Actions

Work Header

What demons they carry

Work Text:

Files taken from the archives of the Pervus Institute for Observing Supernatural Phenomena.

Statement by Janet Drake regarding her son. Statement taken by Lorne Fournier, researcher for the Pervus Institute, on June 23, 1997.

I’m not a bad mother. I’m not. If you’d see it, you’d understand.

Yes. ‘It.’

My pregnancy was normal. Almost too normal, I think now. I didn’t throw up the way some of my friends did. The food cravings were real, though. “My baby likes salty things,” I remember thinking. Hah.

I delivered through C-section. My reasons for that are my own. When I woke up and they handed me my baby, I was so happy.

His eyes were open. They shouldn’t have been open.

I cannot tell you what I saw in them. All I remember is that feeling of wrongness. Like when someone puts you to bed, but one the wrong side, and you wake up to everything familiar but different.

Whatever it was that tried to latch onto my breasts at that moment, it wasn’t human. It wasn’t even breathing.

My husband noticed that something was wrong. Luckily, we were in a private suite, so no one else did.

He came over, saying: “Let’s see our little boy, then.”

It chose that moment to yawn. My husband jumped backward, and I almost dropped it.

I won’t pretend Jack and I always had a good marriage. This child was supposed to be the kit that held us together. In a way, it was.

At that moment, we looked at each other and knew. He turned and called the nurse to tell her to take it away. At least breastfeeding was out of the question because I developed a small infection after the C-section. You shouldn’t breastfeed when taking antibiotics. I didn’t protest.

We try leaving him behind as often as possible. I know it doesn’t look good, but what can you do? I can’t stand being in the same house. Staff changed often. They never said why. I mean, they gave reasons, but they were excuses only. I don’t know what it does to them. We know it goes out at night with its camera. We never tried stopping it.

Whenever we’re home, it appears to be a perfectly well behaved little boy.

In my darkest moments, I considered killing it. If I could’ve figured out how to get away with it, I might have tried.

Notes: At the time of the recording, the statement was regarded as a particularly bad example of postpartum depression. Psychiatric treatment was recommended. I believe Lorne also gave an anonymous tip to CPS. Not our usual procedure, but highly warranted here.

However, Gwen and I have done some research and found out that Janet and Jack Drake died in 2003. They were found murdered in their own home. The scene was described as gruesome. Further inquiries seem to be indicated. - Roland Stankić, 2006

 

Statement by Jason Todd, former Robin, currently operating under the alias “Red Hood”, regarding an incident in which he almost died. Statement taken by Roland Stankić, researcher for the Pervus Institute, on November 16, 2006.

I passed out waiting for the bomb to go off.

No idea if I died or not. Tim won’t tell me. I did wake up, though.

The Joker was lying there. His throat was torn out.

How do I know that? I’ve seen cut throats. I know what injuries are left by knives, or hands, or guns. This? This looked like it was done with teeth. Many, many teeth. Sharp ones.

There was a giggle. Probably the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard, and yes, that counts that thing from “The Grudge”. There was a kid sitting there. I know he was thirteen, but honestly, I thought he was, like, ten or eleven, he’s so thin. There was something off about him, though. Like he was wearing this skin, but it didn’t quite fit him.

Oh, yeah, and he was covered in blood. That too. No need to guess who had killed the Joker.

We just kind of... looked at each other. He stopped giggling. I think he was trying to figure out whether I would be scared.

I’ve always been too dumb for that. “Thank you.” Maybe not the conventional conversation opener with what I’m pretty sure was a demon, but hey, he had done me a solid with that one. That bastard had almost beaten me to death with a fucking crowbar and then tried to blow me up. I sure wasn’t gonna go cry after him.

“I followed you,” he told me. “I’ve been following you.”

“We noticed.” There’d been a kid with a camera. Bruce decided it was okay, as long as he didn’t follow us into dangerous situations.

Yeah. Dramatic irony.

“I saved you.”

This is where it got tricky. I wasn’t as up on my demon lore back then—weirdly, that hadn’t been much of a priority in my training as Robin—but I knew they traded stuff. He had saved my life. I had seen that bomb tick down, had felt myself bleed out, and here I was, perfectly fine. Still, I didn’t exactly feel like offering him my soul return.

What does a demon want? I don’t know, but I thought I could guess about this one. He’d followed us for years. He wants to belong.

