Things In A Name

"Actually women should be putting the seat back up when they're done peeing as a courtesy so that I don't have to touch it and put the seat up before I pee"

"The America I loved still exists, if not in the White House or the Supreme Court or the Senate or the House of Representatives or the media. The America I love still exists at the front desks of our public libraries."

or 

Dick is thrown back in time to a couple days before his past self is scheduled to leave on the mission to space, the one during which Jason will die.

Dick goes to the space mission anyway. Future Dick goes back to the future without changing anything (in his timeline), but the words that Future Dick said resonate strongly within Dick's thick skull when he comes back to Jason being dead.

Hi, I want everyone to know that Cyr is to blame for my villain arc here. I just wanted a nice and fluffy “future Dick gets to save past Jason” with cuddles and happy endings, but Cyr ran wild and made it even more angsty. But you know what? FINE! I’ll PLAY! And I’ll make it everyobody else’s problem! You want me to be evil? Oh, I can be evil. WATCH ME.

See, Dick shrugs his shoulders and goes on the mission anyway. After all, how bad could it be? Future!Dick was probably just some kind of fraud anyway. And if he wasn’t? Well, he should have known not to try to change the past. There are RULES for that. No harm, no foul.

But then Dick comes back, and the desperate warnings of future!Dick are barely more than an afterthought by the time he passes out cold in his apartment in Blüdhaven. He just wants to sleep for… well, how about a week? That sounds nice. Afterwards he’s gonna see what all the fuss with Jason was about.

And everything is normal. Dick goes to sleep, he wakes up, he treats himself to a long, hot shower and his favorite bowl of cereal afterwards. He crams his cellphone out of his pocket, powers it up and… huh, fine, ok. Maybe there was a bit of a crisis with Jason. Ten missed calls, three texts asking him to pick up the phone, and one more telling him to screw himself for not picking up the phone. No voice mails.

Dick groans because.. darn it, he’s SO not in the mood for Jason’s teenage angst. He just got back from one hell of a mission. A mission to space. He’s allowed to have some time off, right?

But there’s this niggling feeling. The echo of future!dick’s desperation and frantic attempts to get him to cancel the trip and… well. Dick’s been working hard to improve his relationship with Jason anyway. He should probably go have a look what all the fuss was about. He wouldn’t put it past Bruce to have put his foot in his mouth again and wait for Dick to pick up the pieces.

Maybe, he thinks with a dry sense of humor, Jason even moved out, like Dick. Maybe he called to tell him he’d move to Blüdhaven. Wouldn’t that be hysterical?

God, how naive Dick was. How stupid. Because he drives to the manor and it’s like stepping into a house haunted by… something. Dick refuses to put a name to it. He’s just being paranoid. Maybe the blinds are all closed because Bruce wants to sleep in. Maybe all the gadgets strewn around the halls, abandoned and discarded, as proof of a busy night in town.

And it’s fine. It’s fine. There’s no reason to assume anything is wrong just yet (never mind that Alfred wouldn’t be caught dead letting the house go into such disarray. Never mind that Dick stumbled over several broken vases and shattered mirrors. Never mind that the manor looks like a poltergeist raged through its halls). It’s all fine. Dick’s just gonna check up on Jason real quick, maybe have a small fight with Bruce or something, and pop back over to Blüdhaven for some well deserved rest.

But when he gets to Jason’s room— the door is open. It’s never open. Jason keeps it closed religiously, asserting his safe space with vengeance. Dick still remembers the shiner the little shit left him with the first time he barged into his room unannounced. Remembers the screaming match he had with Bruce about it. Remembers feeling indignant and angry because Bruce had taken Jason’s side even though DICK was the one who’d been attacked. Remembers Alfred sitting him down and explaining about Jason’s life on the streets. Remembers feeling guilt and embarrassed and so, so ashamed of himself.

But the door is open, and Dick’s stomach does that weird swooping thing but— it’s fine. It’s all fine. Jason just— forgot to close it. That’s it. There’s no reason to assume this isn’t normal. Horses before zebras, and all that.

But then he calls Jason’s name, carefully sticking his head into the room — he just wants to hear Jason’s voice, just a small little “get out, dickhead!” would be enough already— but instead the words get stuck in his throat because it’s not Jason he finds. It’s Bruce, curled up at the foot of Jason’s bed. Looking beaten to hell and back, a five o’clock shadow on his face he’s never seen before, with eye bags that look like he hasn’t slept for several weeks.

