Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1: Superman

Jason Todd didn't have the greatest track record when it came to self preservation instincts. If he had, the whole crowbar incident -murder really- would never have happened. He might have recovered his sanity a little sooner, before he tried to murder everyone in the Batfamily save for Oracle. All water under the bridge they said- beside the point. Despite having recovered relations with his dysfunctional trainwreck of a family, despite trusting them with his life, despite countless lectures, the Red Hood still had a hard time reaching out when he needed help with the small things.

What were small things? The sole bullet wound from a miscalculated dodge, a case of the sniffles, a bout of depression, or -as such was the case this dreary night- a particularly bad phantom pain.

He figured it was just the price of his healing factor, a gift from the Lazarus pit; but on certain days, before a bad rainstorm, before the snow billowed, certain scars would remind him of their presence. They burned and ached like the day he first received them, sometimes several scars all at once, other times just one old wound at a time. No pain killers would touch them, and soon he actually stopped trying to quell the pain.

If it was bad enough, he'd drop out of patrol; but today he wasn't that unlucky. It was only one scar bothering him as a dank chill swept over Gotham. His throat was on fire. If he hadn't checked in the mirror, he'd have sworn someone had slit his throat all over again. It was a stabbing pain that made swallowing nearly impossibly. Forget talking, that came out as a barely audible rasp. He hadn't been able to talk for nearly a week after the initial injury.

After that week, it took a month for his voice to return to full strength. Apparently vocal cords didn't heal easily.

Despite the crippling pain in his neck, Hood had gone out. It was easy to compartmentalize as long as the old injuries flaring up weren't in his arms, legs, or head. He'd been productive, all things considered. With no small amount of discomfort, he'd busted a warehouse raid, a few drug smugglers, and a bar fight. Now he sat on the rooftops, ignoring the bone rattling chill and leaning his back against a ventilation shaft. His throat throbbed, gloveless fingers reaching up to make sure he wasn't bleeding. His fingers brushed against a smooth raised patch of skin.

"Red Hood."

Jason jumped. Not many could sneak up on him these days. His were trained to- Oh. His emotionless Red Mask settled on the invulnerable alien who'd had the audacity to approach from behind. What was he doing in the Bat's city? He intended to ask as much, but when he opened his mouth to talk, all that left was a raspy croak. He snapped his mouth shut, rolled his shoulders and turned his gaze from the guy who had the potential to make his life heck.

Did the league know he was finally on good terms with Batman?

"You okay?"

Oh frick-tastic. Jason hated pity, hated people asking if he was alright. Since when was he ever all right? Jason glared from behind the mask, knowing full well Clark was peering right past it. The alien sighed, coming to rest on the roof and kneeling next to the teenage hero delinquent. Superman was scanning him, and Jason didn't even have the voice to tall him to stop. Finally he reached up and slapped a hand over Clark's eyes, momentarily yanking his hand back and folding his arms with a gasped out huff.

"Okay, okay." Clark held his hands up in appeasement. "Sorry, I was just concerned." Jason shot him an incredulous look, then pointed at himself questioningly.

"What, I can't be worried about my nephew?"

Jason's eyes narrowed. Clark ignored it.

"Why can't you talk, kiddo?"

Jason shrugged. He had no way to communicate. He'd dropped right out of ASL lessons when his voice came back originally. He frowned.

"Oh... uh here." Superman pulled his reporter's notepad out of a pocket, much to Jason's confusion. He figured Clark must have worked a pocket into his Spandex, which was not inconvenient for anyone not invulnerable. Jason took it, plucking the half used pen from the spiral binding in the top and flipping it open. It was well worn, some of the pages singed, others too wet to be legible. Yeah, pockets in the spandex was not worth the trouble.

He found a page not falling apart and scribbled down- Phantom Pain. Can't talk.

Superman's kind smile tilted to a frown. "Phantom pains? In your neck? I'm afraid I don't understand."

Jason sighed out through his nose. Got healing factor from Lazarus Pit. Heal fast, old wounds ache. Rain incoming.

Superman's frown only deepened. Bruce hadn't told him how Jason returned, said that was for Jason to reveal. The bat had only told the league that the second robin had returned under the moniker Red Hood, and that he'd been temporarily insane. According to the bat 'the insanity is gone, and hood is under my protection. Leave him alone.'

If the Batman claimed that Hood was handled, none of the league was particularly inclined to press the matter. Superman had been all ready to swoop in and give his second nephew a hug, but Bruce had warned him that Jason needed space. They had worked together a few times, but Jason had made it a habit to vanish before Clark could really talk to him.

"I didn't realize you were brought back by the pit." Superman stated offhandedly, much to Jason's surprise. The look on his face didn't even need a verbal translation. He didn't TELL you? "Bruce didn't give us details. Only said you were no longer 'insane' and that you were under his protection... even told those of us who view you as family that you needed space. So we stayed back."

The look Jason was giving him was one of pure gratitude. Clark couldn't tell if it was aimed at Bruce for getting the league to back down, towards The man of Steel for respecting his wishes, or a little both. Though Clark was willing to bet on the last. "Don't worry. It's not my story to tell." Clark continued, not missing the relieved look in Jason's eye. "Though it has to stink having every scar hurt when it rains. Last I checked, it rains every other day here."

Jason scribbled some more- Not every rain storm, not every scar. Just occasionally, once a month maybe, sometimes one, sometimes several. Today just one on my neck. Hurts like when it happened, couldn't talk then, can't talk now, can barely swallow. Miserable, but I'll live.

Superman nodded.

"Does it get worse when the rain actually hits?"

Jason shrugged, tipping his hand back and forth. Maybe, maybe not. Clark sighed, watching the stormy clouds advance ever so slowly.

"Well come on then. Your bloody knuckles are telling me that you already got your punching in for the day. Why don't we go somewhere a little bit warmer? I can have you back before midnight."

Jason gave him a hesitant gaze, eyes narrowing slightly. It wasn't that he distrusted Clark. In fact, next to Nightwing, Clark was the one guy everyone could pretty much trust. He had the resolve of a warrior, the keen mind of a investigative reporter, and a heart bigger than the sun. It meant Clark had a tendency to dote though, and Jason wasn't sure he could stomach being doted on. The Bat never doted, his younger brothers never doted, and Nightwing was never given the chance to dote on him. He wasn't sure he wanted his... uncle? to be the one to set the doting ball rolling.

"Come on, I haven't gotten to talk to you in ages. It'll be fun. I know a great place, and the tea's amazing. It might soothe your throat a bit."

Jason couldn't lie. It sounded nice.

Tell no one. Especially Wing.

"Deal." Clark beamed at him, and Jason instantly regretted agreeing. Maybe it was some part of him longing for familiarity, a friendly environment that he had cut himself off from for the most part. The Hood didn't need fun. He had a job to do. But just this once, he could cut back, let go. Clark's cape was suddenly draped over his shoulders, much to Jason's irritation, and the Man of steel was launching into the air.

Jason had forgotten what it was like flying alongside Clark. His helmet kept the wind from assaulting his eyes, the wind from making his ears ache, but it was still a wondrous sensation. The boy realized that the cape had been to keep him warm, and subconsciously, he pulled it up around his neck to protect the scar. 

"You know-" Clark called above the night wind. "We haven't done this since you were little!"

Jason jolted at the memory. He'd been small, wearing the Robin suit. It'd been only a few month before Ethiopia, and for the first time, he'd truly felt the freedom of a bird. The cold air and sensation of flying through the clouds wasn't something that swinging from a grappling hook could produce. Clark had taken him flying for his birthday. His heart ached for the old times. He nodded slightly, tucking the cape around his neck. The he wormed out of Clark's grip, holding tightly to his arms and letting his feet hang, trailing slightly behind them. The man of steel didn't try to stop him, only attempting to restrain a slight smile.

He wasn't overly worried.Even if Jason had lost his grip, Clark could have backtracked and caught him. But he'd seen the kid operate, even as the Red Hood. His fighting had adapted from the acrobatic style all Robin's used, to a more close quarters style that screamed of gang influence yet still on occasion incorporated wide movements and somersaults. In short, Clark knew Jason was still acrobatic, even if he didn't opt to use the style often.

He didn't have to peer past the mask to know Jason was smiling.

They landed in Smallville, just outside the farm house of Martha Kent. Sure, Clark's dad had passed on, but Martha still made her home open to all who graced its doors, often times Leaguers who had nowhere to go on the holidays. The old woman, with her gray hair pulled into a tight bun, met them at the door. Jason smiled slightly. He'd never met Ma Kent, but he'd heard the stories. Somehow, she'd even gotten the Batman's reverence, and even stranger, gotten him to eat pie. He wondered briefly what a Ma' Kent and Alfred Pennyworth team up would look like.

The crickets were chirping, the air much warmer than in Gotham. He plucked his hood off, taking in a deep breath of warm farm air and ignoring the twinge of pain in his throat. He missed the smile from Clark.

"Clark!" The woman smiled widely, stepping down the porch steps to throw her arms around the alien she'd helped raise.

"Hey, Ma." He gingerly wrapped arms strong enough to rend cars in two around the delicate, yet spry old woman. She pulled away, placing a hand on his cheek.

"Are you eating? You seem kinda-"

Jason snickered quietly, earning the old woman's attention while Clark muttered a mortified Ma under his breath.

"Ma, this is my nephew, Jason Todd. He's Bruce's second son."

"Let me get a look at you." Ma demanded warmly, grabbing his arms. Her gaze was piercing, appraising, and finally she nodded, as if deeming Clark's words true. "He stands like Bruce. Now why don't you both come on inside. It's chilly out here."

No where near as cold as Gotham. Jason thought to himself, following obediently. He wrinkled his nose thoughtfully, adjusting his stance slightly so his shoulders hunched. A heavy hand collided with his back, forcing his shoulders straight.

"It's a complement." Clark muttered, a wry smile on his lips. Martha missed the exchange, standing to hold the door open as the hero and the vigilante entered the warm kitchen. Jason blinked. It was just like he'd imagined a farmhouse kitchen, but not cliche. It was warm and inviting, not big like the manor's kitchen, but not small either. It wasn't cluttered, but not designed to be immaculately arranged either. There was an old oak table, with a blue checkered table cloth in the corner, and enough chairs for five or six people.

"Oh family rule son-" Martha's hand grabbed his forearm to catch Jason's attention. "No capes in the kitchen. I left some of Bruce's clothes upstairs in the Guest room right next to Hal's. Go get changed."

"I'll show you where."

Jason nodded silently, following behind Clark as the man of steel led him through the quaint little home towards a stair case. Upstairs, there were four bedrooms. Clark's had a bunch of newspapers tacked to the door, but the guest room had a sign tacked to it labeling it as such. It was done in pretty lettering, shadows of a corn field used as a backing for the white lettering. Jason grabbed the handle and twisted it.

The guest room had a twin bed, a dresser with five drawers, a closet, a painting of a corn field on the wall, and a desk. Jason inspected the dresser, resting his Helmet on the bed before he pulled open the drawers. Much to his amusement, he found clothes of all sizes and colors, including a few 'hero' themed shirts. He found a green lantern fan shirt sitting next to a batman fan shirt. He grinned wickedly, pulling the bat shirt out and a pair of jeans probably meant to fit Bruce. He found a belt, probably Hals', and cinched the remaining slack out of his jeans. He was as tall as Bruce, his shoulders equally as so.

But he was slimmer at the waist. He folded his clothes and left them to rest on the end of the bed, his helmet settled on top.

Clark met him outside the door, leading him silently downstairs. "Bat themed shirt huh?"

Jason grinned slyly.

"Too bad you swore me to silence."

Jason's grin broadened. they arrived downstairs, and Ma had already whipped up a hearty dinner. Jason felt bad. He wasn't sure if he could eat any of it, that was until she set out a warm soup with small chunks. His stomach growled slightly. Yeah, he could make it.

"Have a seat." She waved, at the table, setting a tea pot down next to the fried chicken and mashed potatoes. "I see I was right. Bruce's clothes fit you nicely. I'll buy you some better fitting ones for the next time you visit."

Jason bit back a startled expression, smile barely faltering. Martha, if she noticed, didn't say anything about it. Clark, patted his shoulder as they sat down. Jason hadn't said grace in years, but apparently, it was a Kent family tradition. Jason could be respectful of that. After Martha was finished, she started passing around the food. She noticed he didn't touch anything but the soup and tea, raising an eyebrow slightly at Clark.

