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Jason was used to being glared at. Crap, he'd been on the other side of the Bat-glare enough times to become immune to it.
But being looked at like he was a cockroach by a nine year old brat who didn't even reach his hips and was trying to be intimidating, well, that was new to him too.
It didn't help that the boy had black hair and blue eyes, more of a miniature copy of Bruce than the demon brat could ever hope to be.
There had been rumors about the true paternity of Bruce Wayne's new protégé ever since the boy's parents had mysteriously disappeared when they were overseas, but Jason was too high on the effects of the Lazarus Pit to worry.
Timothy Drake was nothing to Jason, other than a means to lure Batman and Robin into his traps.
(Someone who would have been better off elsewhere but Bruce never learned, he always had to save poor orphans who reminded him of himself, and ended up damning them. Jason was just doing little Tim a favor by showing him the truth.)
And now, a year and a half later, after his dramatic revelation, here was the brat (not Bruce, it wasn't Bruce, his mind was just too sleep deprived) standing in his living room as if nothing had happened, as if he had never kidnapped him to blackmail Robin.
And he was alone. What, the old man still couldn't learn his lesson?
“How the hell did you get in here? No, more important:how the hell did you find this place? ” Jason snapped, putting the gun away. It will be a shame to abandon that house, but if a child had managed to find it, let alone the big shots. No, it was better not to risk it.
“I have my ways,” Tim said, as if it were easy to break into the home of a dangerous criminal. And maybe for him it was, the brat was smart, too smart for his age, and it had annoyed Jason to no end by having to change his plans every time because the child somehow either ran away or made things very difficult. “What matters is that we need to talk.”
“Crap, no. What we need to do is take you home to the Manor.”
Preferably, without anyone seeing Jason.
“Only if you come with me,” Tim said firmly, with a stubbornness that was all too reminiscent of the old man and his new bird.
Jason tried to hold back his sarcasm, “Boy, are you here to get me back on track? Do you want to start my redemption arc and make me a good guy again?”
He was too broken to be one of the good guys, and he knew that Gotham needed more than what Batman did.
Gotham needed a villain who knew the rules and cheated. He wasn't so full of himself that he believed he would magically fix everything, but he was aware that Batman had failed and it was time for something different.
He received a snort in response, “Of course not. I'm not Dick. But he misses you, Jason.”
“Nobody misses me,” he denied, trying to keep his anger at bay, remembering that it wasn't Tim who was his target, but others.
(In order Joker, Bruce, Damian…)
“Bruce misses you! Ever since he found out that you're the Red Hood, he's been more depressed!”
“Depression is his fixed state of mind, the old man thrives in his unhappiness,” Jason replied, annoyed. “It's certainly not my fault.”
“But it his! If you were a random Rouge, it wouldn't matter. But it's you, his son..."
"His true son stole Robin," he interrupted, screaming, not holding back his venom as he said true son, as Talia was so fond of saying. “And he let him do it! My death had no meaning for him!”
“First, Damian didn't steal anything, Dick gave the mantle to him. Second, if your death had no meaning, why did no one ever touch your room at the Manor? Or why does Bruce keep a display case of your old costume?”
“It only serves to remind him of his failures,” Jason replied, ignoring the pang in his chest at hearing that his room had not been touched and that the demon brat had not taken possession of it as well.
“No, it's to remind him of you! And now you're alive again but it's worse because you don't want to go home and you insist on fighting him!”
“Well, he's not doing much to not antagonize me,” the man said and yes he was petulant but why did he have to be the one to take a step back? Why couldn't Bruce for once not focus on his mission more than his damned children?
“Neither do you,” Tim said spitefully. “He hasn't meddled in your affairs for the past few months, nor has anyone else. They want you back, but they don't do anything! It's unnerving.”
“I doubt the demon brat wants me.”
“Hard after you tried to kill him at the Titan Tower.”
Jason waved his hand vaguely. His introduction to Titan Tower had been greatly exaggerated. Talia's son had never been in serious danger, the one who had risked dying again was Jason, and no, he wasn't proud of it, and he will shoot himself before he says it out loud.
Tim continued,” But Dick, Alfred and Bruce want you back. And I don't understand most of the things they do or why, but I hate seeing them sad. So, I'll make you come with me.”
"You? Nice joke, but you're a wren. You can hardly force me to do anything.”
“I know,” Tim admitted. “But I'm smart. And if you don't want to come with me..."
The glass in the window shattered, and Nightwing and Batman jumped in.
Tim smiled a big shit-eating grin, and continued, “Then I'll make them come to you.”
"How..."
"I left a message on the Batcomputer with the coordinates of where they would find me," the boy said proudly, and Jason felt his hands itch with the desire to strangle him.
Forget the brat demon, the real monster was that fucking gremlin. If he was like this at nine, imagine what he will do at sixteen. God, Jason was getting chills thinking about it.
“Tim! Are you ok?" Nightwing, the big hen, hurriedly asked his little brother, while Batman stared at Jason with that look he had learned to hate.
He was so ready to reach for the gun and shoot him when Tim pulled away from Dick's octopus hug and said, “I'm fine, but you guys need to talk now! “
“Timmy…”
“No, you have to do it! You're all sad, and I hate it! Bruce and you miss Jason, why are you making things so difficult?! Talk and try not to use your fists!”
Jason was about to scoff, when Batman surprisingly said, “You're right. We need to talk."
Jason looked at him like he was crazy. But if that was the game he wanted to play, then Jason will play.
“Well, old man,” he said, loading his gun. “Let's talk. “