to report a suicide at Drake Manor,” Jason shakily drawled, the voice modulator making the uncertain tone into something threatening. “It seems a little bird had an accident. Or. Well. Maybe a bit on purpose.”
A strangled laugh escaped Jason’s throat. He didn’t know how it sounded with the voice modulator.
A pause.
“Hood. What did you do?” Batman growled, apparently throwing all caution out of the window. Why couldn’t he have done it when Jason—
Another choked laugh bubbled up. Jason hung up the phone.
He'd done enough. Nothing got Batman moving like a bird in danger, right? He'd come for his Robin.
The kid was staring at him with dead eyes. For a moment, Jason thought he was really dead, but the kid tracked Jason’s hand as he shakily raised it back up to Tim’s head. Jason tried to stroke Tim’s hair but couldn’t figure out if he was doing it right when his glove was in the way.
Yanking off the leather glove, Jason ran his fingers through Tim’s hair, lightly scratching the scalp with his nails. Tim’s breathing was getting shallower. Even so, the kid was leaning into Jason’s hands, following his touch with desperation as Jason lifted his hand and returned it to the kid’s forehead in preparation of another stroke.
The kid was dying, yet all he wanted was another kind touch. What wouldn't Jason do for his dad to hug him again?
Everything shifted. Nothing made sense anymore. This kid wasn’t his enemy. Jason didn’t want Batman, but at the same time, he needed Bruce.
Where was Bruce?
Where was he?
Wasn’t he supposed to be here by now?
How long has it been?
Jason didn’t know what to do, but Bruce would be there soon. He had to be.
B would take care of it.
Struggling to pull off his jacket, Jason wrapped the kid in the leather and settled back against the couch, cradling his new baby brother. “Everything’s going to be alright,” he murmured.
Wide eyes stared up at him.
Oh, Jason realized.
His eyes.
They were blue.