"Are you alright, Dear?"

Jason looked up, startled as his muted green eyes locked with hers. He shrugged slightly.

"He has a sore throat. Not contagious!" Clark quickly added. "A phantom pain from an old injury."

"Injury?" Ma gave him a look. Jason paled suddenly. He remembered now why he wore a high necked spandex suit, and a jacket. He hadn't even though about it when he slipped the batman shirt on; but the scar was there to see, a nasty jagged cut in his throat. He rubbed it absentmindedly, missing the look of horror on Martha's face and the way Clark's face pinched in worry. The old woman recovered quickly. "I see..." Her voice was hesitant. "Can... you talk?"

He shot Clark a look, requesting help in explaining the situation.

"He can. But not when his throat is hurting like it is today. He should be better in twenty four hours-ish, right, buddy?"

Jason nodded, not smiling as he had been previously. He spooned a little soup, staring down at the bowl and keeping one hand pressed to his throat. Martha had questions. So did Clark; but since Jason couldn't talk, they wouldn't press. Yet.

The Red Hood felt a frail hand lightly grab his wrist. "It's okay. We aren't squeamish around here. Actually, I've housed a few heroes recovering from less than pretty wounds." She said offhandedly. Jason let his hand drop.

He wished he could have protested when Martha grabbed his tea cup and stood up, walking to the fridge to add a lemon wedge. He had to admit, both the warm soup and the lemon tea did wonders to soothe the pain.

After dinner, Jason helped Clark clean up. He was ready to get back to Gotham, get back to patrol. It was late, just after ten. He could still squeeze a few more hours of patrol in. The throb in his throat had started to die off to a dull ache. He still couldn't talk, but he hadn't bothered to try yet. As he dried and put away the last of the dishes, Martha shuffled in, her hair in pin rollers.

"Jason, dear. It's late. Why don't you both stay the night?"

Jason shook his head, waving his hands quickly. The gesture was clear enough when you added his worried frown in. Don't want to be a bother.

"Oh nonsense. You're staying and that's final. I'll cook you up a nice breakfast and send you off tomorrow morning."

Jason wondered what happened when the Bats got worried? He usually checked in, but on the off occasion, did ignore them. He'd been doing more and more these last few days, and some part of him wondered if tonight would be the night they started looking. If they couldn't find him, Bruce would probably start questioning people. But a breakfast that wasn't cereal did sound wonderful. He let out a sigh and nodded slightly. Bruce could just deal with it.

He slept well that night. Maybe it was his subconscious telling him that he couldn't really be safer, sleeping a room away from the man of steel. Or maybe it was the warm supper, or perhaps his unwillingness to drag Ma Kent into the crap load of problems that his dreams dredged up on a nightly basis.

Either way, he was grateful for the reprieve. They let him sleep in, his tired mind too muddled to listen to his internal alarm clocks ringing. He woke up around nine, feeling better than he had in a long time. He threw the covers off and yawned, his own voice, albeit still raspy, greeting him. It took him five minutes to make the bed and slip downstairs. Ma was cooking porridge over the stove, and Clark was reading the paper.

"Morning, Dear." Martha greeted warmly, wiping a bit of steam from her brow and setting the spoon aside to smile warmly.

"Good morning." He rasped.

Clark smiled. So the hood's voice was returning. He had a lot he wanted to discuss with Jason, not just the scar, though that was still on the list. Superman was a licensed medical practitioner. That cut could have easily had his nephew bleeding to death. For all Clark knew, his Nephew had bled to death. He shook the thought away and motioned for Jason to join him. Martha served them both up coffee, and Jason muttered a thank you.

No one spoke for some time, Clark occasionally casting a glance at Jason, who was staring at the table with a tired look in his green eyes. Did that kid ever get sleep? Green. His eyes used to be turquoise. Thoughtfully, he remembered that the Lazarus pits had a lot of lasting consequences to their users, including but not limited to physical changes and insanity. It seemed both had gotten a hold of Jason.

"You're staring."

Clark went wide eyes, chuckling slightly and grabbing his mug. "Just thinking about how much you've changed." Wrong thing to say. Jason's lips tilted to a frown, eyes looking a little more green. "I mean you've grown!" Clark backtracked. "You've grown up, matured. You do good work in Gotham."

It seemed to just barely do the trick. Hood sat back, fixing him with an unreadable look, lips still tilted into a frown.

"What do they call you?" Martha asked curiously. "I mean, in the suit."

"Red Hood." Jason replied, still casting a sideways -now most certainly a glare- look at Clark and sipping his coffee. Something hit the man of steel, something old and rarely discussed these days.

"Like the Joker?" Yes, Clark had covered the last Red Hood's supposed demise at Ace Chemical company. Bruce later revealed that the Red Hood who had unfortunately taken a tumble into the vats was now the clown prince of crime, the one who wrought havoc upon Gotham. The one who killed Jason.

The boy's frown turned into a malicious smile. "Ironic isn't it?"

"Quite." Superman took a long sip of bitter coffee and furrowed his brow. Yes, the Joker had taken Jason's life, and Jason had taken the Joker's name. "Was it to get Bruce's attention?"

"Yes. and no."

Martha raised an eyebrow, joining them at the table. It didn't fit into the conversation, but unless they got to talking about scars, she doubted it would. "How'd you get that wound on your neck?"

Jason froze, eyes wide. His fingers ghosted the wound as he sucked in a breath and sighed out through his nose. What was he supposed to say? He doubted Ma Kent knew Bruce well enough to understand what had gone down that night. He didn't want to dredge up all his own psychological issues either. Superman wouldn't fully understand either. In some ways, there was no way to excuse what Bruce did, but there was no way to excuse what Jason did either. They had both thrown caution to the wind that night. Bruce was trying to save lives, and whether he was aiming for Jason's throat or Jason's hand, the boy didn't know. He hadn't even let Bruce know about the wound or the scar later on.

He'd come to terms with it. Bruce was trying to save lives. Sometimes though, a dull anger burned in his gut at the memory. He wouldn't kill the Joker, but he'd throw a batarang at his own 'son's' neck. If it even was aimed at his neck. There were too many screw ups that night to even start pinning blame. So Jason had just chosen to not think about it. He wasn't sure what to think about it.

He hadn't realized he'd zoned out until Clark's hand came to rest on his shoulder. Explanation time. "Someone threw a knife... back when I first started."

"As Robin?"

"Ah no... I briefly uh..." He rubbed his head. "Retired, from the hero gig. When I came back and took the name Red Hood, someone threw a knife at my neck."

Clark was frowning; he could tell Jason wasn't telling the whole truth. the boy's heart had practically stuttered at the question, pulse quickened, even as he answered. His easy going smile was enough to appease Martha, but the reporter in Clark was getting suspicious. Why wouldn't Jason want to tell? Was it embarrassing? Wait. Clark paled. Did he do it to himself?

He wasn't able to relax the rest of breakfast.

"I do hope you'll come back." Martha smiled sweetly. The sun was up, warming SmallVille until the small country town was engulfed in a pleasant heat. Clark hadn't bothered to change back into his suit, advising that Jason carry his in a knapsack. He didn't want to attract the neighbor's attention.

"I uh..." Jason faltered. "I will." Someday. He added mentally. He liked her. She was caring, a lot like a mother. He hadn't had one of those in years. No. He wasn't going to attach himself to that luxury, but he could at least put the woman at ease.

"Travel safe." She called as Superman scooped Jason up and tore off into the sky. They'd been traveling a good ten minutes at a slow pace just below the clouds before Clark finally spoke up again.

"So what really happened?"

"Caught my skirt around the truth, huh?" Jay replied flatly.

"More or less. You don't have Bruce's ability to lie."

"I didn't really lie. Someone did throw a knife at my neck."

"Who."

He honestly expected the kid to either lie, or say himself. He didn't expect Jason to say- "Bruce." It felt like a weight off his chest to say it.

If he hadn't been more careful, he might have dropped Jason in his shock. As it was, he heard the kid snap his mouth shut, and let his own jaw drop. Bruce, who'd had his share of epic mistakes but overall been a very attentive father, had sliced his own boy's neck open? Surely this was some ploy. Bruce had mourned Jason! But the kid's steady heart beat told the truth. He doesn't have Bruce's ability to lie.

"Bruce... but that- but..."

"It's like I told Mrs. Kent, that's a very long story, one that happened too long ago to dwell on. I was insane, actually about to blow the Joker's brains out."

"He stopped you from killing the Joker by trying to kill you?" That didn't sound like Bruce at all.

"He stopped me from blowing things up. Though I'm not sure if he was actually aiming at my neck or not." Jay admitted.

"I-"

"Look, uncle Clark, I know what you're going to say. But listen to me carefully. It's in the past-"

"But-"

"-and we both screwed up that night, but we're fine now... Better than fine. Like I said, I'm not even entirely convinced he was aiming for my neck in the first place." No lies so far. "I've let it go, and so should you."

Clark narrowed his eyes.

"Does he know?"

"Know what?"

"Did you tell him that you went mute, how badly you were hurt... Does he even know that he nearly killed you?"

"No, and I don't plan on telling him." Jason didn't want to discuss it any further, which was fine by Clark.

Good. Clark thought to himself, still feeling somewhat betrayed, somewhat worried. Cause I'm gonna do it myself. I don't want to hurt you, Jason, but Bruce needs a good dose of reality.

Jason had been dropped off at the safehouse of his choosing. Much To Clark's surprise, Jason was far more orderly than he had been all those years ago; and kept his place well stocked. Superman didn't linger, instead bidding Jason good bye and arranging to meet him at the Bat Burger next week for an official catch up. He wanted everything, everything Jason couldn't discuss in front of Ma Kent, everything he hadn't been willing to discuss on the way home.

Jason had reluctantly agreed.

Now Clark Kent, mild mannered reporter, very ticked off and concerned uncle, stood behind Bruce at the Batcave. Jason was going to kill him, but he didn't really care.

"Can I help you?" Bruce asked, slowly swiveling the monitor chair to face Clark. Bruce had a bruise on his jaw, dark bags hung under his eyes. Clark would have asked him if he was fine, despite the fact that Bruce's only reply would be a grunt. But he was too anxious to do so. Instead he crossed his arms.

"Yeah. An explanation would be nice."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "About?"

"Well I bumped into Jason last night." Had to leave out the part about taking him to Ma Kent's. "You know he occasionally gets phantom pains?"

The way Bruce's gaze narrowed, a pensive frown flitting across his rugged face. "No."

"Yeah. I'm not entirely surprised."

"Your tone's getting Colder, Clark."

"Well don't you think it's a bit odd that he didn't tell you about it? That he'd tell me and not the guy who's supposed to be his father?"

"Clark. You're a reporter. Stop wasting my time and just tell me what this is about."

"He couldn't talk last night, Bruce. He has a gash on his throat, probably healed up ages ago! Do you know who gave it to him, who slit his throat open? I'll give you a hint! He's big and dresses like a bat!" Clark bellowed, in no way missing the way Bruce had gone bedsheet white. He thought back to all the times it could have happened. Only one stuck out in his mind.

"I- I was aiming for the detonator in his hand."

Clark fought to restrain his temper. "You can't tell me you didn't know!"

"It was a lot of movement, and I lost him after the bomb went off."

"That's not an answer!" He snarled. "You're supposed to be better than that!" Clark pointed out. "You're the one who tells us to rise above the people we fight! The Joker killed him once, and you nearly kill him again! He was mute! He couldn't talk. It's..." Clark lowered his voice. "I'm not entirely sure how he survived it, Bruce."

The Batman looked pale, equally ashamed. It was a startling look. He honestly had no clue; the world's greatest detective didn't know.

"I-" Clark dragged a hand down his face. "I gave him my number. If I find, that you hurt him like this again, I don't care what you've done in the past... for me or the other heroes... I will bring the entire wrath of the league down on you.

Bruce nodded, almost relieved. "I'd expect nothing less... But Clark, you know me. I never meant-"

Clark raised a hand. "Just don't... I believe you had go intentions. I... I don't think you wanted to kill him, but you nearly did." Clark sighed, looking down. He took a deep breath and nodded. "You're still my friend. That's why I'm telling you. Because I am your friend. I care about you, and I care about Jason. Am I ticked off? Absolutely. And while I don't think you meant to hurt him that badly, you did. Now from the sounds of it, you both were out for blood that night. It doesn't excuse you, and it doesn't excuse him. You both needed a good kick in the pants, and I wish I'd known what was going down. But I didn't. He had the opportunity to hurt you last night, and he didn't. He respects you, and I've seen that you two are working hard to make amends. Don't mess it up... not again."