So I offered him Robin.

He agreed.

Bruce thought I killed the Joker. There was no body when he showed up, but the murder clown never stayed away from this city for so long before. I mean, it was either me or the tiny eleven-year-old, so I guess I see his point. Still pisses me off.

His parents died right after we came back. Coincidence. Maybe.

If Bruce hadn’t adopted him, I would’ve. Yes, I’m only three years older, what of it? Ohana means family, bitch. Bruce did it, though. He’s in denial, I think—oh, not that way, though maybe that, too. Don’t know, don’t care. Anyway. He says Tim is a normal boy, and we let him think that.

The teeth took some time getting used to, but we found a way to work around it. With that, you could even say.

Guess he got my soul, in the end. Urgh. Strike that, that’s too sappy even for me.

Notes: It’s interesting to see that Mr. Todd treats Robin as something more than an alias and a costume. It seems that by giving the demon Robin, he hasn’t so much made a trade as performed a binding. Robin is good, so the demon has to be good to be Robin.

We have not been successful in locating the corpse of the entity known as “the Joker”. There is no record of his death either here or in Ethiopia, but he has not been seen since the day Mr. Todd named. We will be on the lookout.

 

Statement by Dick Grayson, former Robin, currently operating under the alias “Nightwing”, regarding the adoption of his younger brother. Statement taken by Gwendolyn Aletha Hodges, researcher for the Pervus Institute, on November 22, 2006.

Bruce hates magic. I think he saw a lonely child and wanted to help. That’s just who he is. And hey, I’m not saying he’s wrong. Tim was lonely.

He isn’t that weird. I mean, yeah, okay, there was that one time… He’d been a bit sluggish during sparring that day, and I thought he might’ve gone down with something, so I wanted to check on him, quiet-like. Just to make sure he wasn’t getting a fever or whatever.

So I go into his room and he’s not there. That’s a bit of a surprise, but I know where to go.

Tim latched onto Jason immediately when he moved in, and I don’t mean in a brotherly way. What really gave it away was the noises. He does these clicks and gabbling. It’s super echo-y, and I couldn’t tell where they came from. It was like being haunted by a Geiger counter. And then there’s the noise that happens whenever Jason does anything mildly impressive. Or considerate. Or is just enters the room. It’s pretty cute, in an eldritch way.

Anyway, off to Jason’s room (which used to be mine, but whatever) I go.

I swear I opened the door quietly, but I must have startled Tim. He was in Jason’s bed one moment, then there’s just these two huge glowing eyes staring at me from the ceiling. Kid looks bigger in the dark.

“How are you feeling?” I asked him.

There was some hissing and clacking. It sounded pretty annoyed, so I guessed he was okay and left them to it before Jason woke up, too. If you think Tim is terrible when he’s woken up, you haven’t seen Jason. He throws stuff.

I asked Alfred to make Tim devilled eggs for breakfast. For some reason, he didn’t find that funny. I dunno why, Tim is a growing boy who exorcises a lot.

Okay, okay, I’ll stop.

Notes: The suggestion that a demon caught a cold is ludicrous, of course. It would be interesting to find out what it was that weakened him—if Mr. Grayson was right in his observations. An interview with Alfred Pennyworth seems indicated.

 

Statement by Alfred Pennyworth, butler to the Wayne family, regarding the humans he guards. Statement taken by Gwendolyn Aletha Hodges, researcher for the Pervus Institute, on December 1, 2006.

I’m afraid I have strict instructions to turn you away from the Manor, should you be so brazen as to appear here.

Now, Master Bruce has not explicitly told me how to do so. I hope that a firm word will be enough. If you would like a reference for what happens otherwise, I’m sure Mr. Winton D. Herrmann will be happy to oblige.

I have looked over this family for a long time. You will not interfere.

Notes: We have found the unfortunate Mr. Herrmann, a former affiliate of our institute, but he was in no state to be interviewed. All he could say was: “Too many eyes.”

We have seconded this statement to the department of heavenly beings (fallen or otherwise) and will not pursue this angle of inquiry further.

 

Statement by Yulia Ivanovna Medveda, socialite, about an incident at her party. Statement taken by Roland Stankić, researcher for the Pervus Institute, on May 3, 2008.

Where do I start?

I love giving parties. I’m a society hostess—yes, that’s a job—and I’m good at it.

