In Jason Peter Todd's life, one certainty reigns: he's the designated second choice. Never Plan A, always the runner-up, and most definitely Bruce's failed consolation prize after botching it with his favored first ward.

He might call Tim the supplement, but Jason knows the label fits him much more. Tim is allowed to exist outside of the first Robin, while Jason's predecessor was always tied to him.

Jason hadn't expected his relationship with his sibling to mirror this pattern. In hindsight, he feels foolish for his blind faith, the belief that you would hold onto the Jason he was before he felt the crushing pain of a crowbar fragmentizing his bones and macerating his psyche.

Jason was reborn. It shouldn't be surprising that your relationship hadn't made it through the Lazarus Pit with him.

"So, you like Nightwing, huh?" Jason mutters, hands shoved deep into his pockets, eyeing the room that feels so unfamiliar yet belongs to you. "He nice to you? Y'know, he's not so cool when you've seen him whine about missing karaoke night."

Self-disgust churns within him. He doesn't dislike his predecessor; there's no need to shittalk Grayson to you. Nor should he feel the need to compete with him for your affection.

Jason is painfully aware of his inability to take care of you during his absence. It's natural you bonded with those where remnants of the old Jason lingered. Yet, his insecurities rage when he hears you gush about how great Nightwing is.