Bruce silently tilted his chin in affirmation. And satisfied that he'd said his piece, the man of steel turned to leave.

"Clark." Superman stopped. "Thank you. I... I needed to hear that."

"Make it right, Bruce. Talk to him about it. He doesn't know you weren't trying to kill him... He told me as much."

A wave of air in the dank cave told Bruce that his friend, and sometimes worst enemy had left the premesis. He'd need to talk to Jason about the phantom pains, about his neck. Did Jason honestly think that Bruce was trying to kill him? He hoped not. It had been a misfire of his throw. Somehow, that made Bruce feel worse. He was supposed to be better than that. He was supposed to never miss, to not make these mistakes... and yet he had.

TBC- Next up Dick and Alfred

Chapter Text

2: Nightwing and Alfred

Jason sat with his head bowed. Warm tacky crimson dripped down his back under the kevlar spandex, probably from the gaping hole in his shoulder. It was a lucky shot, armor piercing rounds that shouldn't even be in the Alley. He'd been working hard to keep those out of his city. A lotta good that did him. On top of it all, he'd failed to save someone in his alley.

He could still see the girl's pale life-less face, mouth agape in a silent scream, blue eyes glazed and sightless. They'd beaten her to death when she failed to dredge up due drug money. He had almost lost it. He'd almost lost the fragile peace he'd been working so hard to maintain with the Batfamily. But rather than bodybags, he'd settled for putting them in full body casts. He knew one guy who'd be eating out of a straw for weeks.

There was little doubt in his mind that he'd still get flack for it. The bat didn't appreciate the kind of brutality Hood had shown tonight. He'd grit his teeth, just sit through it. He knew he probably deserved whatever he got. He half expected Bruce to use his fists to get the point across. The old man had done it once before. A cold chill settled in his gut, mind fogging over as he let himself see the the young woman he'd failed so miserably to protect.

He was aware that he was slowly yet surely slipping into shock. Blood loss'll do that to a man after a while. Yet, despite it all, he could barely find it in him to care. Far bellow, the police were wrapping the woman in a bodybag. They weren't shocked, weren't queasy. Queasy cops got used to the sight of dead bodies in under a month. Gotham was a pit of evil, where hundreds died each year, at least one body a night. The bats did what they could... but it wasn't always enough.

He couldn't even muster the strength to jump when a hand came to rest on his shoulder. He just stared blankly at the ground.

"If you're gonna yell at me about beating them within an inch of their lives. Get it over with." The words came out empty, filled with resigned hopelessness. If it had just been a body, he might have been fine; but things were just stacking up on him. It was getting close to... That time of year. The month he died, the month he was beaten with a crowbar... just like that woman had been.

"Hey." Nightwing knelt in front of him, pulling the chin of his mask up so their lenses locked. "I have to admit that I might have done the same thing. They're not dead. So let's count that as a win, huh?"

Jason just stared blankly at him.

He didn't even protest when Nightwing reached behind his head to depressurize his helmet and pull it off. Jay's pallor left much to be desired, a thin sheen of sweat coating way to pale skin. Nightwing took a good look at his eyes, sucking a breath in when he saw how dilated Jason's pupils were.

"You're in shock."

Jay shrugged, hissing slightly when the action jarred his shoulder. Nightwing cursed, lightly reaching forward and tugging the lapel of Jason's jacket away from his shoulder. Tacky crimson was slowly soaking into the black kevlar, surrounding the GSW. Dick inhaled, lenses narrowing. "Okay." He swallowed. "How long you been bleeding, huh?"

"A while."

"Alright. We need to get this taken care of." He reached up to his comm piece. "Agent A, I need you to send the Batmobile to my coordinates. Then prep medbay. We have a GSW, upper right shoulder..." He stood up and peered at Jason's back. "No exit wound. Looks like we're gonna need a blood transfusion too."

"Understood. I'm sending the car post haste. Do you need assistance?"

"No, I wasn't shot. It's Jason. Just have things ready when I arrive." He pulled a pressure bandage from his belt, pressing it to Jason's shoulder and ignoring the pained shudder the action recieved. "Alright. Let's get you home, Jay."

"Bruce..."

"Not there. He went on a league mission, dragged Damian with him. Something about it being a good learning experience. Tim's with the Titans, not due back for a few days." He wrapped an arm around Jay's shoulder, gently goading him to stand. As soon as he was upright, Jason took a step and nearly collapsed. He probably wound have if Dick hadn't been gripping him so tightly, one hand keeping tight and painful pressure on the wound. Jason focused on the stabbing pain, letting that agony clear his head just a little.

He'd never admit that he needed Dick's help that night. He'd never admit that he couldn't take very much of his own weight, that he actually needed Dick's help to make it off the roof. The roar of the Batmobile was a welcome sound for once in his life. "Hey, talk to me, Little Wing." Dick whispered in his ear, tightening his grip. Jason shuddered, knee trying to give out slightly. "We're almost there."

"I couldn't save her." Jason whispered, letting his head sag slightly. "They... they... She died like... I-" He shook his head. "Freaking crowbar."

Dick eased Jason down into the passenger's seat, pulling him into a half hug. "You did what you could, Jay. You did everything you possibly could have. You avenged her."

"I should have finished the job."

It was whispered, but filled with such hateful fury that Dick's throat tightened. He agreed. He honestly did. "But you stayed true to your word. No killing. You did what you could, and you did it well." There was little more that Dick could say. They all came face to face with death on a regular occurrence, but it wasn't often that you came face to face with someone who died the way you did... a mere week away from your death-aversery. Dick would be a fool to tell him things would be all right.

"Right." All Jason felt was empty.

"Master Jason, can you walk?"

Jason blinked. He'd completely ignored Dick's attempts to get him to talk the way home, letting him drone on about Bludhaven, the weather, and his job instead. He'd been keeping pressure on Jason's shoulder, babbling and working valiantly to keep him awake. When Alfred started talking though, Jason roused himself from the depths of his own mind to nod numbly.

Except he couldn't, not really. As soon as his feet were under him, he slumped into Alfred's arms.

"Oh my dear boy, why didn't you call us?"

He felt Dick and Alfred half carry half drag him to the med bay. His own legs fought a bit to help them out.

"He's in shock."

No I'm numb. Jason corrected mentally, not finding the will power to move his lips. Then it dawned on him that he may very well be suffering Hypovolemic shock from his untreated wound. The thoughts were fleeting, more impressions than anything.

"I can see that." The next thing Jason knew, he was being stretched out on a medical berth. Dick worked to elevate his legs as Alfred used shears to cut away his kevlar top. "I'm sorry, Master Jason. There's little I can do to save this jacket, but rest assured, I will replace it."

"S'fine." Jason slurred, closing his eyes. "Lost a lot more tonight..."

Alfred hummed, snipping open the kevlar and pulling it away from the wound. He was tunnel visioned, instantly assessing the wound. "Master Dick, he is as you said 'in shock,' Hypovolemic shock to be exact. Start a blood plasma and platelet transfusion immediately. Then secure an oxygen mask. I want that heart monitor running, and-"

Jason barely registered the intense pain of Alfred stabilizing his shoulder, time passing in little blurbs surrounded by moments of black time loss. He felt something cold and hard press against his cheeks; an oxygen mask, he realized. Dick's face was hovering above his. But there was a frown on his lips, gaze settling a little lower than Jason's chin. He was saying something, not to the former Robin; and his eyes were locked with Alfred's, who'd paused his ministrations. A gloved finger traced something on his throat. Oh. Jason couldn't find it in him to care that they'd seen that. Normally, this is why he avoided treatment at the cave. 

That scar was a painful reminder of how mentally screwed up he'd been two years ago. On top of that, he didn't want to give them more reason to be ticked off at Bruce, or him. He wasn't sure which one of them would get the Flack about it; but that scar was his burden to bear. He didn't want to be trouble. He was enough trouble; and while he'd never admit it to their faces, he didn't like to be a burden. Dick was talking again, this time to him, the murmurs never quite processing in his mind before the pain and exhaustion dragged him under.

Alfred hummed, snipping open the kevlar and pulling it away from the wound. He was tunnel visioned, instantly assessing the wound. "Master Dick, he is as you said 'in shock,' Hypovolemic shock to be exact. Start a blood plasma and platelet transfusion immediately. Then secure an oxygen mask. I want that heart monitor running, and-"

Dick stood frozen, staring almost stupidly at the state of his brother's chest and neck. Dozens of scars, bullet wounds, burn marks, and knife slashes that were either freshly stitched, puckered and red, or white reminders of old wounds. How many times had Hood been as bad as he had tonight, and not called someone- anyone- for help? How many times had he been forced to drive stitches through his skin rather than having help and painkillers that actually worked on him? How many times had Dick unknowingly failed to be there for Jason?

"Master Dick!" Alfred snapped, a force worthy enough to draw him from his thoughts. Cold fury settled in Dick's chest as he moved, hooking up IVs to replenish the precious fluids Jason had lost, and pressing an oxygen mask over his brother's nose and mouth. He'd already elevated his feet, so he settled at Jason's head. The kid- he had never really gotten the chance to grow up- was barely clinging to consciousness.

"Stay with us, Jay-bird." Dick muttered, watching Alfred fish for the bullet. "You want some pain killers?"

Jason didn't register, barely even blinking.

"Yes, get him the pain killers."

Dick moved to comply when his eyes dragged across Jason's neck. He froze, eyes wide. "Alfred." The fear lacing his tone caught the old butler's attention. He snapped his gaze up, and Dick reached forward, dragging a finger across the scar.

"My word." Alfred breathed.

"It's old... you didn't know about it?"

"No." Alfred pressed his lips together, returning to work. As much as he'd like to gape or demand answers, he wouldn't be able to if his charge bled out. He needed to compartmentalize and focus on the real problems. Dick on the other hand had an ever growing ache in his chest. "He did not come here for help."

Dick looked down at his fading little brother. "Something tells me he never really does."

And that was something the oldest bird planned to change.

Dick sat beside his little brother, watching his vitals like a hawk. It had taken them some time to get him stabilized, and Alfred had even gotten him on some wickedly strong pain medication. Due to the Lazarus pit, Jason's wounds healed twice as fast, but pain medicine barely touched. Bruce blamed it on his fast metabolism. Tim, friends with two different speedsters, had been the one to develop a pain medication for fast metabolisms; and at Bruce's request, had developed a dialed down version for Jason.

The retired boy wonder didn't appreciate drugs all that much, probably because his mom had been an addict. It's why he'd cracked down so hard on drug trade in Crime Alley. But, since Bruce was gone, and the wound had been severe, Alfred had made the executive decision to give him pain medication anyway. 

Dick nearly startled when Jason mumbled, shifting uncomfortably and grumbling something under his breath.

"Hey, Jay... you with me?"

"Nah..." Jason slurred. "M'in Candyland..."

"Oookay then."

"Gotta follow the p'rple road... Find s'me acid to melt the J'ker. Tin bat d'sn't want me to... To... Uh..." Jason slipped into mumbling incoherently. Dick just blinked. Finally the retired Robin went still again, and Dick settled back in his chair. Huh. Pain meds make him loopy.

"Th'n Bang!" Dick jumped. "Thr'w a flying monkey b't'rang at m'neck." His fingers inched up to rub the scar. "W'nt mute... J'ker got away.from th'cid.. Mmmm... f'nny."

"Uh...?" Dick was frowning now, "So uh... Tin Bat gave you that scar on your neck?"

Jason hummed incoherently, shaking his head. "Nnn... N't l'stenin... Flyin' monkey b'tarang."

"Right..." Cold dread filled Dick's chest, welling up from a locked down section of his mind. Bruce had screwed up countless times, with all of them. And every time he either directly or indirectly hurt one of them, he locked the hurt away and ignored it. But every time something else happened, cold, bitter, angry fire tore free; and Dick felt less and less control every time.

"C'n I go back to sleep now?"

"Sure." Dick patted Jason's bicep gently, never taking his eyes from the scar, fingers on his free hand tapping the call button. "Get some rest."

"You called, Master Dick?"

"Yeah.... I just had the most bizarre and enlightening conversation in my life.." Dick stood at the bat computer, tone clipped in anger. "I need the access codes to Bruce's cowl footage."

"May I ask why?"

