Chapter Text
It took Jason nearly a week to realize. Which, honestly, not his best moment. It had kind of been glaring him in the face the entire time.
But there was one thing he knew for certain now. He was not Jason Todd.
Not the original anyway.
Okay, let’s back things up for a second. How the hell had Jason — or whoever he was supposed to be — come to that conclusion? It was simple really. Nothing in his memories matched who he was now.
He was angry, all the time. And it wasn’t due to the Lazarus Pit he’d been thrown into a week ago, that anger had fizzled off after a few hours, no. It was a deep, soul aching anger. That made him want to lash out just because someone breathed too loud, or looked at him funny.
And then there were the memories. Sure he had all of Jason Todd’s original memories, maybe minus a few here and there (okay, maybe a LOT), but they just didn’t… connect. The emotion behind them was just gone, replaced instead with some sort of, well, not apathy, but something sour. Which didn’t sound right to him. Every time the real Jason had remembered something funny, he’d laughed. Or if he’d thought about his mother, he’d cried. But now he just. Didn’t.
They didn’t feel like his. Instead it was like watching a movie he had passing interest in.
Oh yeah, and the real Jason Todd had died. People don’t come back from that. Ever.
So, clearly something was deeply wrong. And Jason (or WHOEVER he was supposed to be) was going to prove it.
Talia didn’t want him to leave.
She wanted to “monitor his condition” for starters. But it was more than that, he could tell. It was like she was waiting for something. Some kind of reaction. To what though he had no idea, but she kept bringing up Bruce and the fact that the Joker was still alive. Which, yeah, it sucked, but it wasn’t like Jason actually had a connection to either of them.
Was he upset on the real Jason’s behalf for his murderer still romping around? Of course! But what the fuck was he supposed to do about it? And about the new Robin no less? Jason Todd was dead and Batman needed a Robin. Now he had one. What was the big deal?
His disjointed memories of the real Jason meeting Dick Grayson had shown the elder being upset but ultimately glad that Jason had taken the position. Jason should probably be glad a new kid stepped up.
It did sting, just a little, but ultimately, those weren’t his emotions to feel. He’d never been Robin. So it shouldn’t matter.
Besides, that wasn’t what he was focused on anyway. He needed to get to the bottom of things. How he’d been made being the first.
Someone had (presumably) stolen a dead kid's body and made a copy of it. The why could come later, the how though, that needed addressing now . Was he a test run or a final product? Had they meant to take Robin’s body or did they just happen to nab him. And how the hell had he ended up comatose in Gotham?
All of which he needed to bring to Batman. Someone was doing some seriously fucked up shit in his city, and he needed to know. To stop them from doing more of this. Or to just stop them in general. They had fucked with his dead son after all.
Problem was, he couldn’t really do that from Nanda Parbat. Which brought him to problem two. Talia.
He didn’t bother with formalities, just barged in with his demand. “Talia, I need to go to Gotham.”
He’d found her in her quarters, doing some sort of busy work for the League. Or something. He didn’t care.
The woman looked up from her tablet, sharp eyes taking him in. “You’re still recovering,” she said. “We shouldn’t rush things.”
A swell of anger rushed up inside his chest. He didn’t bother pushing it back down. “Recovering from what? You already threw me in the pit!” Every single scar that had been on his body from whatever had happened before, the brain damage, it had all disappeared in one blistering dip in the waters. What was there left to heal?
“You are still unwell.” she said firmly. “Just yesterday I found you unaware of your surroundings. You wouldn’t respond to anything. It was just like before I’d thrown you into the Lazarus Pit.”
And maybe she was right. He didn’t remember it happening. One second he was fine and looking out a window and the next Talia was in front of him looking as panicked as a woman of her stature allowed herself to be. Nothing in between.
“That was a one time thing,” he growled. Or at least, he hoped it was a one time thing. It honestly scared him, but he wouldn’t let Talia know that.
“It happened twice, child.”
Jason didn’t remember that.
“And you think keeping me here in some fortress is gonna help that?” He challenged. “You’re not my mother. You’re not my friend. You can’t do shit about it and you have no right to keep me here.”
Hurt flashed briefly across Talia’s face at his words, but it was quickly swept aside. “I have cared for you for well over a year now. I have clothed you, fed you, healed you. Does that not make me responsible for you?”
“You fucked Bruce once forever ago,” Jason shot back, knowing the dig would hurt. “So maybe you feel like you have some weird obligation to his kids because of that. But news flash. I. Don’t. Care.”
This time Talia couldn’t hide the hurt on her features. Green eyes flashed with discomfort and the barest hint of tears. A nasty part of him felt elated at the sight.
“I’m going back to Gotham whether you like it or not,” he swore. “‘Permission’ be damned.”
No one had stopped him when he’d left Nanda Parbat. He’d “stolen” some money from Talia before dipping, but he’d also found a fake passport sitting at the bottom of his duffel that he knew he hadn’t put there.
It was appreciated, but it didn’t put her in his good graces.
Eventually he made it to a town that eventually got him to a city. Apparently he was in Nepal. Which didn’t help much for him seeing as he didn’t speak Nepali or Maithili. But money was a universal language.
