#waketalk

So it wasn’t much of a surprise when Tim showed up on night, all decked out and so pleased with his little discovery. It was funny. There had been no plan for this, he hadn’t made a decision for what he would do when Dick or Tim or any of the others inevitably found him. He’d been certain it would happen, but honestly? It was like he’d been waiting for it.

Waiting for it, not completely sure what would happen when they did find him.

Maybe part of him was hoping it would be Dick. Maybe part of him was hoping for an emotional reunion, a grand explanation of what he had been doing and why. A tearful apology if he was lucky. Just something. 

As soon as he saw Tim, though, he realized that this was what he needed. He didn’t need a reunion, he didn’t need an apology. Nothing would change anything that Bruce did. He’d already started to succeed in showing them that his way was the best way, even if they didn’t realize it. But more than that he needed something else. He was still so angry. And this would be revenge. 

Revenge for being forgotten, revenge for being replaced, revenge for being left behind.

It was too easy to lead him on a chase through the tunnels. Jason knew them well, unlike Tim, and he knew that that would be the only way that he could possibly get what he wanted. He’d been told, time and time again, how much better Dick was than him, how much better Tim was than him at everything. There was no way he was a match in close, hand-to-hand combat. But a firearm seemed a bit overkill.

Especially when there was something more personal.

They’d finally come to a stop from the chase in what seemed to be a half-constructed, but abandoned part of the tunnels. Jason knew the place, had already scooped it out weeks before, had already set the explosives weeks before. 

[Had already seen that there were several crowbars there weeks before.]

And so the fight had started. Of course, even Tim was of the vein that the best course of action would be a few words between all of the too easy dodging, a vague plea for Jason to just stop all of the “nonsense” and come with him. As if any of it would work. He should’ve known better than to think it would, probably did, considering how hard he was fighting.

Considering the force with which he finally managed to kick Jason in the stomach, hard enough to knock him backwards to the ground. 

“This is pointless, Jason, you’re not our enemy!”

He was better than him. It was true. If this had been a fair fight, he wouldn’t have stood a chance. Too bad it wasn’t.

“You know… if I’m going to be the new Batman around here, I need a Robin. And I’ve heard you were such a good Robin, Timmy,” he mused from the ground, hand finding the crowbar, gripping it as if his life depended on it. 

He heard Tim let out a sigh, closer than he had thought he was. Maybe he thought that a kick to the gut was enough to stop him. Maybe he’d forgotten that he’d died. 

Perfect. 

Jason swung around, catching Tim just barely off guard, but enough that the crowbar made contact with his ribcage painfully, sending him down to his knees, giving Jason enough time to pin him to the ground, crowbar across his throat, straddling him.

“I heard you were better than me, that’s for damn sure. Hijo de puta,” he spat, lifting the crowbar, ready to bring it down on his head.

And then out of nowhere there was blinding pain in his side, the rusted, but still dangerous batarang Tim had managed to pull out piercing through Jason’s makeshift armor easily. It was enough to give Tim the opportunity to push Jason off of him, letting the batarang fall to the ground, enough time to start a call back to Alfred or Dick or whoever, but it wasn’t enough to keep Jason down. This was nothing compared to being shot in the chest.

Swing, dodge, swing, dodge. He could feel his body getting tired, his side searing with pain, but then Tim seemed the same. And and he finally hit. A low blow to the kneecap putting him on the ground, followed by one, two, three to the stomach in rapid succession.

“It wouldn’t be fair if I left your face alone,” Jason croaked looking down at him. He was impressed, for a brief second, that Tim didn’t beg him not to, didn’t ask him to stop, but stared up at him, not with anger, but... was that fucking pity?

He finished with the head, just how the Joker had started. But he didn’t bother to make sure he was dead. For once, the smell of blood was making him sick to his stomach, the wound only making him dizzier. 

Leave.  

Jason threw the crowbar down with a deafening clang and started back towards the tunnel’s entrance, clutching his bleeding side.