"That scar on Jason's neck. He woke up, wasn't very lucid; but he let onto more than he realized. He was talking about his return to Gotham... I think. Alice in Candyland edition... would'a been funny if he didn't say that tin bat threw a flying monkey batarang at his neck to stop him from melting the Joker with acid... I don't have all the details about Jay-bird's return, but I do know he tried to kill the joker."

"That he did." Alfred looked troubled, reaching past Dick to insert the codes into the computer. Dick was a master hacker. He could have accessed the codes in no time flat. Dick knew it. Alfred knew it. There was another reason the first boy wonder had asked his grandfather to do it. They both needed to see it.

"Alright..." Dick's finger dragged down the scroll button. "Two years ago... two years ago... There's a whole bunch of footage missing.. a big block of dates. Jason's not here."

"Do you suppose he erased it?"

"Maybe. But we both know Bruce. He was in strong denial at the time; however, he always keeps his case notes for future reference... even the ones of Jason's death. I think he probably transferred them to a place where he could access them only if need be. A place he would have to work a little harder to access."

"Hmm, quite right Master Dick... Perhaps check his cold cases file."

"Not a bad idea, Al." Dick closed out of the Cowl footage, accessing Bruce's cold case notes himself. There weren't many, but at the very bottom, he found one labelled-

Restricted Access.

"Should we?" Dick actually sounded hesitant. Then the cold denial swelled. Bruce wouldn't- couldn't- do that to Jason... right? They needed to know. It was Alfred who clicked.

"Bingo."

He found the video by the unintentional thumb nail. Jason, with wickedly green eyes, holding a gun to the Joker's head. With bated breath, Dick clicked the video. He'd never seen this first hand. He'd watch every video involving the entire indecent before the night was out. But this would satiate his curiosity, quell or enrage the fury in his gut. It hurt to watch, to hear Jason pleading with Bruce, evidentially out of his mind with grief and anger. I should have been there. Things escalated, badly. Dick could have thought of several ways on the fly to handle the situation without what happened next. Because low and behold, Bruce did indeed throw a batarang. Dick's stomach dropped; the cup in Alfred's hand shattered against the cave floor.

"Holy Crap..." Dick lurched from the seat, fingers pressed into the cool metal desk, eyes wide in disbelief. "Holy freaking Crap. He did it. He actually... threw a knife... at Jason's neck!"

"Nnnn... Ow-"

"Hey, take it easy. We weened you off the pain meds last night. You've been pretty out of it."

Jason's blinked, eyes assaulted by the glare of the medical bay's operating lights. Dick reached over to turn them off, replacing them with the soft blue glow of the ambient wall lights instead.

"Sorry, we just checked your stitches. Needed the light. How do you feel?"

Jason's neck was stiff, but he managed to tilt his head over and look Dick in the eyes. His throat was dry, meaning they'd had him drugged. Wait, Dick had said that already. It gave the dead boy wonder a chance to take stock of his injuries. His shoulder, obviously, was the worst. He'd managed to re injure his ribs in the scuffle with those drug dealers, but overall, they were just bruises. He was alive...

"How long?" He croaked.

Dick checked the monitor next to Jason's bed. "About twenty-eight hours. Your healing factor's done a lot. How do you feel?"

"I'm fine. I'll get out of your hair." He moved to sit up, his head spinning almost as soon as he did. Dick's hands were on his shoulders, shoving him back down.

"Oh no you don't. You're staying put... at least until supper. Alfred's making your favorite."

Jason flinched, letting his head sag back. "Really I-"

"Bruce won't be back until tomorrow night... if that's why you're running. But honestly, we need to talk about that."

"My problems with Bruce are mine and mine alone."

"That's not what I meant. I'm talking about the running." Dick put a hand on Jason's arm, drawing his attention. "You know you can always call us when stuff like this happens, right littlewing?"

Jason didn't respond, wouldn't meet his gaze.

"Look, I know we've had our differences in the past. I do. I'd be foolish not to acknowledge that we've definitely had our spats. But you're my little brother. I haven't shown it like I should, and that's on me. But I'm trying, honestly. I want to do better; I want to be there for you... for all of you." He was of course referring to the other robins. "I'm not going to force you to do anything; I don't have that right... But if you're down, hurting, injured... I want you to call me. I won't involve Bruce; I'll... I'll bring Alfred and come to you."

There was something akin to surprise in Jason's eyes. Dick felt a surge of triumph.

"Please, Jason. Stop trying to carry all your burdens alone."

"Dick... just... don't. I've always carried my own burdens. No one's really ever been around long enough to help me. You can't take the circus out of the trapeze artist, and you can't take Crime alley out of the street rat. Every time I've put my trust in others, I've been let down. I've let others down. I deserve to walk this road alone."

"I'm sorry, Jay." Dick lowered his head.

"Don't-"

"But I'm your family. You're right. I wasn't there for you; but I am now."

"We're not, family." It sounded dead, resigned. Dick shot him a look.

"You don't get to make that call."

"What-"

"You don't get to tell me who or what I am. If I say I'm your family, that I'm gonna be there for you, then that's my prerogative." A fiery passion had lit Dick's voice on fire, and Jason couldn't find it in him to tell the big bird to shut up. "I will be there for you. Do you understand?"

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I'm not."

"I must agree with Master Dick." Alfred' voice carried from around the corner. Jason tilted his gaze as Alfred appeared. "You are expected to call at least one of us when your injuries are this severe. Unlike Master Dick, I am making that an order. Do we understand each other?"

Jason's refute died in his throat, eyes widening. Alfred was ticked. At him? He lowered his gaze guiltily. "Yes, sir."

Alfred's hand lightly gripped his. "Oh my boy, I'm sorry. I'm not upset with you. " He and Dick shared a look. "Not entirely at least."

"Wha-"

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Dick demanded sharply, tone suddenly angry. He pointed at the scar on Jason's neck.

"I... it's old. A reminder of how mentally messed up I used to be."

"No, it's a reminder that you- we have a crappy excuse for a father sometimes."

Jason went wide eyed. "You know?"

"You were high on pain meds. Deliriously reciting your return to Gotham... You were probably thinking about it when you passed out."

"Oh..."

"Bruce and I will be having words. Lots of them."

"You don't have to-"

Dick leveled Jason with a furious gaze. "You're not the only one he's hurt in some way or another. This was just the straw that broke the camel's back. Alfred and I... we watched all the cowl footage. I could tell you were insane, and there was no excuse for Bruce not seeing it too, for not handling it better."

"But you know me now." Jason pointed out. "That's how you could tell I was insane. But Bruce didn't have a basis, didn't know that there was hope-"

"That's not an excuse." Dick growled. "He threw that batarang. He could have killed you."

"Wouldn't that have just been better?!" Jason cried in frustration. "I'm a mess! I'm a screw up! Every one knows that." Alfred gripped his hand like a lifeline, eyes wide and panicked.

Despite the horror Dick Grayson felt at those words, that wasn't what he chose to address at the moment. It was time to level the playing field. "Yeah, well I'm no angel either. I'm the one who actually killed the Joker." He shot back.

"What?"

The golden boy dragged a hand down his face, looking suddenly aged and tired. "I beat him to death. I thought he'd... killed Tim, and then he started... talking about you... and I lost it." He looked guilty, but not that much.

"But he's alive now."

"Since when does death actually... you know... stick?" Jason shrugged slightly. "And honestly? I'm glad death doesn't stick. I'm glad you're alive, Jay. Please don't ever believe that we would be better off without you. You're just lying to yourself."

"Indeed, Master Jason. Such thinking breaks this old man's heart."

"Okay... Okay..." Jason couldn't find it in himself to believe them fully, not Dick at least. Alfred had this way of getting past all your defenses. It would take some time yet for Dick to do the same; though he'd made significant progress tonight. "Okay." When Dick hugged him from the side, Jason let his head rest on his older brother's shoulder. It was probably the pain meds, but the embrace wasn't entirely unwelcome this time.

Bruce was tired, beyond tired. As he stepped from the glowing vortex of the boom tube, he let his shoulders sag slightly, his posture droop. Dragging his cowl back, he sighed slightly. The only things left to do were update his files and get some shut eye. Damian looked spry as ever. Oh the blessings of youth.

He still sent him upstairs to bed. As soon as the elevator door slid shut behind the youngest robin, the swivel chair in front of the bat computer slowly turned to face him. Dick was sitting there, elbows on the arm rests, fingers pressed together in front of his chest.

"Hello, Bruce." His tone was icier, derived right from the Arctic. Bruce did a double take. Nightwing was mad.

"Dick..."

He tapped a button on his phone. Suddenly a video sprung to life on the monitors. An infinitely looped video, a GIF. It consisted of a flying batarang, one which embedded itself into Jason's neck. Then the video repeated. Bruce felt his throat tighten. Oh.

"Ah, so you've noticed my little project!" Dick said with a plastic smile and fakely cheery tone. "I mean, I couldn't figure out why Jason insisted on handling all his highly lethal wounds personally... But then he told me... Told me that he believed we'd be better off with him gone or dead... Not to mention the fact that he was -for reasons still beyond me- defending you."

"Dick-"

"Oh no, don't you Dick, me. You screwed up. Again. And then, guess what! You left your mess to get infected, to spiral out of control! Jason's gonna get himself killed 'cause you're an idiot! Throwing a freaking batarang at your son's neck! What happened to no killing huh? That was a kill shot, BRUCE!" Dick waved his arms for emphasis, beyond livid. "You won't break your no kill rule for the Joker, but when your hurt and betrayed son comes back, and pours his heart out to you, he gets a batarang to the neck?! I mean, come on!" 

Bruce stared Dick down, but every word sent daggers through his heart, left him with a growing hole in his chest. Dick had always been able to tear him apart verbally, whether the twenty-one year old knew it or not.

"Is that what's gonna happen to me? If I get mind controlled, or brainwashed. Are you going to try and kill me like you tried to kill him? What about Tim, or Damian? Do I need to be worried about what you'll do to them? I mean, you haven't had the greatest track record with me or Jay. How do I know you won't snap at them, for their mistakes?"

"Dick, I wouldn't-"

"Don't tell me you wouldn't!" Dick roared. "You did." And for the first time since he started talking, Nightwing's voice cracked. "You betrayed, Jay. You hurt him worse than the Joker ever could. Now he thinks he's worthless. Because of you." Dick stood up, glancing at the Shadows. Alfred stood, not noticeable unless you were looking for him directly. Bruce felt like someone had taken the air right out of his lungs. The man was leveling him with a grim and disappointment look, and that in and of itself was crushing. Alfred would have said something, had Dick not had it well handled. All in all, he was content to mediate, knowing that Bruce felt the wrath of both of them. Dick looked back to Bruce. "I'm not surprised he refuses to come to us for help."

There was a long moment of silence.

Finally Bruce found his voice. "I... I wasn't aiming for his throat."

Dick's eyes narrowed. "After all those lectures you gave us about not letting go of the batarang unless we knew for sure what it was going to hit... You missed." His voice was dripping with venom. "Does it honestly matter, Bruce?"

A sigh. "No."

Dick walked forward, until he was mere inches away from Bruce's face. The old bat could look into his son's eyes and see the fiery anger, all of it, all that had built up over the years. When he spoke, his voice was low and cold. "I love you, Bruce." It didn't have the usual warmth behind it. "But if you ever touch Damian, Tim, or Jay again... I  will know." He leaned closer. "And I will be the one to personally put you down. I'll put you in Arkham."

Chapter Text

3: Barry Allen and Diana Prince

The Flash loved running. It seemed like his whole life was spent in one constant blur of motion. It was life for him. the people he carried when he ran, not so much. Diana and the league were used to moving at Flash's speeds. He'd given them all lightspeed piggy-back rides at some point or another. He'd learned pretty quickly that he should always move well away from the barf radius the first time he carried someone.

Diana was currently in his arms, having opted to go to Gotham City with him. They didn't step foot in the bat's domain often, for obvious reasons. But when it came to league business, they made themselves right at home. The Watch Tower was having a mini virus crisis, thanks to Hal's insistence that they needed videogames on the main computers. The virus had knocked Cyborg out of commission, and Batman was the next best choice to deal with it. Diana had been there, thus giving her an excuse to tag along.

Barry cut through the back side of the manor, planning to make a beeline for the front door. Something else caught his attention instead. A young man was standing in the graveyard behind the house. Barry knew family of the bat was buried here. He frowned. The kid was tall and stocky, like the bat, but not him. There was a white streak in his hair, glowing in the moonlight.

