AN:

This is a sequel to my fic "The Wayne Family Ghost." It'll be easier to understand parts of this if you read that one first. Hope you enjoy!

...

Jason knew he should have said no the moment Dick asked him for a favour. After all, no good ever came from getting mixed up with his so-called 'family.' However, there was only so much of Dickhead's whining someone could take before they broke, and Jason had eventually given in, just to shut his older brother up.

After all, it wasn't a ridiculously hard task. Both Dickhead and the old man were preoccupied with other shit (Jason didn't care enough to ask what), which left no one to pick Demon Brat up from school. Apparently the brat had gotten himself in trouble, and was currently in the principal's office. Jason didn't know what he had done, but considering that practically every second word out of the kid's mouth was an insult, Jason would have been more surprised if something like this hadn't happened.

Dickhead had, however — in classic idiotic, Dickhead style — messed up and called both him and Replacement. Which was why he was now standing in the last position he ever wanted to be in — standing side-by-side with Tim fucking Drake of all people (well, okay, maybe not the last position; this would be a lot worse if Bruce were here instead).

"What has the little shit done anyway?" Jason questioned, pausing at the door to the principal's office. He remembered it clearly; during his short time here, he'd spent quite a bit of quality time in old Mrs. Johnson's office.

"He punched another student," Tim replied, rolling his eyes. "To be honest, I'm not even surprised. We all knew this was coming."

"Yeah, yeah let's just get this over with," Jason sighed. Tim nodded (clearly just as eager as him to wrap this up, and get back to whatever he'd been doing in his miserable life), and reached out to knock on the door. Jason pushed past him, and threw the door open. He ignored Tim's incredulous glance, and barged into the room.

The occupants of the room — Demon Brat, another child (with a rather impressive shiner), two adults who Jason assumed were the kid's parents, the principal (still Mrs. Johnson — so the old woman had yet to cark it), and another woman — glanced up, and all stared at him with wide eyes.

"Hello?" Mrs. Johnson said, frowning at him. Her eyes raked over Jason, and her lips pursed into a disapproving frown. Jason felt a glimmer of pride, knowing that his leather-clad appearance was probably the cause of such a reaction. Annoying and/or terrifying those around him was just so satisfying.

Damian let out a small groan. "Oh dear lord, why did Father send you two imbeciles?"

"Dickhead is the one who called us," Jason told Damian, glaring. "So be glad we came at all, you little shit."

The mother's eyes widened in alarm, and she quickly covered her son's ears. The boy squirmed in embarrassment.

Tim shot Jason a reproachful glance, before smiling politely at the principal. "Hi," he said, "we're here for Damian Wayne."

Mrs. Johnson frowned. "I asked for his Father to be here," she said stiffly. "I spoke to his brother on the phone, and asked him to pass on the message."

"I'm Valerie Benson — the kids call me Ms. Benson," the other woman — Ms. Benson — said quickly and eagerly. "Damian hit Tommy in the middle of my class. And we don't tolerate violence in this school, so that's why we're here. Damian, do you have anything to say?"

(She sounded ridiculously cheery for a topic that they apparently 'didn't tolerate', Jason couldn't help but note).

"He deserved it," Damian snapped. "And I didn't even hit the fool that hard."

"We're his brothers," Tim told Mrs. Johnson. "I'm Tim Drake-Wayne, and this is — uh, is she alright?"

Jason followed Tim's line of sight. His eyebrows raised as he caught sight of Ms. Benson, who was staring at him with wide eyes, and seemed to be choking on her own spit.

"Oh lord," Damian moaned, staring at her (even though Jason had no idea what was wrong with the woman, apparently Damian did). "Todd, why did you have to show your face around here?!"

Tim turned to Jason, frowning. "What did you do?!" he hissed.

Jason glared back. "Nothing!" he snapped.

"Jason!" Ms. Benson cried, her arm flapping wildly in his direction. "Jason Todd!"

Mrs. Johnson turned to stare at the other woman incredulously. "What?!" she spluttered.

"That's Jason Todd!" Mrs. Benson repeated, while Jason shifted uncomfortably, wondering what the hell was happening. She stared at Jason, a mix of shock, wonder, and terror in her eyes. "You — you're a ghost!"

"Uh…" Jason took a step backwards.

The other boy (Tommy), and his father, continued to watch the proceeding events with wide, confused eyes. His mother on the other hand sat up, clearly displeased with being ignored for so long.

"What is she babbling on about?!" she demanded. "I thought we were here to discuss that boy's treatment of my son?!"

Damian shot her a vicious glare. "Your son is an idiot, and after what he said about my mother, he deserved what he got!"

"How dare you?!" the mother snarled, her face red. She whirled towards Mrs. Johnson, her hands curled into fists. "You're just going to let him sit there, and insult my boy?!" she demanded. "Do something about this!"

Mrs. Johnson opened her mouth to respond, but Ms. Benson cut her off.

"We have more important things to talk about — like the issue of life and death!" she cried, her voice bordering hysterical. "Jason, is that really you?!"

"Valerie, stop!" Mrs. Johnson snapped. "That isn't — " She turned to Jason, and froze, her eyes growing wide. Jason shifted uncomfortably; god, this was just fucking weird. Beside him, Tim was tense, his eyes flickering wildly over the various occupants of the room.

"Oh my god," she choked, paling, "Jason Todd?!"

"Jason Todd?!" the mother cried shrilly. "Who is Jason Todd?! Why are we talking about him, and not about the terrible bruise my baby is sporting because of that little monster?!"