I first met Bruce Wayne—Brucie to his friends—at one. That was… maybe ten years ago, give or take. One doesn’t like to think about it too much. Makes me feel old.

Oh yeah, I slept with him. Who hasn’t? Such a hunk.

My husband doesn’t know. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it that way.

Anyway. When Brucie brought the first kid along, we were all fine with it. The Wayne family line needed continuing, of course, and we couldn’t see why he wouldn’t just, you know, marry and have a son of his own.

Maybe he’s firing blanks.

Dickie Grayson is charming enough. Such a handsome young man, now. With those eyes, you’d think he and Brucie were actually related. Maybe it’s just Bruce covering up for a mishap? I cannot imagine any woman who would let him get away that easy once she’d had his son, though.

But I digress.

Dickie is fine. Brucie’s second ward… well, the kid died, so let’s not talk about him.

This—this child though? He’s a nightmare.

I don’t say that easily. I’m a mother myself, you know.

That’s no child. Oh, he acted normal enough, but as soon as Brucie was busy somewhere else, the brat would levitate the table or break a mirror.

How? With his mind.

I can see you don’t believe me.

We—my husband and I—thought we’d have a séance. Just for fun, you know? They’re in fashion right now. I don’t believe in ghosts.

I don’t.

Anyway, so we invited a medium. Madame Cleo, maybe you’ve heard of her? She’s quite famous in the right circles, I’ve been told. A quack, of course, but a good one, and that’s what counts. She had everything set up to her exact specifications and spent quite a lot of time alone, “acquainting herself with the room”, so I expect the show she set up would’ve been spectacular.

It was quite a select party, not more than thirty people. But of course Brucie had to bring his kid along. Well, I couldn’t say no, could I? Once you sleep with a person, it really limits your options.

I held my breath when the kid entered the room. Nothing happened. I thought—maybe it will be okay.

It wasn’t. Madame Cleo started. Everyone held hands in a circle as she called for her spirit guide. We all waited with bated breath. I expected some shining figure to emerge. Fluorescent paint, maybe.

Nothing happened.

It seemed to disconcert Madame Cleo. I don’t think it was part of her plan. She called again. I don’t know how to describe what happened after that.

There was this book we read in school. My daughter loves it; that’s why I remember that sentence: “And whatever walked there, walked alone.”

Well, at that moment, something walked.

I am a woman, but I have never felt so much like prey before.

My husband and the others noticed it, too. The silence was burying us alive. I don’t know how long we sat there, holding hands in the darkness, unseeing, waiting to be eaten.

Then the pressure lessened, and the lights flickered on.

I actually confronted Brucie about it, after. And do you know what he said? “I don’t believe in séances, anyway. Hire a better actress next time.”

The nerve!

Notes: Contrary to her words, Ms. Medveda seems to be enjoying herself. As she appears to be given to theatrics, I’m not sure how much value we should assign to her statements. An overactive imagination combined with some schoolboy pranks seems to be the more likely explanation here.

 

Statement by Stephanie Brown, former Robin, former “Spoiler”, currently operating as Batgirl, regarding the circumstances around the adoption of her son. Statement taken by Gwendolyn Aletha Hodges, researcher for the Pervus Institute, on October 12, 2012.

When I met Tim, I didn’t know he was Robin. We just became friends. And then I met Robin separately, and we became friends, too.

I was in some—difficulties at the time. Yes, that sort of trouble, you can wipe that understanding smile right off your fucking face. Tim helped me, and my son is safe and cared for these days thanks to his help. That’s all you need to know about that.

We’re still friends. I’d say he’s one of the people closest to me. Yes, people. Who cares about him being a demon, anyway? With Gotham being the way it is, we might as well all be hell-born. Most days, you can’t tell.

He does pretend to be a sex demon occasionally. It’s fucking hilarious. He has no idea what to do. The other day, he climbed into Todd’s lap in the middle of a strategy meeting and tried to be all sultry and shit, but he was emitting those noises instead—like a cat with half a voice box. Like, it’s not sexy at all, no matter what Todd thinks. Dorks.

Did freak everyone out, though. Guess it worked in that way.

Honestly, I don’t know why he bothers. Those two are weird enough without even trying.

Notes: A demon capable of forming friendships—as opposed to ‘romantic’ relationships built on sex and possession—is unheard of. It seems more likely that Ms. Brown has fallen under his influence so entirely that even our enhanced questioning cannot remove it.

