The day Batman agrees to let Timothy Drake become the second Robin, Jason has been in the wheelchair for one month, three days, and sixteen hours (but who's counting) and he is angry.

He's angry. Angry because Bruce lied to him, misled him, dragged him along with a silk net of words that meant happiness, meant family, meant… Meant he had a reason to live. He told Jason it would be them. Batman and Robin. Forever.

It's not Jason's fault that he's in this stupid chair. It's not his fault he probably won't ever walk again. Jason didn't ask for this. Can't Bruce see that? Can't he see that Jason would do anything, anything, he'd drag himself across broken glass, move back to Crime Alley, agree never to smoke again, if he could just be Robin. That's all he wants. He just wants to be Robin.

But Bruce doesn't see, doesn't understand, doesn't care, because Jason has been in the wheelchair for one month, three days, and sixteen hours when Timothy Drake puts on the Robin costume (Jason's costume) and smiles wide and happy and so, so unbroken, and Jason watches from the shadows and hides the bitter tears.

…

The first time Jason talks to Tim he positions himself at the top of the main staircase, looms over the boy, puts on his most frightening, Cheshire smile, and says, very quietly, in his most threatening impression of the Batman voice:

"What makes you think Robin needs to be replaced?"

The kid nearly pisses himself. The look of terror on his face is incredibly satisfying.

But he doesn't quit.

…

He doesn't make it easy for the kid. Every chance he gets, Jason harasses Tim, berates him, trips him in the hallways, accidentally runs over his toes with the wheelchair, bumps against the bruises from the previous night. Jason hides his batarangs, misplaces his utility belt, takes all of his left shoes, eats or dumps out the disgustingly healthy snacks that Tim leaves in the fridge.

And the kid just takes it. Gives Jason these heartbroken, wounded puppy dog looks every time his gloves mysteriously vanish, every time his comm. suddenly stops working, every time his boots are filled with Crisco, grape jelly, or peanut butter.

He doesn't even try to fight back. Doesn't complain to Bruce or Dick.

The two of whom are mysteriously silent on the matter.

Jason doesn't figure it out for a few weeks. And when he does, it makes him sick.

They feel guilty. For letting this happen to him, for letting the Joker get away with it, for replacing him so soon after the accident. So instead of talking to him about it, forcing him to deal with things like he should be, they're letting him take his frustration out on Tim. They're letting him bully the younger boy until he feels better, because they feel too guilty to confront him about his behavior themselves. Alfred is the only one who scolds him when Tim meekly asks the Englishman if perhaps he's seen a grappling hook lying around, the only one who can give Jason that look which will cause the missing items to suddenly reappear.

Jason wonders what would happen if Tim did complain. Would Bruce finally sit down and talk to Jason about his behavior, or would he instead tell Tim to deal with it himself.

Jason can picture it now. "Batman doesn't have time to deal with someone super gluing your shoelaces to the wall. Tell me when something important happens, like you're about to be shot in the stomach and confined to a wheelchair, so that I can be emotionally stunted and unresponsive while you deal with being a cripple, and then replace you five seconds later so that I'm sure you know how much you don't matter to me."

Something about this doesn't sit right with Jason. Sure, he can push the kid around and tease him, he doesn't mean anything by it, but the fact that Bruce knows (he's Batman, of course he knows) and hasn't been doing anything about it, hasn't been protecting the new, tiny Robin… That's not how Batman and Robin is supposed to work. If Dick had done any of the things to Jason that Jason has been doing to Tim, he's sure that Bruce would have kicked Nightwing out of Gotham and forbidden Alfred from sending him those delicious and artfully organized food packages.

Once Jason realizes that Bruce isn't going to stop him, he sees things a bit differently. Sees just how much Tim is struggling. Sees the dark circles under his eyes, the bruises covering his arms, which Jason is sure stretch over the rest of the younger boy's body, and the heaviness that rests on his shoulders when he thinks no one is looking. And Jason thinks of all the times he's hidden his replacement's clothes, forced him to stay up after patrol cleaning up the mess that Jason left in his bedroom, or fixing his corrupted computer, or redoing the vanished homework, and Jason realizes…

He's been acting like a first class dick.

…

"Come on, replacement."

"Jason? What…"

"That wasn't a suggestion, kid, come on, I'm gonna teach you how to fight."