This doesn’t— this isn’t right. This isn’t right. Nobody is allowed in Jay’s room. Especially not without him there. And Jason’s room is always in pristine condition but now it— it looks like a hurricane razed through it. Only the desk is still orderly and— and there’s a… note? There’s a note on it. But Dick— Dick can’t step inside the room. Not without Jay’s permission. He can’t. Bruce— Bruce probably asked Jason before coming up. Because Jason is having a sleepover or something and— Bruce’s room must be trashed or something. Right? Right??? And Jason and him had a monumental fight and now he feels guilty, right????

But he knows— there must be answers down in the cave. Mission reports, telling him why Bruce is all banged up.

And he leaves the room. And he flees to the cave.

And as Dick looks at the footage of Bruce’s cowl from Ethiopia, as he sees the glass case holding a burned and bloody Robin suit, as he reads the autopsy report and burns it into his memory—-

All Dick can hear is the distorted, tinny voice of himself screaming over the phone. Pleading with him. Begging him to go home, to let someone else handle the mission. To go back and talk to Jason.

He screams and cries into the echoing silence of the cave until his voice gives it, cursing himself for failing another family member. For killing his baby brother.

He had the chance to prevent it, and yet—- and yet—-

It doesn’t get better. The guilt is eating him alive.

Dick learns to live with it. To work around the grief and the pain without letting it consume him entirely.

And Tim is there. Tim… Tim helps. Because Dick can focus on him now instead of his own failure. And sometimes, sometimes, in his own mind, he pretends that it’s Jason at his side. That it’s Jason smiling at him, babbling excitedly about a new case. Beaming at him when Dick shows him another move.

It doesn’t get better, but with time it becomes… bearable. He still looks at the last texts Jason sent him the day he— from that day. He still looks at them, still wonders. Still replays the phone call with his future self over and over, but he no longer has to wonder at the desperation in that voice. he knows it intimately now.

But with Tim— with Tim, he will be better. This is— not a second chance. Because it’s not about chances. It’s about how he let another family member die. It’s about how he may as well have pulled the trigger. It’s about how Tim is not allowed to die because if he does— Dick is going to follow him.

And then Red Hood makes his bloody debut in Crime Alley, and everybody and their mother knows he’s out for Robin’s head.

And all Dick sees is red because— Joker will not take Jas- he will not take Tim like he did Jason. He won’t let him.

(He dreams of the phone call every night now. He dreams of his future self, begging him to go home. He dreams of Jason in the rubble of that accursed warehouse, asking him why he didn’t.)

But easier said than done, because Dick— Dick severely underestimates Hood. They all do. But it’s fine. Tim’s at Titans Tower now, on lockdown, with several metas to keep him safe, Bruce out hunting the crazy crime lord through Gotham like a blood hound, and Dick well on his way to joining Tim at the tower. It never hurts to have one more vigilante standing guard, right?

Except when he gets there— it’s to the Tower dark and silent, with his footsteps echoing like death along the walls. And all his mind is screaming is a cacophony of no-please-no when he sees the first smatter of blood against the sterile white of the floor.

And when he rounds the corner— Hood has his knife pressed to Ja— to Tim’s throat. And— and Dick can’t see if he’s even still breathing— oh, god, please let him be breathing, please, please, he can’t— not again. Not again.

(“You need to go home! Screw the mission! You need to-“)

And Hood laughs, and he draws the knife across Tim’s throat, and Tim goes down with a weak gurgle and Dick wants to die, please, please—

But- but there’s not enough blood. Not enough for his arteries— there’s still time. There’s still hope. Please, please, anything but this. Anyone but J- Tim. Please.

So he bargains. He bargains with Hood “Please, Robin’s no fun anymore, see? But me? You can still make me scream. Please.”

And Hood accepts. And Hood leaves Tim bleeding and broken on the floor as he lunges at Dick and plunges the needle into his neck but— but it’s ok. Because even though— even though Hood may do— may do things to him now— at least Dick got to see Tim’s chest move before the darkness pulls him under to the backdrop of Hood’s distorted laughter.

It’s ok. It doesn’t matter what happens to him now.

I can make it worse, you know. Doesn't take much in this set up.

It's been years since Red Hood's debut. And though his relationship with the family is still extremely strained; Tim never quite forgiving Jason for the Tower, or more specifically what came after it (Jason never tells them why he had it out for Dick, Dick certainly doesn't either because he doesn't know how to explain how badly he failed) but things are on the up. Dick's insistence on forgiving Jason, on admitting Jason was justified even though he won't tell them how, has gone a long way to keep him in the family's good graces.