Well, Jason would sure as hell prefer if they were talking about Damian right now. He really didn't like where this conversation was going.

Ms. Benson, seemingly over her bout of hysteria, turned to Jason, and lifted her hands placatingly. "It's okay," she said, in what Jason assumed was an attempt at a soothing voice. "It's Valerie — you can talk to me."

Jason blinked. "Uh, I'm sorry, who are you?"

The woman frowned. "Valerie Benson!" she said, her eyes narrowing. "I went to school with you…I gave you that Valentine's Day card, remember?" When Jason said nothing, she flushed, looking slightly panicked. "You said it looked cool!" she insisted.

Jason shrugged. "I'm sorry lady, but I have no idea who you are."

"Oh wow, this is really bad, isn't it?" Tim muttered (stating the fucking obvious, Jason thought, inwardly rolling his eyes). "Why the hell haven't we dealt with this before?"

"I don't care," Damian grumbled. "This is you're issue, not mine — may I leave now?"

"H-h-how are you still here?" Mrs. Johnson stuttered. "You — you're supposed to be dead!"

"And how do you not remember me?!" Ms. Benson snapped shrilly. "I — I spent hours on that card! Do you know how hard it is to stick individual sequins on with a hot glue gun?! I can't even count how many times I burnt my fingers!"

"For the last time bitch, I do not know who you are!"

"And I don't know who you are!" Ms. Benson shrieked, her face rapidly turning red. "You were such a sweet guy — I don't recognise the hateful man standing in front of me!"

"Valerie, shut your goddamn trap!" Mrs. Johnson snarled. She slumped back in her chair, breathing heavily. "Stop talking about your hideous Valentine's Day card, and let's focus on the fact that there is a dead man standing in my office!"

The mother stood up abruptly. "That's it — Robert, let's go!" she cried, tugging on her husband's arm. "I refuse to deal with this horrible institution any longer! Surely we can find our baby a far better school to attend — "

"Shh, I'm trying to listen!" the father hissed, swatting her away with one hand.

"Uh, look, this isn't what you think," Tim said nervously.

Jason turned to him. "What are you doing?" he hissed.

"Fixing your mess!" Tim replied swiftly, his voice low.

"…How the fuck is this my mess?"

Damian rolled his eyes. "You were weak and idiotic enough to allow yourself to die Todd — that makes this your mess."

"Hello?!" Mrs. Johnson interrupted. "Is anyone going to tell me what the hell is going on?!"

Tim swallowed. "Well, uh, it's simple," he said, stumbling over his words. "Jason is standing here because — well, because the truth is…uh…well…"

"I faked my own death," Jason finished promptly.

Everyone turned to stare at him. Both Tim and Damian gaped incredulously.

"Wow," the father murmured, transfixed, "this is better than a soap opera!"

"You what?" Mrs. Johnson spluttered.

Ms. Benson's eyes narrowed accusingly, and she shook her head rapidly. "That's a lie!" she snapped. "I was at the funeral — I saw the body!"

Jason faltered. "You what?!" he choked, staring at her in disbelief. "What the hell is wrong with you lady?! What, are you some kind of deranged stalker?!"

"You were my first love!"

Jason took a step backwards. "I don't even know who you are!"

"It, uh, wasn't a real body," Tim said abruptly. Everyone turned to stare at him, and he shifted uncomfortably under the weight of their stares.

"I mean," he continued, "it was, uh…a wax replica."

Okay, how had this idiot replaced him?

"A…wax replica?" Mrs. Johnson repeated slowly.

"Yes — yes, that's what I said," Tim replied, nodding quickly. "See, they never found a body, and Bruce didn't like the idea of an empty coffin, so he, uh…"

"…Built a wax replica of me," Jason finished (he still thought it was a stupid solution, but he supposed they didn't really have anything else to work it). "Because, you know, the old man is just messed up that way."

Tim winced. "He was mourning," he corrected.

Jason snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, mourning so much that he couldn't even find the person responsible for my tragic death."

Tim shot him a quick glare. "Yes Jason but you didn't die, remember? Like you just said — you faked your own death."

"Can we go now?" Tommy whispered to his parents, tugging on his mother's sleeve. His mother smiled indulgently, nodded, and pet him on the head.

"Yes, we're leaving, Sweetheart. Unless someone is willing to address this situation in the next few seconds…"

No one glanced in their direction. The mother let out a furious huff, grabbed her husband (who was still transfixed by the current events) by his collar, and her son by his arm, and stormed out of the room.

"And you'll be hearing from my lawyers!"

Still, no one noticed.

"A wax replica…" Ms. Benson murmured, shaking her head. "That makes so much sense."

Tim nodded. "Yeah," he said weakly, "billionaires…they're an eccentric bunch, aren't they? Don't know what to do with all that money so…when there's an empty coffin to fill…"

"You can shut up now Drake, before you embarrass yourself any further," Damian hissed.

Mrs. Johnson slumped back in her seat, shaking her head. "I don't believe this," she muttered.

Damian rolled his eyes. "Well, what other explanation is there?" he snorted. "Todd came back from the dead?"

"Well of course not," Mrs. Johnson retorted. "That would be impossible."

Despite everything, Jason had to bite back a grin at that.

"Now, may I leave?!" Damian demanded.

The principal shook her head. "Now hold on," she said, "we still need to deal with — wait, where did they go?" She looked around her half-filled office, finally realising that Tommy and his family had left some time ago.

"Great," Jason said, "so now that everything's solved, I'm going to take Demon Brat and leave. And we are never going to speak of this again, okay?"