The Batpoint Paradox

The Jason-Todd-(Little-Sh*t)-Deflection-Strategy

~Trigger warning for mentions of past sexual assault~

*Dick

 ~At Jason's safehouse, few weeks after the events of 'It kills me to see you like this'~

Tim, Damien and I were huddled around our Luther op plans when I out of the corner of my eye, seemingly out of nowhere, Jason appeared, leaning against the wall behind the war table we'd assembled. Up until that very moment he'd been who knew where doing god knew what, I'd noticed he'd been acting increasingly erratic recently, I was pretty sure it had something to do with whatever he'd stumbled home from that morning a few weeks ago. He refused to talk about it, I had my suspicions but I figured this was one bear I'd probably be wise to avoid poking. He'd had this look in his eyes, blue here without the Pitt's influence, that somehow rattled me more than even the unholy green they used to glow, years ago, when he was in the deepest throws of his Pitt Madness. I was desperately hoping that we'd get this figured out before whatever this was drove him to do something crazy...Crazier, I amended silently after catching sight of the disturbing choice of weapon he was twirling in his gloved hands as he whistled cheerfully.

"Alright boys, ready to show Superman's baby-daddy how much damage a couple of formerly dead, former boy wonders can do?"

Jason's voice was unnervingly upbeat as he made a room full of Bat trained vigilantes cringe, he just smiled brightly at our expressions and swung that damned hunk of iron up to his shoulder and rested it there like a baseball bat.

"What? I promise to dunk him in Grandpa Razzie's rank green bath of doom if we end up dropping a warehouse on his shiny bald head or something, wouldn't want to cost Super-lovechild his opportunity to be emotionally screwed up by his dear old dad! Someone else'll have to play she-demon's part though, the Mr.Clean look really doesn't do it for me. Not to mention it wouldn't have quite the same effect that the whole molesting-the-son of-your-ex -lover/sperm- donor's-adopted-recently-undead- son does...." He trailed off for a moment, I tightened the grip I'd had on Damion's left wrist since the words 'Razzie's rank bath' had left his mouth, too dumbstruck and afraid of loosing my hold on Dami, to put a stop to the rapidly evolving shit-show, before his eyes lit up and a smirk crossed his face.

"Timmy!" He exclaimed, eliciting from the startled vigilante in question, a likely involuntary release of what sounded like the world's most exasperated combination of a sigh, a groan and a grumble. I couldn't see his face at the time, on account of not being willing to take my eyes off the teenage assassin I was now fully restraining. Still, I'd have bet my last pop-tart that Tim's unintentional creation of a new nonverbal expression that I surmised meant something along the lines of, 'I- am-so-done-with-this-bullshit-why-just-why-Jason-you-asshole', probably, was accompanied by the mother of all eye rolls. 

Unperturbed by any of that, and continuing to ignore my increasingly involved efforts to restrain our notoriously short tempered youngest brother, who was basically frothing at the mouth by then, Jason went back to his whatever the hell this was.

"Timbo could do it! Not quite the same, but it has a certain poetry to it, you an the clone are more romance than bromance  anyhow, so you molesting the recently undead, Pitt crazed father of your man-love...Or boy-love I suppose, almost has almost the same scandalous essence as mamma-demon-brat getting biblical with me during my traumatized, raging murderous lunatic, post-brutal murder hight of my bat-daddy-issue days....Well maybe not, but really recreating something that fucked up requires a perfect storm of just the right combination of crazy psychopaths, a delusional, convoluted, semi rapey revenge/courting, assassin scheme, and fifteen years worth of traumatic childhood events perpetuated by a series of questionable parental figures. Honestly not everyone can be so lucky ya know?" He appeared to be finished, content with that lovely picture he'd painted for us. For a moment he just stared at us with an unreadable expression on his face and a single eyebrow raised in challenge.