Barry stopped suddenly, skidding and sending a small wave of dirt and grass into the air. He winced. Alfred was going to kill him for messing up the well manicured lawn. Setting Diana down, Barry slowly approached the kid. His back was turned. He was talking.

"Hey little me. Long time no see." He laughed bitterly. "I guess I've been putting this off. Bruce is coming back soon; and heaven knows I don't want him catching me out here, talking to my own grave... Might give him an excuse to toss me in Arkham. Know what I mean? I guess you don't. You didn't know Bruce like I know him now. You were naive enough to think he was actually going to be there for you. Well guess what?" He curled his fists, anger leeching into his voice. "He wasn't. Not many folks are these days. But then again. I'm used to it. We were used to it. Being on the streets, doing whatever we had to do to scrape by. So... Nothing new? I guess. Dick's trying to reach out, but... I have a really hard time getting past the fact that he resented me before... before the Joker beat us to death. You remember! He said we shouldn't be wearing his colors, that we weren't good enough. And I'm still not."

Jason lowered his head. Barry and Diana were frozen. How on earth had Jason not noticed them? It felt morally wrong to stand there and listen as the clearly depressed kid poured his heart out to a stone slab and empty coffin; but at the same time, neither could muster the will power to approach him. Suddenly the boy -Barry and Diana both knew it was Jason at this point- tilted his head back and poured the last few amber drops from a whiskey bottle into his mouth, casting the glass bottle away.

"He's drunk." Diana whispered sadly, now understanding why his senses were dulled. Jason snorted quietly, followed by a sniffle.

"-never am good enough... never will be. They hold their love out like a carrot. 'I might treat you like family if you go back to being the scrawny little kid I lost all those years ago.'" Barry felt his heart sink. "Don't kill and maybe I won't try and skewer you with a knife." Diana stepped forward, stopped only by Barry's outstretched arm. "Sometimes I just wish I was still in that stupid grave. Then maybe I'd be blissfully unaware of the real Bruce." Jason scrubbed a tear away with his palm. "Wanna know a secret, kid?" He lowered his voice. "We're all replaceable. He put 'A good solider' on the memorial in the cave. Soldier! Not son... not friend. Soldier. Dick got hurt. Bruce replaced him. I died. Bruce replaced me. Stephanie died. Bruce replaced her. I should have seen it sooner. All I was, a pawn in his game. He needed help. I gave it to him and thought his hospitality was love. I... you... were a fool. Guess that's on us. We were so desperate for some sense of normality... that we actually thought he cared."

Jason inhaled slightly.

"Maybe I'll give Alfred a shot. He was always straight forward about things. Dick... I dunno. Maybe I'll try a carrot of my own. See how long it takes him to go back on his word. I give it a month. Tops." He let out his breath, shuddering. "I didn't get to talk to ya last year... probably because I was too busy being insane. But... I needed to get that off my chest. I don't know what to do anymore." He admitted. "It feels like a never ending cycle- hope, betrayal, hope, betrayal. I don't... know how to get out. I just want it to stop. I want them all to leave me alone, to stop trying to get my hopes up. They can't look past my mistakes. They can't trust me. Everyone knows that. I'll mess up. I'll let them down. And it'll hurt worse in the end."

Jason scooped up his liquor bottle, the tears on his cheeks glinting in the moonlight.

"Sometimes I wish you could talk back. Sometimes I wish you could give me some advice... Cause I can't rely on anyone but myself. Everyone else is going to turn their backs. Heck, most of 'em already have."

Jason turned to leave, and Barry grabbed Diana, vanishing before he saw either of them. Jason did blink, thinking for a moment that he had seen someone before chalking it up to his inebriated state of mind.

"What the heck." Barry muttered as they stalked up the stairs towards the manor. "What the heck. What the-"

Diana shot him a look. "Barry, I am as... concerned as you are."

He knocked on the door. "Concerned! Concerned? I haven't seen the kid in like... six years! And the first time I do, he's talking to his own freaking grave! That's not even mentioning the fact that he was verbally expressing his wish to be dead, possibly referencing child abuse, and drinking under age! I'm not concerned, Diana, I'm absolutely mortified! Bruce said he was fine. That does not look like fine to me."

When no one answered, he knocked again. And still no one came. Finally he jiggled the door knob and found it unlocked.

"That kid needs help. My nephew needs help."

Alfred wasn't upstairs. So they let themselves into the cave. Neither Diana nor Barry were expecting a full blown shouting match when the elevator doors opened. Dick was sitting at the computer, half standing, arms braced against the seat, yelling at a shocked looking Bruce.

"Oh no, don't you Dick, me. You screwed up. Again. And then, guess what! You left your mess to get infected, to spiral out of control! Jason's gonna get himself killed 'cause you're an idiot! Throwing a freaking batarang at your son's neck! What happened to no killing huh? That was a kill shot, BRUCE!" Dick waved his arms for emphasis, beyond livid. "You won't break your no kill rule for the Joker, but when your hurt and betrayed son comes back, and pours his heart out to you, he gets a batarang to the neck?! I mean, come on!" 

Barry went wide eyed, Diana pressing her lips into a line. A batarang to the neck? Is that what Jason had been referencing at the grave? Dick was furious, ice in his voice as he spoke.

"Is that what's gonna happen to me? If I get mind controlled, or brainwashed. Are you going to try and kill me like you tried to kill him? What about Tim, or Damian? Do I need to be worried about what you'll do to them? I mean, you haven't had the greatest track record with me or Jay. How do I know you won't snap at them, for their mistakes?"

Barry could hear raw and agonized pain in Dick's voice, fury, panic, heartbreak all rolled into one. He was standing now.

"Dick, I wouldn't-"

"Don't tell me you wouldn't!" Dick roared, and Barry jumped. "You did." And for the first time since he started talking, Nightwing's voice cracked. "You betrayed, Jay. You hurt him worse than the Joker ever could. Now he thinks he's worthless. Because of you. I'm not surprised he refuses to come to us for help."

Neither was Diana. She looked angry, fists clenched until her arms shook. They spotted Alfred in the shadows, but none of the bats had spotted the Amazonian and the speedster. Their mission, inform Batman of the virus, had been abandoned. Right now they were too concerned for a young boy who seemed to be at the end of his rope.

"I... I wasn't aiming for his throat." Dick cast a sideways glance at one of the monitors, leading the two superhumans to do the same. On a repeating loop was the horrible moment where a father had ultimately betrayed his son. Barry covered his mouth in shock. Diana's eyes hardened.

"After all those lectures you gave us about not letting go of the batarang unless we knew for sure what it was going to hit... You missed." His voice was dripping with venom. "Does it honestly matter, Bruce?"

They all watched Bruce mull over all his son had said. He met Dick's eyes with a sigh. "No."

Dick walked forward, until he was mere inches away from Bruce's face. The old bat could look into his son's eyes and see the fiery anger, all of it, all that had built up over the years. When he spoke, his voice was low and cold. "I love you, Bruce." It didn't have the usual warmth behind it. "But if you ever touch Damian, Tim, or Jay again... I  will know." He leaned closer. "And I will be the one to personally put you down. I'll put you in Arkham."

The words were all that filled the cave for a long moment. Had Bruce really hurt his kids? Bruce, the guy who'd always looked proud of his robins, had their utmost respect, mourned over Jason's death. But he couldn't deny the footage... and apparently neither could the bat. Barry looked from Dick to Bruce, the tension hanging in the air between the two powerless crime fighters thicker than a quilt.

"And I'll help him."

Every head in the cave turned to Diana. She was crossing her arms, glaring daggers at the cowled hero. Bruce pressed his lips together when he saw that the conversation had two extra pairs of ears. Finally he nodded slightly, turning his gaze towards Dick.

"Good."

Dick was taken aback, eyes widening as Bruce side stepped him, undoing the clasps to his cape and stretching it over the back of his chair.

"Good? That's all you have to say?"

"What do you want me to say, Dick? I messed up. I missed his hand and hit his throat. I nearly killed him. You said it yourself. Do you want me to defend myself? Do you want me to yell? I mean, I can!"

Dick narrowed his eyes. "No. I want you to wake up. We aren't soldiers." His finger shot out towards the memorial. "We fight by your side because we want to. We care about you. And maybe it's time you started acting like that matters." Acting like. Dick didn't honestly believe Bruce cared. He'd been losing sight of the father in the bat for a long time now. It was a far cry from his days as Robin. Sometimes all he saw was Gotham's brutal protector. "Maybe it's time you started acting like we actually mattered to you. Or else just cut ties with us... all of us. Because if you don't care about us, then it'd be really nice to know. Some of us are tired of you getting our hopes up over and over and over again."

He spoke for more than just himself. Bruce could see that, see the raw pain. He looked down, not meeting his eldest son's eyes. Positive emotions were something Bruce found hard to express. He'd locked down those parts, years of being hurt over and over again finally taking their toll. But in doing so, he'd unwittingly injured his sons, their faith in him. He didn't have to do research, to think very hard, to find the points in his life where he'd failed them. And those days gnawed at his heart, his mind, his soul.

The silence stretched. Dick dropped his gaze, grief written on his face.

Barry couldn't believe what had just gone down. He'd come to warn Bruce about a virus, but stepped into a hornet's nest of problems instead. Impeccable time Barry. Bruce was ignoring both Barry and Diana at this point. He turned his back on Nightwing wordlessly.

Nightwing inhaled, clearly battling back a thick wall of emotions. "Okay." His voice shook. "I'll just... go then..."

He made it up the ramp to Barry and Diana, eyes red and tired. Barry wanted nothing more than to pull him into a bear hug, tell him everything would be alright. But first he needed to rip Bruce a new one. Diana was of much the same mind set. Barry did grab Dick's arms, stopping him. "Go upstairs and help Damian pack his bags. Get Red Robin and head straight to Titan's Tower, Bludhaven, Metropolis... I don't care where. Just don't come back to Gotham unless superman or I personally give the all clear. Okay?"

Dick nodded jerkily as Barry released him.

"Good. Go. I'll swing by with Wally tomorrow. We'll have pizza and play laser tag until we pass out from exhaustion." A tiny smile flickered across Dick's face, and Barry counted it as a win.

"I'll help you pack, Master Dick." Alfred said quietly, standing a little close than he had been before. Both Nightwing and the Bat-family butler entered the elevator. As soon as it was closed, Barry let his anger bubble.

"Bruce. What the heck?"

"Barry. I'm busy."

"Busy shoving all your family away. I saw your son by the way. He's so depressed that he's drinking entire bottles of whiskey." He saw Bruce go utterly still at the keyboard. "Pretty interesting what your depressed nephew says when he thinks he's all alone. Which he does by the way. Literally and figuratively."

Barry dealt with child abuse on a regular basis, of all types. He never... ever thought that someone he considered a brother and a best friend would be guilty of such a heinous offense himself.

"Your actions are dishonorable." Diana stated flatly, joining Barry behind Bruce. "How are you any better than his first father?"

Bruce whirled on Diana. "Don't compare him to me!"

"No, Diana's right. Maybe you didn't beat him in a drunken rage, but Willis sure didn't slice his son's neck open with a knife." Barry added. "He's depressed! Only an idiot can't see that! He's alone, Bruce. You've shattered every iota of trust he ever had. He barely trusts Alfred! Alfred! Everyone trusts Alfred!"

Bruce flinched.

"He said he wished he was still in that grave, Bruce. And you sure haven't been helping him." Barry took a steadying breath. "Now, I'm leaving. Before I do something I regret. I'm taking your kids with me. All of them. You will not talk to them until you've done some serious introspection... Because you're abusive. Do you hear me? You. are. abusive. Until I see change, I'll be keeping them. You're fortunate that I'm not involving the authorities, 'cause I'm a cop Bruce. You know that. I should. I should go to the nearest police station and tell them everything. But I'm giving you one chance to prove yourself. One. Screw it up, and I'll help Dick throw you in Arkham. I promise you that."

Flash turned to leave. Diana stood there. Both Barry and Dick had gotten the point across significantly, but she had one parting gift to give.

Barry watched Diana drive her fist into the Batman's jaw, knowing it didn't even begin to make up for the pain he'd caused his sons.

