The grand library of Wayne Manor was usually a sanctuary of silence, smelling faintly of lemon polish, ancient vellum, and the expensive tobacco Bruce didn’t smoke but liked to keep in a humidor for aesthetic reasons. It was the one place Jason Todd could usually count on to have some peace and quiet, away from Damian’s sword drills and Tim’s frantic keyboard clicking.
Jason was slumped in a massive mahogany armchair, a rare first edition of Paradise Lost in one hand and a glass of ginger ale in the other. He was just reaching the part where Satan decides it’s better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven—a sentiment Jason frequently identified with—when the double doors of the library didn’t just open; they were practically vaulted over.
A blur of blue and black spandex (with a civilian hoodie thrown haphazardly over it) streaked across the room.
"JASON! HE’S ONE OF THEM! HE’S COMPROMISED!"
Before Jason could even set his drink down, Dick Grayson—the original Boy Wonder, a man who had faced down Darkseid and survived—launched himself through the air. He hit Jason with the force of a small cannonball, scrambling up into his lap and wrapping his arms around Jason’s neck like a terrified koala.
Jason wheezed, the air leaving his lungs in a sharp woof. "Dickie? What the—get off me! You’re heavy!"
Dick’s eyes were wide, his pupils dilated to the size of saucers. His hands were shaking, and he smelled faintly of those high-voltage "Extreme Volt" sodas that Alfred had strictly banned from the house after the Great Chandelier Incident of 2014.
"Jason, it’s terrible!" Dick hissed, his voice trembling with a level of intensity usually reserved for Joker gas attacks. "Bruce... I saw him. In the Batcave. He was talking to the computer. Like, really talking to it. And then... the dancing, Jason. The strange, rhythmic dancing."
Jason blinked, trying to pry Dick’s fingers from his throat. "He was probably just voice-commanding the Batmobile, Dick. And the dancing? He was probably just doing his pre-patrol kata. You know, stretching?"
"No!" Dick shrieked, burying his face in Jason’s shoulder. "It wasn’t stretching! It was... calculation! He’s a robot, Jason. I saw it in that movie, The Chrome Invasion. First they talk to the mainframe, then they calibrate their servos with rhythmic movement, and then they replace your family!"
Jason sighed, finally managing to shove Dick off his lap. Dick tumbled onto the rug, looking up with a frantic, twitching expression.
"How many of those sodas did you have, Dick?" Jason asked, rubbing his bruised ribs.
"Three," Dick whispered. "And I watched the director’s cut of The Chrome Invasion. It was four hours long. It was a documentary, Jason. A warning!"
"That’s nice, Dickie-bird," Jason said, standing up and grabbing Dick by the back of his hoodie. He began dragging his older brother toward the hallway. "Truly fascinating. Now, why don’t you work on this problem out in the hall? Maybe run a lap around the estate. Or ten. Or fifty."
"No! Don't leave me out there with the machine!"
Jason ignored him, shoved Dick out into the corridor, and slammed the heavy oak doors shut. He turned the decorative iron key in the lock for good measure.
"Haha," Jason muttered, leaning back against the door and returning to his book. "Hall..."
"It’s true, Jason! He’s a robot! And I can prove it too!"
Jason jumped a foot in the air, his book flying out of his hand. Dick was standing right next to him, leaning against a bookshelf as if he hadn’t just been physically ejected and locked out of the room.
Jason stared at him, then at the locked door, then back at Dick. "What...? Where did you...? How did you get back in here?"
Dick pointed vaguely toward the ceiling. "Ventilation shafts. Anyway, pay attention! In the movie, the robots didn’t have a sense of humor. That’s the first tell. They can’t laugh because their emotional processors can’t handle the subversion of expectations."
Jason picked up his book, looking exhausted. "So... business as usual for Bruce? The man hasn't laughed since the eighties, Dick. And even then, it was probably a cough he disguised as a chuckle."
"No, this is different! This is scientific!" Dick grabbed Jason's arm. "Watch! Hey, BRUCE!"
Before Jason could protest, the library doors didn't just open—they exploded inward. Bruce Wayne stood there, already half-clad in his Batsuit, the cape billowing behind him, a batarang clutched in each hand. His eyes were narrowed, scanning the room for ninjas or assassins.
"What?!" Bruce growled, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Are we under attack? Did the perimeter alarm go off?"
Jason sighed, sinking back into his chair. "Just a different kind of disaster, B."
Dick stepped forward, his eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Bruce’s face for any sign of synthetic skin or hidden cooling fans. "I wanted to tell you this hilarious joke I came up with, Bruce. It’s a real rib-tickler."
Bruce stared at him. The tension in his shoulders didn't leave, but he slowly lowered the batarangs. He looked from Dick’s vibrating frame to Jason’s 'please-kill-me' expression.
"A joke," Bruce repeated. The words sounded alien in his mouth.
"Why couldn’t Damian get into the pirate movie?" Dick asked, leaning in close.
Jason groaned. "Because he doesn't like pirates?"