Everything is still tense and strained and fucked beyond reckoning, but they are at least good enough that Jason is willing to pitch in and help when Nightwing gets hit with some experimental weapon that sends him back to a random point in time. Even if the only help he can really give is fetching supplies for the JLD to set up a spell. It takes hourss to locate where exactly he landed so the magic users can hone in on him to bring him back. The spell is set up. All they need is the date. Tim cracked the weapon enough to get the equation for how the device selects the random destination. The Batcomputer calculates. It spits out the answer, right in the middle of the big screen for everyone present to see.

And Jason feels his blood freeze. He's pretty sure the others do too. Because they know that date. Jason knows it better,more intimately than anyone else. Two days before a date carved in stone. The day Dick called. The day he got on a spaceship and left. The day he knew Jason was in danger and still abandoned him to the hands of that psychotic clown.

Except he didn't, did he?

The Dick that stumbles out of Dark's spell circle is crying, panicked, still clutching an old phone with a painfully familiar number pulled up on the screen. That Dick is immediately staggering towards Jason, blubbering apologies and "I tried"s and self flagellation about failures and...

And Jason had thought

He had blamed

He

He was wrong.

He was so so wrong.

This amount of villainy brings me no joy, I LOVE making them cuddle and have happy endings and reconciliations. But I won’t stop with the angst on this unless you’re all begging for it. MWAHAHAHAHAHHA

Oh and doesn’t it hurt? To find out you tortured your brother for days until he could scream no longer? Until it was a 40% chance he’d ever go back to doing his quadruple somersaults? To find out you nearly destroyed him when it wasn’t even his fault?

Yes. Yes, it hurt so much. But Jason’s resentment runs so very deep. The pain of a child beaten by a madman, betrayed by his own mother.

This revelation— It doesn’t change anything. Not really.

Jason still died. Jason still came back. And both he had to do alone. Fine, it wasn’t Dick’s fault that he didn’t come and save him, but after? Nobody noticed his body missing from his grave? Nobody cared to investigate a random child showing up as a John Doe in the ER of Gotham General?

He’s really supposed to believe that someone allegedly so very hung up with his death didn’t care to keep track of what happened with his grave? With his body?? That none of Batman and Oracle’s hundreds of safety protocols clocked the catatonic boy at the hospital to match Jason’s injuries down to a T?

No. He fucking doesn’t believe it. They just didn’t care enough to come take a look themselves. Instead they let the League deal with him, throw him in a Lazarus Pit. And only then was he allowed to come back, but oh, wait that’s not right either. They wanted the him back that died. Not the nineteen year old that crawled out of the river and made bloody splash in Gotham’s underworld.

Jason Todd was the worst of them. Tim didn't feel terrible for admitting it, as his predecesor was (objectively) more trouble than he was worth.

In death, there was no respite from him and his shadow. In life, they had to go through a literal and figurative minefield to make him stop trying to murder them all.

Not that it ever lasted.

With Jason strapped to the table, Tim felt relatively confident that he wasn't going to be able to break free. The restraining bands were made for people with supernatural strength, which Jason did for some unholy reason.

Tim had tested him for the meta gene already. There was none.

He had also tested for any pollutants in his blood, which could have impaired Jason's judgement.

There was none.

Remembering the new bruises they had discovered in Dick - as well as the many, many other injuries that were consistent with torture - Tim felt himself begin to chuckle.

Shivering, Tim clenched his jaw and forced himself to stop. Scowling was better; it made him think about Bruce and Dick and their brooding moods, effectively grounding himself.

It was obvious that the entire set up was triggering some unwanted memories, but that was irrelevant.

Cables were hooked up to the machine and Jason had all the necessary electrodes already taped to his body. This was an interesting sight. Tim had plenty of experience from the other side of this contraption, so it was a bit weird to witness it like this - with him free and in complete control.

Tim deliberately didn't think of it more. Instead, he grinned smirked at the glaring - and gagged - Jason Todd.

"I hope you know that this pains me much more than it will you," he said, ignoring Jason's wiggling and the muffled threats.

"You're so stupid! Everyone's being so damn stupid about this. Bruce, Dick, Barbara, even the Justice League! Dick apologized and then you turn around and fucking torture the crap out of him. You threaten to kill us almost daily. Clearly, you're not going to change. I don't know the hell is wrong with your brain, but I'm sure that it's fixable."