Jason sat in a dingy bar, halfway through another bottle of whiskey. He certainly couldn't see straight, and whoever said that alcohol took care of your problems was wrong. He just felt sadder than ever. He'd been lucid at the grave sight. Now he was a mess, thoughts fragmented, an overwhelming failure pressing at his gut. One hand was resting on the bottle, his face buried in his arm, nose brushing the table. It was stupid, stupid for him to be so off his game, stupid for him to be drunk into oblivion.

"You're right." A kind voice said, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. Jason hadn't meant to utter the words aloud. He wobbled, looking up and seeing a swaying blond headed man kneeling next to the table.

"Uncle b'rry." He slurred.

"The one and only, kiddo." The whiskey bottle was pulled from his fingers.

"Hey..."

"You're underage. Technically I should be giving you a ticket, but I'm out of my jurisdiction." Jason felt hands pulling him up, another set of arms. He smelled strawberry and leather. "Come on... You're getting outta Gotham."

"No.." Jason shook his head, pulling his arms free and swaying heavily. "gotta... *urp* protect the alley."

"You're not doing squat like this, Jay." Barry said, gently grabbing his chin to draw his hazy attention. "You need some time to get your head on straight. I saw you at the grave tonight. You're not alone. And I'm going to prove it."

"Oh..."

"Where are we taking him?" Diana asked from Jason's left, dragging his arm across her shoulder and pulling him close. It was strange, dragging your formerly dead nineteen year old nephew out of the crowded dingy bar. People leered at them as they passed. Barry went through a mental check list. He could let Jason stay with Dick... but the last thing Jason needed was to be crowded by people he could barely trust. He needed neutral ground and an alcohol free zone to get his head on straight. Jason needed a place where he would have no need to put mask on and fight crime.

He needed Ma Kent's perfect little Smallville.

"Take him for a minute. I'm gonna call Clark. Then I'll call Dick and find out where they went."

"N't Dick..." Jason slurred, shaking his head. "'e'll tell Br'ce." Barry winced. He should have probably clarified that Jason wasn't going to the same place Dick was.

"Well firstly, I'm not taking you to Dick. And secondly, I don't think he'll be talking to the bat any time soon. Bruce practically disowned him again tonight." Jason jolted at that. Barry had stepped away, phone pressed to his ear. His blue eyes were studying Jason with an uncanny amount of worry. Jason tried to pretend he couldn't see that; because heck, he sure didn't understand it.

"Wha-"

"Hey Clark, It's Barry. We have a situation."

She nodded. Jason would get time to heal. And They'd be keeping a watchful eye on Gotham's so called protector.

TBC 

In the next Chapter: Ma Kent makes her return, and finds out some pretty horrifying details about Jason's unfortunately short yet eventful life... Dun Dun Dun!

Chapter Text

4: Ma Kent

The Lazarus pit changed people, physically and mentally. Jason could personally attest to this fact. His increased metabolism made drugs and alcohol less effective, meaning it took a whole lot of alcohol to actually get him drunk. His tolerance was already high; meaning it took a lot of alcohol to get him drunk. Jason Todd was utterly wasted. Barry hadn't immediately dragged him to Ma Kent's despite calling ahead to let her know they were coming. Instead, he forced a safehouse location out of Jason and made him take a shower and pack his bags.

The nineteen year old slightly insane vigilante did both jobs without much protest. They say when you're drunk, you become the exact opposite of who you normally are. Jason was normally brash, loud mouthed (at times), and stubborn. Now he was quiet, subdued, obedient, and depressed. Barry watched him almost lifelessly throw things in a dufflebag, keeping it neat. Most teenagers Flash knew were sloppy and unkempt. Jason wasn't any of that. His weapons were lined neatly, everything in its place, fridge well stocked. Barry helped himself to a power bar.

As he checked on his young charge, he saw Jason sticking his guns in the dufflebag. "Woah woah. You aren't gonna need those, kid. You're going somewhere complete safe... with lots of farm tools. If you need a weapon, I'm sure you can find one." The speedster assured, gently pulling the twin pistols out. Jason stared blankly at them before shrugging lightly.

"Okay."

Barry thought he'd have put up more of a fight. Barry watched him zip the duffle bag shut before sitting down on the bed and staring at the floor. "Jay?"

"Why'rya doing this?" Jason asked, voice a little less slurred than when they picked him up from the bar. "I'm not worth it."

Barry jolted at the open admission, standing up sharply and kneeling in front of the bed, in front of Jason. His hands gently gripped Jason's shoulders. "Now you listen to me. You are definitely worth it. I know Bruce hasn't exactly done a good job of saying it, but you are a great kid. Rough? yes. Irremediable? Absolutely not. You've got a life ahead of you, Jay. A good one. You're going to help a lot of people, but not if you get yourself killed. I don't know what kind of crap Bruce has got swirling in his head, but I can name a lot of people who don't appreciate what he's done to you. I'm one of them."

Jay looked up at him blearily. "You're just saying that."

"Why would I? Jason, if I didn't care, I wouldn't have run by every bar in the city to find you. If I didn't care, I wouldn't have gone and helped Dick yell at Bruce on your behalf. If I didn't care about you, I wouldn't have brought you home and helped you pack. If I didn't care about you, I wouldn't be here telling you I did. I'd be at home kissing my wife and watching chick flicks. But you are my family. Maybe not by law; but by bond. I've always loved you kiddo. I practically claimed you as my nephew the day Bruce first brought you to the watchtower. You spray painted Hal's boots hot pink and doused superman in confetti. Then somehow conned me into cleaning it all up." Barry smiled fondly. "My awesome little street smart nephew."

"But that's the old me." Jason said quietly, looking sad, wistful.

"Nah. You're the same. I mean, didn't you spray paint the batmobile hot pink last year?" Jason snickered at the memory. For a while, it had looked like things between him and Bruce would look up. How wrong he'd been. "You grew up. It happens, Jay. You got smarter, stronger, wiser, a little less brash. But I can still see little Jaybird in you. You have a heart for people in the alley, you hate drugs. And while yes, your methods are brutal... Batman told me that the people in this alley love you. They love Red Hood, not Robin."

Jason frowned as he thought about it. Barry drove a good point, but some part of Jason's mind shoved against it.  "Red Hood's broken."

"You turned a name associated with fear and pain into a symbol of strength and protection. The first Red Hood brought you down, but you stole his name and threw it back in his face by turning the Red Hood into a hero. You made his name the exact thing he hated. And every night you wear it, you rise above what happened. Some might say it's holding you back... but hey, those are the pessimists who can't see what it really is."

Barry spoke with a conviction that cut through Jason's defenses.

"The Red Hood isn't broken. He's been reforged. The man underneath though." Barry gripped Jason's shoulders. "He needs help sometimes. There's nothing wrong with that kiddo. I know a lot of people have hurt you. Hurt you bad. But I want you to try and give us one more shot. That's all I'm asking. Let us try and be there for you."

"I'm going to mess up. Then you'll turn your back on me like Bruce did."

"Sure you're going to mess up. It's called being human... something I wonder if Bruce even realizes. It doesn't matter though. Everyone screws up, some worse than others. But it doesn't matter. You have a good heart, kiddo. I know that one day, you'll be a great hero. But you can't do it alone. Everyone needs a helping hand, and I promise that I won't be the one to burn you. I refuse to stoop to such levels."

"Bruce'll get to you. He always does."

"Bruce can go take a hike. He's not going to get to me. I took the time to update the league on the situation while you were in the shower, and-"

"You told them!" Jason panicked, jerking free and rising to his feet. Folding his arms over his chest he moved so his back was to Barry. "Crud crud crud crud."

"Hey hey, slow down. I didn't tell them the little details. I told them that Batman should be considered for probation from the league due to allegations of child abuse. Really, the only thing we could pin him on was you. You're nineteen right?" Jason nodded numbly, still feeling the slight sting of betrayal. "That means he cut your neck open when you were seventeen. a year and a half ago. Look, I told them as little as possible; but most of us already knew something was up. I didn't tell them about your depression. Besides, Dick agreed to take the brunt of the questions. To protect you actually. Apparently there have been a few incidents, but I'm not going to betray his trust just like I won't betray yours."

"He... he's making a move against Bruce?"

Barry grabbed Jason's shoulder, forcing him to turn around. "Kid. We take down criminals for a living. If one of our own stoops to that level, then yes. We deal with it. I don't let anyone hurt my nephews-" He pulled Jason into a hug, earning a surprised huff from the kid. "-Ever. I got you, kiddo. Clark's got you, Diana's got you, Alfred's got you, Dick's got you, and I've got you. That's five people at least. You're not alone. You aren't the only one he's hurt. I promise."

Jason sniffled, sinking into the hug. "Thanks, Uncle Barry..."

"Anytime, Jay. Anytime."

Barry waited a full thirty minutes while the alcohol left Jay's system. Surprisingly, there was no hangover to accompany it, meaning Barry could just pick Jay up and run. They made it to Ma Kent's in under two minutes. Jay hadn't run at super speed often, meaning as soon as Flash stopped and set him down his stomach rolled. He didn't throw up, but he did drop to hands and knees to gag.

"Sorry, probably should have warned you."

"S'fine."

Barry helped Jason to his feet. "Ma Kent's expecting us. And not even Dick knows you're here." Jason nodded appreciatively. "It's not that I don't trust him; but he said that when you were ready to tell him where you were, then he trusted you would. Until then, he'd give you space.... but Dick also said to tell you that he'll drop everything and come running... if you need him."

The gesture touched Jason more than he'd probably ever admit to another living soul. Dick was trusting him, trusting him to reach out when and only when Jason was ready to talk. He found himself smiling slightly, much to Barry's satisfaction. Dick's actions had spoken volumes where his words could not. Barry wrapped his arm around Jason's shoulder, leading him towards the house. He knocked on the door, getting a prompt answer.

"Jason." Ma Kent breathed, looking over the disheveled kid.

"Hey, Mrs. Kent."

Her heart broke at the tight yet highly pained little smile. Barry hadn't told her much on the phone, just that Jason was so depressed that he'd been drinking himself into oblivion. The woman wrapped her arms around him, much to his surprise. He wasn't a hugger, not by any means. But something about having Superman's sweet little old mom hugging you just made the reciprocation a little easier. It wasn't a long hug either, which Jason honestly preferred.

"Come on in." She ordered, nodding slightly behind her. "I thought you were drunk, so I poured some OJ."

"I was." Jason admitted with shame in his voice. "But... I'm not normal. Drugs, stuff like that, doesn't affect me for very long. Didn't even have a hangover... If it's alright, I'll still drink the Orange Juice." Martha nodded, handing him the cup.

"Does Bruce know you drink?"

Martha knew she'd slipped up when both Jason and Barry flinched. Barry looked at Jason, eyes narrow. I have to tell her. The look said. Jason just pursed his lips and lowered his head. "Okay."

"There's some things that recently came to light." Barry announced slowly, sitting next to Jason. "Things about Bruce... I guess it really started two years ag-."

Jason held up his hand. There was a tired resigned look on his face. He was no fool. Ma Kent needed to know, needed to know the kind of boy she was letting in her house. Jason wasn't even sure Barry knew fully what he'd done. Jason had talked about leaving a test, bait so to speak. Well it was time to lay the trap. If they still gave him a chance after knowing just how low he'd stooped, the lines he'd crossed, then maybe... just maybe he could dare to hope that they wouldn't just toss him out when he inevitably screwed up again. With a shuddering sigh, he downed his Orange Juice, set the glass aside, and stared at his hands. "You can't tell a story from the middle, Uncle Barry... It won't make any sense. The story really starts nine years ago... When batman found me stealing the tires off the batmobile."

Barry snorted. "Wait what?"

Jason spared no detail, explaining how he'd been a street rat from crime alley. Talking about stealing the tires, being taken in by the bat. "Dick had already flown the coup; so I asked to be robin. It took a lot of convincing but..." Jason sighed. "Dick resented me for a long time over that. Ya know? Bruce adopted me, didn't adopt him until a long time after I'd come on the scene. Then I stole his suit, his partnership, his life I guess.'

"He doesn't resent you now. You know that right? In fact, he told me after you died that he regretted not being there for you. It's what drove him to be a better brother towards Damian and Tim."

Jason shot Barry a surprised look. Dick had never told him that.

"Please continue, dear."

Jason nodded. "It was great for a while... Three years actually. Dick started warming up to me a little, but then Ethiopia happened." He never lifted his eyes from the table as he talked about trying to take on the Joker, and getting caught in the process.. If he had looked, he'd have seen Barry's fingers curling in rage, Ma Kent's pale face and horrified gaze. He glossed over the day of torture, not wanting to relive those memories any more than he had to. It still wasn't glossed over enough. Martha Kent looked sick.