From there he managed to get to Tribhuvan International Airport which got him to Athens International, then Gatwick, and then JFK. He would have flown straight to Gotham but… the closer he got the more real things became. And he still needed to think. To plan out what the FUCK he was gonna do when he actually got to Gotham.
A burner phone and some airport wifi later, he at least had an outline. And a timeline.
Jason Todd had died April 27 almost three years ago. Nearly a year later, Talia found him wandering the streets of Gotham suffering from catatonia, with severe brain damage and scarring. But alive. He’d also found evidence of a John Doe fitting his description being admitted to a hospital in Gotham around six months after Jason Todd had died. He’d only said the word “Bruce” before going into a coma.
So at some point between April 27th and him (presumably) being admitted to the hospital, someone had stolen Jason’s body and cloned it. Imperfectly. And then dumped the failure back into Gotham to let nature take its course.
Pretty weird that they didn’t just kill him after realizing he was a failure, but who knew their motives.
The worst part though; Jason wasn’t sure if he was just a discarded first draft, or a final attempt. Somebody might still be out there trying, or maybe even already succeeding, to make a clone of Bruce Wayne’s dead son. Or maybe they’d just stolen a body at random, which led to an even bigger problem.
It was all kinds of fucked up.
And if they were still out there, they had to be stopped.
Sighing heavily, he looked out of the window of the cab he’d called. So much to do and barely any knowledge of where to start. His reflection looked back at him in the smudged glass, expression just as lost as he felt.
It still felt weird, he mused, seeing his face. It didn’t line up with Jason’s memories at all. Not the green tinted eyes, the mallen streak, or the way his jaw had filled out. His memories were of a scrawny, malnourished teenager. Not a rough looking beefcake. Okay, beefcake was probably not the right term. He was bulky, but not like a full grown adult. He still had the slight ganglyness to his limbs and shoulders that seemed a bit too broad for his frame. Like a normal teenage boy on the cusp of manhood.
But he wasn’t. Normal, that was. He was so far from normal you’d need a plane to get there.
“You sure this is the address, kid?” The cab driver suddenly asked.
Jason looked up to see what the driver was talking about.
Sure enough, they’d pulled up to the entrance of Wayne Manor, the tall wrought iron gates looming threateningly upwards towards the slate gray sky above.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
The cab driver didn’t look convinced, but happily took the fifty Jason handed him. After pulling his duffel bag out of the back, the cab drove off, leaving Jason well and truly stranded with his choices.
No turning back now.
“Alright,” he muttered to himself. “Here we go.”
Finding the blind spot in the fence was easy. The real Jason Todd had used it plenty of times during his tenure as Robin to sneak in and out of the Manor without Bruce knowing. Or maybe Bruce had known and had chosen not to say anything. Who knows.
It was actually harder than he remembered, squeezing through the bars. Oh yeah, muscles. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to those. After that it was a half mile walk up the meticulously maintained gravel road to the front door. He was sure there were sensors somewhere along there, but he didn’t particularly care. He’d only avoided the gate ones cuz he wanted in without setting off a defense system.
Which Batman — paranoid motherfucker that he was — was sure to have.
Finally, he made it to the front entrance. Only after he knocked on the door did doubt creep into his mind.
This was a mistake. A big mistake. He shouldn’t have come here. They didn’t need to know Jason’s body had been stolen. They didn’t need to see him . He could have figured this out by himself. He didn’t need to cause them more grief.
Footsteps sounded behind the door.
It was too late now.
Why was his mouth so dry? Were his palms damp?
The door swung open.
He didn’t know who he expected to be behind the door, but the sight of Alfred, years older than his memories showed, hit him like a punch to the gut. Lines he hadn’t had before were etched into his face, and the wrinkles he’d had before were deeper, more pronounced. The remaining brown that had clung stubbornly to his fading hair was completely gone, now replaced with a fine silver, and old silver hairs now white.
It was still Alfred.
His heart thundered wildly in his chest. “... Hey Alfie.”
The man’s face went ghostly pale.
Hundreds of emotions flitted across his face as his eyes drank in the sight of Jason. Jason himself could only shift uncomfortably on his feet, not sure what else to do.
Finally, Alfred spoke.
“My dear boy.”
Jason’s heart sank.
“No I,” he tried. “I’m sorry, I’m not—“ fuck. Alfred was looking at him with such raw hope and disbelief. And he had to crush it. Fuck. Fuck .
“I’m not your Jason,” he finally managed to get out. “He’s- I’m-“ this was so much easier in his head. So much easier when he wasn’t faced with someone who loved and missed Jason Todd.
Alfred’s face dropped, confusion rushing in to replace the hope. “I'm afraid I don't understand.”
“I, uh.” Jason swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, heart beating wildly under his breastbone. Why did this have to be so hard? He’d never even met this man! Just had memories from a dead boy. He didn’t want to say what came next. He didn’t want to ruin that one glimmer of elatement that had blossomed in the man before him.
But it wasn’t fair not to. To let him believe what stood before him was what he’d lost when it wasn’t. Jason was nothing more than a gross mockery of this family's grief. And they didn’t deserve that.
Swallowing again, he forced the condemning words out his mouth.
“I think someone stole his body,” he choked out. “And they used it to make a clone.”
Alfred’s face had gone white as a sheet. “And how would you know this?”
“Because I’m that clone.”