"I, but I know how to fight, I trained with Lady Shiva and Bruce, and-"

"And somehow you still fight like shit. Now get over here. We're gonna start with falling."

"Falling? But I learned that the first day, I don't-"

"God, do you ever shut up? Now come here so I can push you over."

…

It takes a little bit of time to adjust. Time for Jason to consistently be… nice. Nicer. Time for Tim to start trusting that the older teen isn't just treating him differently because he has some scheme set up that will cause Tim to be seriously injured. It's not easy. It takes time.

Tim's fighting style improves. The kid is a quick learner. And Jason enjoys teaching him.

To pay him back for the lessons, Tim teaches Jason about computers, revealing a cryptic cyber world hidden in gigabytes of data. And surprisingly, Jason finds that he likes working with computers. Not just likes, actually, he loves it. And this is something that he can do, something that he can use, something that can help, and having something to do again feels fucking amazing, he's not gonna lie.

And suddenly things are different. Suddenly they're staying up until four in the morning to marathon Star Wars, fixing tech together, Tim is helping Jason with his Trig, Jason is helping Tim with English (it's outrageous the number of books he's read since he lost the use of his legs), or they're planning elaborate pranks on Dick, taking the same side in disagreements with Bruce. Sometimes Tim sneaks into Jason's room and wakes him from the nightmares. Sometimes Jason covers Tim with a blanket and replaces the book he's fallen asleep on with a pillow. And when Tim returns to the cave, a trail of blood dripping where he walks, Jason is there to support his steps and help Alfred sew him back together.

Bruce is baffled, Dick pleasantly surprised, and Alfred just smiles.

…

The first time Tim smiles at a criminal, smiles that wide, Cheshire smile, all sharp teeth and intent to brutally injure, Jason's chest swells with pride.

…

And then one day, Tim comes back without a pulse.

Yet again, Jason probably could handle this better. But he doesn't.

"I mean shit Bruce, you'd think after the bastard put me in a wheelchair you'd take better care of your kids."

He shouts so Bruce doesn't see how close he is to sobbing. Rages and shatters and refuses to eat, but it's ok, because no one sees his tears. Or at least that's what he tells himself.

…

They bury Tim beside his parents, and they keep on living, the same as always. There are just two changes.

The first:

"No more, Bruce. No more Robins. No more kids."

Bruce agrees.

No more boys made men too early.

No more boys whose bodies resemble those of war veterans.

No more boys cold in the ground, six feet under, never to breath again.

The second:

He calls himself Oracle. A vigilante unlike any before. Crippling corrupt systems from within. Emptying bank accounts with the click of a button. Obtaining information which should be impossible for him to have. His eyes in every corner of Gotham, Bludhaven and beyond, feeding facts and figures into the capable hands of Batman, Nightwing, and the network of heroes that stretch across the world.

They say he never sleeps. That tragedies in his life have made his a tireless weapon of justice, his obsession one which rivals that of even Batman.

Jason's reasoning is simple. If he does his job, if he keeps the pulse of the criminal underworld at his fingertips, if he watches Batman's back from surveillance cameras and satellite feeds, then there will never again be a need for a Robin. No more old, crippled, dead boys.

Oracle. The name was Tim's idea.

…

Barbara moves to Gotham the week Tim dies. Three months later, she's traipsing around the streets as Batgirl. Then Spoiler decides she wants to team up with the bats, and Babs takes the younger girl under her wing. And then there's Cassandra. As if that weren't enough, suddenly there's a Batwoman, and Jason is quietly wondering where the hell all these ladies are coming from.

Finally, there's Damian. That one was a shock to everybody.

Things have changed in the past few years. Villains have risen and fallen, and after the monkey apocalypse of '07, Jason doesn't think there's anything that can surprise him.

He's wrong.

Despite Jason's protests, Damian Wayne is the newest Robin. And one day, as the family gathers in the entranceway of the manor, planning an appearance at some idiotic Wayne Enterprises gala, there's a voice from the top of the stairs.

It's a voice that has haunted Jason's dreams for years. It's a voice that he's heard a thousand times, through headphones, in person, over a comm. It's a voice he hasn't heard in years. It's a voice he never expected to hear again.

"So," Tim drawls, eyes soot black, Cheshire grin glowing in the dusky evening light. "What makes you think I need to be replaced?"

I might continue this later. Yes, yes I will. Right now I don't know how to get through the next part. Whatevs.