"It was so stupid!" Jason cried in frustration. "I guess I was trying to prove I could; but I was brash stupid... and I paid for it. With my life." He shuddered. "I spent the next few hours getting well acquainted with the business end of the Joker's crow bar. I kept holding onto hope that Bruce would get there in time to save me." Barry put a hand on his shoulder and Martha kept her mouth firmly pressed against her hand.  "But then the strangest thing happened. The Joker just left. I managed to..." Jason sucked in a breath. "I managed to crawl to the door. But It was locked. That's when I heard the bomb."

Martha lost all color, standing up sharply.

"I'm sorry." Jason said quickly, rising to his feet. "This was a mistake; I-I shouldn't have-"

"No. You need to tell someone." Martha said sharply. "And I want you to feel free to speak here." She walked from the other side of the table pushing him back down and sitting in the chair directly next to Jason. He looked at Barry, almost fearful to continue. He didn't want to burden Martha with the tale.

"Go ahead, Kiddo."

Jason shook his head, feeling that this was suddenly a very bad idea. Regardless of how good the idea was, it seemed they had no intention of letting him leave until the tale was done. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and remembered the cloth wood tomb that became the second most traumatic moment of his life. "I woke up in my grave."

Fifteen minutes later the tale was done. A lot of his time with the league of assassins was a blur, and he chocked it up the pit insanity. Martha and Barry listened as he talked about what he did remember. He had to explain the Lazarus pit, and Barry made sure to add that those who used it did indeed become insane. Jason talked about returning to Gotham, trying to kill Batman, even making a few attempts at his younger brothers before his final showdown with the bat. It was a struggle to spit out the words, to relive the fourth worst day of his life.

He rubbed anxiously at the scar on his throat.

"Did father give you that?"

Everyone jumped a mile, even Jason. He wasn't sure how a steak knife wound up in his hand; but he was holding it towards the doorway leading to the living room. "Gah! What the heck, Demon Spawn!" Jason cried, spotting the little mini batman hiding in the shadows. Jon stood sheepishly behind him. How on earth had no one noticed them just... lurking there? "What are you even doing here?"

"Yeah... I'm kinda wondering that myself." Barry growled, gently grabbing Jason's hand and plucking the knife away.

"I was tired of Kent's house; so I convinced Jon to bring me here. I was hoping perhaps to help your neighbor with his cows again."

Martha let out a sigh, taking the knife from Barry and leaving it to rest on the counter. Jason shook his head. He'd been okay talking about to Martha and Barry... barely. But now he'd told two eleven year old bratts who certainly couldn't keep their mouths shut. "You know what. Just... Barry take me back to Gotham. I'm fine." Jason growled.

"You never answered my question, Todd." Damian stated, ignoring everything else going on the room. "Did my father do that?"

"Uh - Damian, now's not the-"

"Yes." Jason hissed, going from panicked to ticked in two seconds flat and cutting Barry off at the same time. "Your father sliced my neck open and nearly killed me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Silence.

Martha put a hand over her mouth, and Jon looked uncomfortable. This was no news to Barry, who just let out a breath.

"Yes. It confirms Grayson's words." Damian looked slightly crestfallen. "My father really did attempt to break his code. He made me swear that I would not kill, saying that he had done the same... yet, he threw a knife at your neck. Brutal punishment is nothing new to me. We both know what punishment in the league of assassins is like." And that they did. "However, attempting to kill you is dishonorable, given my father's code. Not only that, but he has spoken to me many times that he is nothing like the league..." Damian stared with narrow intense blue eyes. "And yet, he has acted just like them."

Jason was taken aback. "..."

"Do not take this for me liking you, Todd. I find you highly annoying. However, my father had no right to act in such a manor."

Jason didn't have any words for that. So he didn't say anything. A long and highly uncomfortable silence stretched out until Barry cleared his throat."Jay, I'm sorry." The speedster muttered. "I had no clue they were going to be here. Dick said Damian had insisted on going to Clark's and-"

"We shouldn't have come, Uncle Barry." Jon interjected. "I-I'll take Damian upstairs and keep him there. I'm really sorry Uncle Jason." Uncle Jason? The Red Hood just gaped as Jon grabbed Damian's arm and dragged him out. Once they heard the wood creaking under Jon and Damian upstairs, Barry put a hand on Jason's shoulder.

But a now ticked off Barry wasn't ready to let it drop. "I specifically said-"

"I should have heard them coming." Jason sighed. He wasn't one to let things go unfinished "That's on me. I was almost done anyway. I was kicked out of Gotham. Had to recover my voice on my own, had to figure out who I was on my own. Over time, the fog went away, and I started getting... less angry. I went back to Gotham after a year... and I guess I've been scraping by."

Jason stood up, grabbing his duffel bag. "Now you know." He looked Martha in the eye. "You know the monster I really I am. I don't blame Bruce for what he did, not really. I didn't come back right; I hurt people; and I deserved what I got. I deserved it all."

"Jay-"

"It's fine, Uncle Barry. I came to terms with it a long time ago."

"Jason." Martha's sharp tone stopped the boy from actually opening the door. The woman had stood up, walking straight over to him and grabbing the duffel bag. "One month ago, I met you for the first time. Clark spoke the world of you. And after you left, I did my research. Your last confirmed kill was a year and a half ago... I knew you were a killer when I agreed to let you stay here tonight. Now I know that you weren't functioning like you should have been-"

"But-"

"Bruce is foolish. He's foolish for pushing a nice young man like yourself away. When you needed help, you got fists and knife instead. I understand why Bruce didn't kill the Joker. And... I think you do to. You've come to accept that he couldn't do that for you, even though he wanted to. However... He never should have hurt you like he did, shouldn't have left you in the rubble for dead."

"It still hurts..." Jason admitted, lowering his head. "It shouldn't, but it does. He dragged the Joker off and didn't come back for me."

Barry put a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Well we've pretty much decided that Bruce is a grade 'A' jerk."

"Hmm. That he is." Martha got a faraway look in her eyes, blinking back to the moment a few seconds later. "You're staying here, Jason. And that's final. For as long as you need. Two weeks minimum."

A tiny, hopeful smile flit across Jason's face. "Thank you, Mrs. Kent."

"Just call me Ma."

"I told you this was a really bad idea." Jon whisper yelled at Damian. The two were sitting on the guest bed upstairs.

"And I didn't listen. What else is new?"

"Argh... Dad is gonna kill me!"

"No. Apparently Batman might though." Both heads snapped to the door. Jason was leaning in the frame, an irritated glare on his face. Jon shrunk back, hiding behind Damian.

"Todd."

"Demon Spawn."

"What are you doing here?"

"Here? This is my room for the foreseeable future. You all are interlopers. I talked to Ma. She said you two can stay for breakfast, and you even get your wish! You'll be cleaning the horse poo out of Mr. Mitchel's sheds tomorrow."

"What!" Jon cried. Damian looked appalled. The son of superman whirled on the youngest son of Batman. "This is all your fault!" 

"My fault! I couldn't have gotten here if you didn't fly me. Besides, Todd. Clearly you've forgotten basic biology. Horses are not Cows."

"Close enough. They both have four legs. Now scoot." He dropped the duffel bag and flopped down on the bed. Jon barely had time to dodge the falling mass of muscle that hit the bed with a thud. "Ma said something about a pull out mattress." Jason mumbled tiredly into the pillow. "You two can fight over it for all I care."

"As if I'm going to sleep on the floor." Damian bristled, leaning back on the pillows.

"Suit yourself." Jason mumbled. "Just don't stab me."

Ma Kent cleaned up dinner, lips pressed together in a thin line as she mulled over all she'd learned that night. It was truly enlightening, truly heartbreaking. Barry helped her in silence, not even using his super speed.

"I didn't even know they were here. I should have told that dear boy to wait until I'd done a thorough check of the house."

"Don't blame yourself, Ma. We can't be responsible for the actions of others."

"No. I suppose you're right." Martha admitted grimly. Hadn't they just told Jason much the same? No, they couldn't control the actions of others, but they could bring judgement crashing down on their heads nonetheless. She turned to Barry " Do you think you can do something for me?"

 "Of course. Anything."

"It's nothing too much. I just need you to hand deliver a letter so it can't be traced."

"To who?"

"Guess."

(The next day)

"Master Bruce." Alfred almost sounded smug. The tired billionaire looked down as a blank envelope was settled into his hands. The butler, who hadn't spoken more four words in the last twenty four hours, turned heel and walked away. Frowning, the batman plucked the paper out and unfolded it.

Bruce Wayne. You should be ashamed. I can think of four young men who loved you very much... But how did you return that love? By making them toy soldiers and tossing them away when they broke. I understand that everyone has problems. But not even attempting to make an effort towards living breathing responsibilities you willingly took under your wing is an egregious offense. The way you've hurt your boys is criminal. I almost believe it would have been better for them to make their way through life without you than WITH you. I know many have said as much already, but I have a firm belief in beating someone over the head with common sense if they just can't get it the first three times they're told! 

-Anonymous

Bruce stared long and hard the note, letting his hands drop, his free hand clenching tightly in shame.

TBC

 AN: Jason canonically became a priest in a universe where Batman didn't take him in. Apparently he still died, but went back to being a priest as opposed to a 'gun toting alcoholic with a bat problem'. So who knows, maybe the others might have been better off as well? Okay, Damian? Probably not. But That's any one's guess...

AAN: In response to a question in the comments (which was a mighty fine one), I'm taking lore from both the comic and the movie. In the comic, Jason got caught and ultimately betrayed by his biological mother, Sheila Haywood. I do not believe this was the case in the movie since she was neither shown nor mentioned (to my knowledge). I very well might be wrong; and if I am, please tell me.

Chapter Text

5: Tim Drake and Barbara Gordon

Three figures sat huddled around a table at Gotham's favorite fast food joint, the Bat-Burger. The crowds had dissipated, deterred by the setting sun. It was now, in the relative quiet of evening, that the secret trios of bats clustered together in a dingy back booth, crammed together so their knees knocked and elbows bumped. Dick Grayson had been the one to call them in, asking that they tell not a soul of their whereabouts.

When Barbara and Tim found him, he'd been stress-cramming over-salted fries into his mouth, hunkered over the cardboard holder and looking positively miserable. They sat down, or rolled up in Babs' case, watching the oldest robin stuff food into his mouth. Beyond the initial greeting, they'd said nothing; and the silence stretched unbearably long before Barbara got tired. "What's this about, Dick?"

The oldest robin swallowed and shoved the empty cardboard fry holder across the table, dusting his hands off and scowling at the scratched yellow table top. "Yeah, Dick. You look tired."

"We have a problem. Bruce-"

"Agh... not another Bruce intervention! Is he driving himself into the floor again?"

"Sort of to the first, no to the second." Dick replied, tone clipped and terse. "The league is considering him for probation on allegations of child abuse and attempted manslaughter."

"Not again!" Tim cried, burying his face behind his hands. "I mean, attempted manslaughter? What the heck is attempted Manslaughter! And hasn't the league learned better? Bruce is incapable of half of what the tabloids say."

"Tim, the tabloids didn't have anything to do with it. The league has solid evidence in the form of verbal confirmation from Bruce himself, the victim, and video evidence."

Barbara stared at him, something on her face that wasn't quite shock but resignation. There was an unspoken reality she had long been aware of. Bruce wasn't stable. He wasn't typically the kind who'd hurt anyone who didn't deserve it; but Bruce had just as many issues as the Arkham inmates. A man who dressed up as a bat and habitually kicked people's teeth in was far from 'sane.' But it was a kick to the gut, to learn that her mentor, practically her uncle, had attempted to kill someone.

Tim, was in shock. He'd dragged Bruce back from a dark spot; but all he'd seen of his mentor was prowess and self control for years. He stubbornly refused to believe that his mentor, his adopted father, had tried to go back on every moral code he'd preached from the moral pulpit.

"You're joking... This has got to be some sort of deranged joke. Bruce wouldn't- he couldn't...."

Dick leveled him with a look. "Tim, I'm the one who found the evidence." And it was true. Dick simply wasn't prepared for the look of betrayal on Tim's face. "Well. I found the video evidence. At least one member of the league had already gotten verbal evidence."

"Dick... Who did Bruce almost kill?" Babs interjected, readjusting her glasses and staring at him with her lips pressed into a fine line.