 

Statement by Tam Fox, secretary to Tim Drake at Wayne Co., regarding her boss. Statement taken by Roland Stankić, researcher for the Pervus Institute, on October 19, 2012.

My boss? He’s a bit of a drama queen. I know you’re not supposed to say that about your boss, but what else do you call hurling yourself off a balcony on the thirty-second floor just because a meeting is boring? If I did that, he’d be broke paying worker’s comp.

Of course he just floated down a story or two. No one thought he’d actually come to harm, though the new guy turned pretty green at first.

His boyfriend was pissed, however. You know, the tall, rough-looking one. Stops by almost every day, that one, bringing lunch for my boss. Never obeys smoking restrictions. Hot, though. He can come smoke a cigarette in my office any time he likes. Definitely one of the perks of the job.

I do like working here. The pay’s fucking fantastic—don’t tell them I’ve said that, I’m going for a raise next year. Who cares if there are rumors about the boss. He answers e-mails in a timely manner. Do you know how rare that is?

Notes: It seems the demon is mostly successful at passing as a human at work. Having worked corporate myself, I do see Ms. Fox’s point. Further interviews at Wayne Co will likely yield no further results, so we will not pursue that angle further.

 

Statement by Pamela Lillian Isley, also known as Poison Ivy, regarding the burns on her hand. Statement taken by Gwendolyn Aletha Hodges, researcher for the Pervus Institute, on November 10, 2012.

It was Bane’s plan. I think that’s the only reason I’m still alive.

I had knocked them out with my toxin. They’ve become annoyingly resistant over the years, so I had to get inventive. Most of them were down. It looked good for us. Only Red Robin was still moving. When I entered the room, he was just sitting there, Red Hood’s head in his lap.

Bane was standing five feet away from him. I don’t know why he didn’t attack them then and there. It would have been easy.

Maybe he couldn’t.

Red Robin removed Hood’s helmet. Of course, there was a domino under it—can’t fault the bats for not being paranoid enough. My plants were close-by. I could hear him whisper: “J. J. Can I end this game?”

Hood nodded. It was faint, but it was there.

I don’t know what it was about this exchange that made me decide to hide. I tried, anyway. It was too late.

Red Robin dealt with Bane first. Then he turned to me.

What did he do to Bane? I don’t like to remember.

Okay. He ate him.

Bane was laughing when he bit him. Just… “Aww, poor little baby.” Then the poison began to spread. I know poison, but I’ve never seen anything like that. And then Red Robin ate him. I will not be more detailed than that.

You know what he told me, after? “If you ever threaten my family again, I will light your world on fire.”

Suddenly, it was hot. Unbearably hot. My plants were screaming, and I was screaming with them. The air was burning—it hurt to breathe—I was being consumed—and then it stopped.

He was still looking at me.

I nodded. My throat still remembered the flames—there was no way I could’ve spoken.

Finally, he released me and turned back to Red Hood and the others. I’m not ashamed to admit I ran. The handprint you’re asking about—I only noticed that later. The burn was already healing. Sadistic little prick. As if I needed the reminder.

I checked the footage later. Bane always filmed everything—he wanted the humiliation of the Batman caught on camera. There was nothing, only dust.

Notes: This account serves as a chilling reminder of what a demon is capable of. While there were again no records of Bane’s death, he has not been seen since.

 

Statement by Conner Kent, other name Kon-El, operating under the alias “Superboy”, regarding his team dynamics. Statement taken by Roland Stankić, researcher for the Pervus Institute, on November 11, 2012.

Tim? He’s my friend.

I mean, the demon stuff is pretty cool. You can’t bind him with shackles. Our enemies might figure out how to make bindings strong enough to hold Kryptonians, Amazons, and Speedsters, but he can still get out of them. Saved our asses more than once.

He’d be the best of us without that, though. I mean, dude is actually smart. Figured out how to steer that spaceship in minutes. Let me tell you, if we had crashed into that meteoroid, it wouldn’t have been pretty.

Don’t get why everyone goes on and on about Tim being creepy or whatever. He’s just a nerd who hates the outdoors. Should’ve seen him gabble at the mosquitos when I took him camping. He and his boyfriend have Star Trek evenings and invite me along, for God’s sake. People just overreact.