"No!" Dick shouted, his voice cracking. "It was because it was rated... ARRRRR!"
Dick immediately collapsed into a fit of hysterical, high-pitched laughter. He doubled over, slapping his knees, his face turning a bright shade of red as the caffeine surged through his system. "Get it? Pirates? Arrr?"
Bruce didn't move. He didn't smile. He didn't even blink. He just stood there, looking at Dick with a mixture of profound disappointment and genuine concern for his ward’s mental health. Without a word, he turned on his heel, the batarang slipping from his hand and clattering onto the floor as he exited the room, his cape snapping behind him.
Dick’s laughter died out instantly. He stood up straight, his face pale. "Not even a chuckle," he whispered, horrified. "See, Jason? He didn’t laugh because he couldn’t laugh. Because his logic gate wouldn't permit the humor-file to execute! He’s a robot!"
Jason rubbed his temples. "Or, and hear me out, it’s because that joke was objectively terrible and you’ve been awake for forty-eight hours."
"I’m gonna go die again," Jason added, staring at the ceiling. "Please don’t bring me back this time. It was quieter in the coffin."
"Not yet!" Dick grabbed Jason’s collar, pulling him up. "Next test! According to the movie, robots can’t cry! Their tear ducts are just decorative. They lack the capacity for genuine sorrow!"
"Dick, please—"
"Hey, BRUCE!" Dick yelled again.
Bruce reappeared in the doorway three seconds later. He looked significantly more tired than he had moments ago. "Dick. If this is another joke—"
"Jason's father never hugged him!" Dick interrupted, his voice dropping into a dramatic, wobbling sob. He threw his hands over his face, weeping in an incredibly loud, overdramatized fashion. "Isn't that just... the most tragic thing you've ever heard? The boy... he just wanted a hug... and he never got one!"
Jason froze. He looked at Dick, then at Bruce. "Okay, first of all, ow. Second of all, way to bring up the trauma for a 'robot' test, you jerk."
Bruce looked at Jason. His expression softened, just a fraction. There was a long, heavy silence in the library.
"Yes," Bruce said finally, his voice surprisingly gentle. "I guess that is sad, Jason." He stepped into the room, placing a heavy, gloved hand on Jason’s shoulder. "But there is no shortage of people in this family to hug you now. If you need one, you only have to ask."
Bruce gave Jason’s shoulder a firm, supportive squeeze. Then, he turned and left the room again, heading back toward the Cave.
Dick stopped 'crying' instantly. He wiped his dry eyes and pointed a finger at the door. "Did you see it? No moisture! Not a single lubricating drop! Just like the robot in the movie—he tried to simulate empathy, but he couldn't produce the biological response!"
Jason stared at the spot where Bruce’s hand had been. He felt a weird mix of touched and incredibly annoyed. "He gave me a pep talk, Dick. That’s like... high-level emotional labor for Bruce. That’s practically a breakdown for him."
"It was a script!" Dick paced back and forth, his movements jerky. "A pre-programmed response to 'Sad Childhood Parameter A'! Jason, we have to act before he plugs us into the Matrix!"
Jason slumped back into his chair, defeated. "Remind me why I didn’t try harder to kill you when I had the chance? Why did I settle for a 'rivalry' when I could have had 'temporary insanity' as a legal defense?"
"That’s it!" Dick snapped his fingers, his eyes alight with a terrifying, caffeinated fire. "You’re a true one, Jason! You’re human! Because you feel hatred, and annoyance, and bitterness!"
"Mostly toward you right now," Jason muttered.
"Why?" Jason asked, his voice flat.
"Because the final test... the ultimate proof..." Dick grabbed Jason’s shoulders, shaking him slightly. "Robots can't love, Jason! They can simulate, they can protect, but they can't feel the spark!"
"And how are you going to test that?" Jason asked, dreading the answer. "Are you going to make him watch The Notebook? Or ask him to marry you?"
"Better," Dick whispered. "I'm going to touch his computer. Without permission."
Jason's eyes widened. "Dick, no. Even a robot Bruce would kill you for that."
"If he loves us, he'll let me live!" Dick shouted, already running toward the grandfather clock that hid the entrance to the Cave. "If he's a robot, he'll prioritize data security over my life! JASON, COVER ME!"
Jason watched the older man disappear into the secret passage. He sat in silence for a moment, then picked up his ginger ale and took a long, slow sip.
"Bruce?" Jason called out, knowing the man was probably listening on some hidden mic anyway.
"Yes, Jason?" Bruce’s voice came over the library’s intercom, sounding deeply weary.
"If you are a robot," Jason said, "can you make sure his 'deactivation' is swift? I really want to finish this chapter."
"I'll see what I can do," the intercom crackled.
Jason nodded, satisfied, and turned the page. Below him, he could hear the faint, distant sound of Dick screaming: "AH! THE CASING! IT'S HARDENED STEEL! I KNEW IT!" followed by the distinct sound of a capture-net being deployed.
"Definitely a robot," Jason whispered, and finally, he found his peace.