Tim's fingers rapped against the cold metal of the electrical transformer as he talked.

Was that fear in Jason's eyes? He was straining against the bands, doing his best to force them to break.

But they wouldn't. And he wouldn't go anywhere.

Tim started the machine and watched as the machine of his nightmares was brought to life again, flickering merrily with light.

"Believe me," Tim whispered, "I considered every option, every alternative, before I considered doing this. But Blackgate would be a joke, and I'm not cruel enough to consider Arkham, even if it's you. I'm not Batman; I can tell it would be the height of idiocy to send you somewhere where Joker can get to you. So, what's left? I could send you to correctional facility across the country, but knowing you, you'd be back to Gotham by the end of the month. Same goes with space and the rest of the world. You're annoyingly capable of coming back. Maybe that's your gift."

The humming of the electricity was making Tim's skin prickle unpleasantly. He hummed to mask the distant sound of laughter in his ears.

"So," Tim drawled, watching Jason struggle, "this is the compromise. No prison, no killing, but some shock therapy can maybe set you straight."

The lever was like hot iron when Tim touched it. The urge to flinch away from it, almost irresistible. But he perservered.

"After all, I'm no longer JJ" - Tim smiled a bit too widely - "It helped me, so it'll help you."

Jason dies from the electroshock therapy. Maybe Tim miscalculated something, maybe a stroke of bad luck...

Or maybe, just maybe--Jason, looking at the possibilities of "live, but with your head fucked with", and "die, but at least himself", chooses death... and in a manner making it very clear he actively killed himself.

So. Jason's dead (again). Tim's got a corpse on his hands.

What happens next?

You think he goes after Tim first, right? The person who murdered him again?

Wrong. You see, Tim sought to break him on a basic level... Let's return the favour.

Dick dies first. Inch by inch, bruise by bruise, nightmare by nightmare. He fell to pieces when Jason died the first time, after all... and this time, Jason will bind the first Robin to his cause, fully and utterly, even before the curse sets in. And there's a certain degree of poetic irony here, wouldn't you agree? For Dick, Tim tortured Jason, until Jason literally killed himself, for death was the preferable alternative to whatever Tim called "mercy".

Maybe Bruce next. Maybe not. Most likely not--Batman being alive may keep outside help from coming into Gotham. Jason needs time to set up his stage.

Maybe the rest of the Batfamily dies next. Maybe not. Most likely not--Jason wants to break the Pretender, and having your very dead, cursed friends and family turning their backs on you doesn't quite hold the same punch as your alive, uncursed, of-their-own-free-will friends and family turning their backs on you.

But Tim... oh, Tim.

The very last thing Jason saw while (still technically) living was Tim's too-wide smile, so eerily reminiscent of Jason's first murderer... and the Pretender has the gall to claim, while torturing someone, that he's not Joker Junior at all? Let's wipe away that facade and reveal the truth; crack the eggshell open, let the world see what an utter monster Red Robin is.

Jason died alone, in great agony, betrayed and terrified.

Holy shit @sjach-chaos! That's one way to end it.

I think it merciful and ironic that everyone except the spirit of Jason Todd finds peace in death. Yeah, they die, horribly too, but Death is a friend in this case.

The reprieve.

Eventually, everyone in Gotham will die. The curse will take hold of the city and sofocate all life in Jersey. Then, it will spread to the rest of the planet and every corner of the galaxy.

No one will be spared.

As you can see, Jason in this form doesn't discriminate. However, as a direct consequence, there will be no one to see Jason's end. He's consumed in a cycle of hate.

The rot is him. There's too little of his initial self left; he's essentially embraced damnation and carved out a little piece of the universe for himself, suffusing the planet he lived in, he fought for, and eventually despised, with HATE. HATE. HATE. HATE.

All things end. But before that happens the being that was - had been - Jason Todd will eventually be left with nothing, not knowing what all that hatred he'd felt, he feels and will feel is for.

There's no scapegoat now. No distraction. No way to focus on anything joyful.

felt compelled to capture this moment from yesterday

In 2000, they released a self-titled concept album set in the year 3030, about a former mech soldier and hacking master named Deltron Zero, who plans to use his skills to create a virus to shut down the corporate overlords suppressing hip-hop culture and human rights, all while he takes part in rap battles to become Galactic Rhyme Federation Champion.

Whole album is dope, and it's down below. A masterpiece in the scene of underground hip-hop.

A Nervous Old Man (right) and his Emotional Support Violence Machine (Left)