Notes: After the disaster with the Amazons, it’s nice to see that we are indeed able to compel Kryptonians, though I do agree with Gwen that caution is indicated in case it is Mr. Kent’s human DNA that allows us to influence him.

As for the contents of this statement, there doesn’t seem to be anything to follow up on. Mr. Kent appears to be under the influence of the demon entirely. We will let this inquiry rest for now.

 

Statement by Damian Wayne, current Robin, regarding the demon living in his house. Statement taken by Gwendolyn Aletha Hodges, researcher for the Pervus Institute, on December 28, 2019.

Timothy had been a thorn in my side since I first took my rightful place at my father’s side.

I asked Father: “Do Timothy’s eyes always change color?”

And he replied: “Yes. That is normal. Tim is normal.” Which is laughable.

I have learned not to criticize Alfred in his presence. The first time I did and we were alone, he just leaned close—too close—and his face… changed. I do not have the words in my larger-than-average vocabulary to describe it.

All that is nothing compared to the noises, though. No, not the clacking. I woke up one morning to an ungodly shriek, followed by the kind of sounds that indicate someone is dying very slowly. Thinking they were being attacked, I immediately armed myself and stormed into the room it was coming from.

What I saw there? I’m not going to describe it. What are you, some kind of pervert?

It seems that when Timothy becomes… distracted, he begins to channel voices. Living or dead, I do not know and do not wish to know. Screams of torture and pain; whispers of long-held secrets; the vilest threats mankind came up with… that sort of thing. How Todd stands it, I do not know.

Apparently they usually put up some kind of barrier because Todd was tired of being interrupted. They just happened to forget that one time. I’m convinced that sneaksby did it on purpose. Like the time my best white suit just happened to turn pink at the cleaners, despite no red item being present. My revenge will be swift and fierce.

He’s teaching Jon and me how to speak Demon, though. That will be quite useful the next time Grandfather pays a visit.

Notes: We have decided to pick up this inquiry again. It seems the demon’s control over his abilities grows stronger the older he grows. Previous reports indicated slippage in his human camouflage, while Mr. Wayne describes deliberate and subtle lowering of his mask.

We have not been able to study prolonged exposure to a demon before. It’s possible that even while he grows stronger, the people around him become more immune to his tricks. A second interview with Mr. Todd seems indicated, but he is a difficult man to find. We will keep trying to study the demon’s inner circle of people.

 

Statement by Cassandra Cain, former Batgirl, former “Black Bat”, currently operating under the alias “Orphan”, regarding her brother. Statement taken by Gwendolyn Aletha Hodges, researcher for the Pervus Institute, on January 3, 2030.

No.

Notes: Ms. Cain has declined to be interviewed rather forcefully. All attempts to compel her have been thwarted.

I hope Roland is more successful in his own attempt. We are moving onto the big players now.

 

Statement by Bruce Wayne, other name Batman, regarding his family. Statement taken by Roland Stankić, researcher for the Pervus Institute, on January 3, 2030.

I don’t know why everyone insists on being surprised that I took Tim in after the death of his parents. What should I have done? Let him go to an orphanage or foster parents, to face possibly even more abuse?

And it was good to see Jason have a friend. He didn’t have enough.

I admit—I was in over my head at first. Yes, even more so than I had been with Dick and Jason. It’s difficult to find advice on parenting a demon. I googled it. All the forums were full of parents of human children complaining about them.

…I might have dropped a hint or two to CPS about them. Some people have no business raising kids.

Alfred was very helpful, of course, and Dick made much more of an effort this time. It wouldn’t have been that bad if Jason hadn’t watched all these horror movies with him. Tim didn’t crawl on the ceiling before that. Much. He definitely didn’t turn his head all the way around when he hears his name called.

I did train him just like I did the others. He has a natural mind for strategy, and the martial arts training he received from Lady Shiva was excellent. I would estimate he uses his Robin skills about 90% of the time.

The other times, well. I’m usually not around to see it.

I will admit that it has become much harder to break out of Arkham now that it is in another dimension. So that is an added advantage. As are his healing abilities. Apparently, his saliva closes superficial wounds. Damian was not pleased about being drooled on, but I appreciate him not bleeding out.

My team is doing the polite thing and ignoring anything special about Tim. Hal makes the occasional demon joke—‘What is the devil’s picket line called? A demonstration’, that sort of low-brow humor—but he’s getting too old for that.

I did notice that I stopped aging, yes. It was difficult to tell, at first—the job leaves its marks. However, you can only survive so many injuries and look at your fully-grown children every so often without noticing that you are supposed to be sixty, not thirty-five.

I don’t suppose it matters much. None of us invincible, after all. Death will find us either way.

Notes: This explains a lot. It seems that Gotham Manor has acquired something of a reputation, even without the true identity of his owner being known. People say: “If you’re lost, a stray, a creature or a human child—go the manor.” Having now met Bruce Wayne, I can see it.

As for the supposed immortality of this family, more research is needed.

 

Statement by Clark Kent, other name Kal-El, operating under the alias “Superman”, regarding his investigation into his best friend’s lifespan. Statement taken by Gwendolyn Aletha Hodges, researcher for the Pervus Institute, on January 6, 2030.

I don’t know what I expected when Bruce finally told us he had children. We had met Robin—Dick—, of course, so it wasn’t that big of a surprise. Neither was just how many of them there were, officially or not. By that point, I had already figured out he wasn’t quite as stoic and lonesome as he wanted us to believe.

His children were cute enough. A bit creepy, just how many of the boys were dark-haired and blue-eyed, but I suppose I don’t have room to talk.

And then there was Tim. Hal nearly shit himself when Bruce first brought him along.

I confronted Bruce about it. Why did he forbid other’s with powers—myself included—to set foot into Gotham and then went ahead and adopted a meta without a second thought?

He pulled out a scrapbook. A scrapbook. Where did he even keep that in his utility belt? I will never fully understand that man. There were hundreds of pictures, all of them proving, according to him, that Tim isn’t a meta, he’s just a demon who likes to freak people out.

I still say that is a purely semantic argument.

Anyway, Bruce’s stand is mostly hypothetical these days, what with Duke moving in and Jon being over there all the time. The rest of us is allowed to visit, even, as long as we don’t think about helping out.

None of them age. It doesn’t seem that they mind. They’re all adrenaline junkies who live for their job. Yes, you can tell Bruce I said that. He’s heard it before.

Still. I don’t like it. I don’t think Tim asked for their permission. He just casually decided that they should live with him, forever.

Diana is, as always, more practical than me. She points out—and rightly so—that without Tim, we would lose a part of our soul. Would likely have lost him years ago. Jon, too, is simply delighted that he has his best friend with him.

I just wish I could talk to Lois about it. She’s always been more clear-eyed about these things than I.

Notes: It seems like Bruce Wayne’s assertion that they have become functionally immortal has been borne out. I have never heard of a demon binding more than one mortal to him this tightly.

A possible reason is the demon’s aforementioned possessiveness. Even assuming the Waynes don’t go to Christian heaven—which would require them to be practicing Christians and a whole lot of redemption in light of some of their nightly activities—a demon can’t just go where a soul does. Curious, but perhaps not too surprising in the light of previous statements, that this particular demon couldn’t stand that.

 

Statement by Duke Thomas, operating under the alias “Signal”, regarding a warning. Statement taken by Roland Stankić and Gwendolyn Aletha Hodges, researcher for the Pervus Institute, on January 22, 2030.

Hi. You’ve been looking for me?

Are you actually asking me whether I ever noticed anything weird about Tim?

Huh, I don’t know, would the time that he sat me down at the table, as he does every newcomer these days, and told me that he’s a demon count?

Look, you try your little compelling thing. It’s not going to work. Tim thought it was funny enough at first, but people are asking after Red Hood a lot these days, and Tim’s getting a bit tetchy. He’s possessive. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like my demons tetchy.

So, from him to you: Fuck off.

Yeah, I don’t really care if you do. I’m doing him a favor by letting you know, but he’s not the boss of us, even if he forgets. As if Jason would let him.

It’s pretty funny, that. I came into the kitchen the other day and they were going at it. No, not that way—gross, dude. Tim had compelled Damian to do the dishes for him.

Jason wasn’t having it. “Even rich demons have to their share of housework!” Apparently, he has bigger issues with mild mind control than with killing. By the end, Tim was doing those dishes, meek as shit.

I left when Jason started telling him what his reward was gonna be.

So yeah. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about here. It’s just a demon, his lover, and his extended and possibly immortal family. It’s Gotham. What else is new.

Notes: We decided to take Mr. Thomas’s advice.