Dick sighed. "Jason." Tim's eyes went wide in disbelief, and Barbara's narrowed in understanding. To prove his point, Dick pulled out his phone, setting it in the middle of the table. After glancing to make sure no one was listening, he showed them pictures of the scar from several angles, and then played the condemning piece of evidence. Tim watched, pale and in shock. Barbara looked sick. Dick had shown the the full clip, all that had been said, the pleading, the anger. Tim sat back, closing his eyes.

"Jason's not the only one he's..." Dick trailed off, looking away. Now Barbara looked angry.

'Dick, did he hurt you?"

"Not as bad as that!" The first boy wonder assured, eyes narrowing sharply. "He hit me hard enough to knock a tooth out; but I was already an adult, so it hardly counts. And in light of what he did to Jason-"

"Stop!" Barbara hissed. "Maybe it isn't as bad as what he did to Jason; but you don't get downplay it. He still hurt you. Bruce is your father Dick. Maybe the law won't see it a child abuse, but we sure do."

Tim grumbled his acknowledgement to the fact, eyes never leaving the scuffed table. That feeling in his gut, he had yet to identify; but it was starting to look more and more like betrayal. How could Bruce hurt his own family?

"Yeah. I get that, Babs. But I'm not here to play the victim. I'm just giving you the facts. Bruce has serious issues; and until he's sorted them out, we're taking leave of absence from Gotham. Well, Tim and I are. I can't control you, Barbara; but I really don't want to leave you here alone with him."

The retired batgirl took her glasses off and massaged the bridge of her nose, exhaling slightly. "I can't leave, Dick." She pointed out grimly. "Not without raising too many eyebrows. But I will hole up in my tower or at dad's house. If Bruce is going to break in just to punch me, then he deserves the full wrath of the law."

Dick could agree to that. It seemed so far as if Bruce had only struck suddenly and out of anger. In all likelihood, he'd leave Babs alone if she stayed out of his way. There was wishful thinking. "Then-" She continued. "I can get in touch if he wants to talk."

Tim listened silently, eyes narrowed. Dick knew this was hitting him hard. It was hard to imagine your idol, a man who fought for the weak, stooping to the level of an abuser, even for a moment. It was a dream shattering wake up call. He had no doubt that Tim- like Dick himself- still loved Bruce. He was their father, despite the mistakes he'd made. But that only made it hurt more.

"I can settle for that. Tim, I want you to leave the company with Lucius, what you can't do from abroad that is. We're going to Titan's Tower."

"What about the Haven?"

"Flash has it covered. I'm going back next week." I'm taking some time to make sure you're okay before I do. Was the unsaid part. Tim nodded with a crestfallen sigh. His world, all he'd known for years, had come shattering down in one night.

Crack! Jason's arms shook as he lifted the axe for what must have been the eightieth time that morning. Ma Kent's skimpy pile of fire wood had morphed into a mighty mountain; and Jay showed no signs of stopping. He needed to do something. He couldn't sit around and wait for something to happen. Manual Labor was the only output for his restlessness out the boonies. There was basically no crime in Smallville, as far as Jay could tell.

"Don't you think that's enough fire wood?" A voice asked. Jason slammed the axe down, severing the woody fibers of another log before casting the pieces aside and turning to face the speaker. Jon stood there, lemonade jug and cups in hand. Jason wiped the sweat build up from his brow and accepted a cup.

"Maybe." He replied. "Aren't you supposed to be shoveling horse crap out of the barn?"

Superman's son shrugged. "We wanted something to drink. Grandma thought maybe you were thirsty too." Well Jay couldn't lie. Ma Kent wasn't wrong. He took a glass and let Jon pour the tangy liquid in his glass.

"Thanks, kid." Jon nodded, turning to trample the grass towards Mr. Mitchel's barn. Jason cast the axe aside, following behind him.

"No problem, Uncle Jason."

"Uncle Jason?" There it was again. Why was the kid calling him that of all things? Jon's ears turned red. "Why are you calling me that?"

"Because you're older than me, by a lot." Jon replied. "And I didn't exactly make a great first impression... eavesdropping and all that." Jason snorted.

"Yeah, well call me Jason. Uncle Jason makes me feel old, and I'm only nineteen so..."

"Okay."

They walked silently through the field until Mitchel's dingy old barn appeared on the other side of the hill they were clambering over. Hay was flying out the open door, quiet muttering echoing slightly from a ticked off eleven year old inside.

"Disgrace to the- Wayne name- can't believe - shovel horse manure!- an Al Ghul doing such disgusting labor! - servant's job..."

A chuckle tore from Jason's throat. It was a fitting punishment for an entitled brat who thought he was above the world. Humbling so to speak. The second robin took his phone out, rounding the corner and recording. He'd be sure to show it the replacement next time they met. Leave it to an old woman with a farm house to bring the most haughty child assassin low. He lifted the phone. "Smile, Demon spawn!'

"Todd!" Damian cried in horror. The kid was covered in hay and grime, little yellow straws sticking out from his ebony hair, blue eyes narrowed in anger. Jason had to dodge a flying rake, and Jon vanished behind around the corner.

"Hope you appreciate this, Replacement!" Jason cackled, panning over the scene again before ducking out as a pile of horse manure came flying at his head.

Bruce sighed. The house was quiet, way too empty for his personal liking. Alfred was avoiding him like the plague, making one meal a day and doing the bare minimum of a normal Butler's job. Whenever they did bump into each other, the old man would have this icy look on his face. He was staying out of duty. Bruce recognized that.

Now he'd holed himself up in his cave. He really didn't want to deal with it all. He was great at running from his most pressing emotional issues. It's not that he didn't care about his kids; of course he did. He loved them more than they'd ever know. But he wasn't oblivious to the fact that he had problems, lots and lots of problems. Not the ones that could be solved with enough elbow grease- though those were the ones he preferred. These problems were mental. Dick's retirement from Robin had been a devastating blow, though one he brought on himself. But Jason's death had destroyed him. Tim had brought life back in his life, but he'd never been the same. It was hard to open up these days, to let himself feel. In his career, feeling was detrimental. So he'd purposely gone numb and ignored the feelings.

There were a few things that voided the numbness. The guilt over what had happened with Jason, the way he kept pushing people away: those surpassed it. Occasionally, something so... family like would occur that made him feel like a normal father for once... but those instances were few and far between. He wanted nothing more than to make it right; but somewhere, there was a disconnect. He was afraid to get hurt again, afraid to be burned. But hadn't he hurt others who had dared to risk it? He thought back to Jason.

He missed his son. He missed the smiles, the occasional 'street rat in high society' moments that would make him chuckle. He wanted it back. But he couldn't bridge the emotional gap, couldn't put his thoughts into words that had meaning. He'd fall into habits of critiquing and criticizing. He had no idea how to fix this problem. It was too big.

He sat down in front of the bat computer, going to open an old case file.

ERROR: DATA NOT FOUND.

Bruce frowned, clicking the folder Edward Nigma. The same error message danced on the screen. He called Barbara. When she received the call, she was sitting at her computer, elbows resting on the arm rests, a frown on her face. "Bruce."

"Barbara, did you transfer my files?"

"Yup. Both physical and digital. Tim and Dick helped me." There was an iciness to her voice that left Bruce properly chilled. That's when he realized that she knew. 

"Why?" He demanded with a growl.

"Good question. You gonna try and kill me too? Finish what the Joker couldn't?" Bruce reeled back, eyes wide. "I wasn't all that surprised about what happened to Jay. I mean, he didn't exactly come back the right way... doesn't matter though. I finally had to ask myself a very valid question. Just how stable are you? We both know you have problems, Bruce... but what you did is inexcusable. Jason survived the Joker, and then nearly got killed by you. Not great for the morale, let me tell ya." Her piercing green eyes bored straight into his. "Should I be worried about myself, or the boys?"

"No."

"That's not really reassuring. I mean, maybe I'd believe it if Jason was the only one you hurt. But apparently, Dick's been covering up what you did to him . And that's what got me. He's all up in arms to defend his brothers; but he could care less about himself. I blame you for that too, but not as much as I blame you for punching him in the face." Bruce lowered his head. "Your files, your work is gone, and you deserve it. Jason and the others care about you, Bruce. Enough to keep quiet about all the grief and pain you've caused them. They idolize you, look up to you. I know you've got problems. Dick and I, we've always seen it. But it's time to stop burying everything behind work. It's time to realize that there's more to Bruce Wayne than the Batman. So, the Batman is currently out of commission. I want you to spend time getting your life together, Bruce. Because, like it or not, you accepted the responsibility of four boys... and they don't need the batman, they need Bruce Wayne."

Bruce glared at the floor.

"She's right." He spun around. Tim stood there in his civvies, a dufflebag slung across his shoulder. He was clearly headed towards his bike. Barbara watched carefully, not at liking the fact that he'd snuck out to say a few words to Bruce personally. Tim was on edge, clearly not supposed to be there. "I know I came looking for Batman, but I really miss Bruce sometimes." Tim pointed out. "I accidentally became a part of this family; but there are times I do regret it. I've tried to save your legacy; but there's a point where I can't help you anymore."

"Tim, what are you doing there?" Barbara demanded sharply, worry laced in her frigid tone.

"Talking." Tim replied casually, eyes betraying just how nervous he was. "I'm leaving, with Dick. Batman is on probation, not necessarily from the league yet, but from Gotham. You aren't to touch the cowl until you've worked hard on pulling Bruce Wayne back together. Alfred, Dick, and I took all your files, your suits , and your gear to make it a little easier. When we think you've earned them back, you'll get them."

He watched Bruce carefully, his fists more specifically. It was stupid to have returned, but he felt like he needed to get his ten cents in. Bruce had betrayed him too. However, that didn't mean he wasn't nervous about being in Bruce's proximity... and a piece of Tim hated himself for it.

Bruce could read the anxiety, making an effort to relax slightly. He was ticked off, beyond mad. But he wasn't about to hurt yet another son. "Tim-"

"No. I really hope you get things together. I'd like us to be a family again... but I'm not about to overlook the things you've done, not when you haven't dealt with them. I left the company in Lucius's hands. I'll do what I can from where I'm going. When you're ready to talk, get in touch with Oracle. She'll contact us."

Bruce clenching his fingers, letting out a breath. Tim took that as his cue to leave. He jumped on his bike and roared out of the cave. Barbara killed the connection, and Bruce finally acknowledged the fact that for the first time in years, he was truly alone.

He realized with a shudder, that this is what Jason had felt since the day he tried to come home.

(1 DAY, 6 HOURS LATER)

The sun had set over the Kent farmhouse. Jason had done some work around the farmhouse, chopping wood, sweeping the porch, organizing the barn. It had taken him two days, but he had happily done it. He'd do anything to ignore the chaotic spaghetti tangle that was his mind. Honestly, he was terrified of unraveling it all. What happened when it came undone? Would he go back to being crazy? Would he have a mental break down? If he thought hard enough, sometimes pieces of the puzzle would come back, things he'd forgotten in the insanity.

He didn't want to know what he'd done. It terrified him. He already felt guilt for the things he couldn't remember. If he actually did, would it get worse? Would he break and never get better? It's not like there was anyone who could stomach whatever horrors he dredged up from the world of forgotten memories. He could barely stomach it, and he didn't even know what was there. He used to pride himself on being fearless. Now he was terrified, terrified of himself.

Normally, alcohol, patrol, or his case work kept his mind from serious introspection. Now, all of that was gone. Ma Kent was hospitable enough. Jason didn't talk much about Bruce, the Red Hood, or Gotham. She didn't press him either. Jason had told Barry to go home, told him he'd call the speedster if anything happened. Clark had swung by to pick up Damian and Jon. It was quiet for once. He was on the porch, staring up the stars. Gotham's glow, the spot lights and neon tubes, kept the true brilliance of the stars away; but out in the country, Jason could see them like never before... at least from earth. He loved trying to name the constellations. It calmed him down, let him forget he would have to go back to the real world eventually, face the backlash one tiny scar had caused.

Did he lose all hopes of making things with Bruce right?

Honk!

Jason jumped a mile, vaulting from the wooden porch steps and grabbing a rake leaning against the wall. A car was pulling up. It was a nice car. Jason recognized it as a red dodge charger with tinted windows. Ma Kent stepped out on the front porch, adjusting her glasses as the car pulled into the drive. It's doors opened and Jason stifled a groan. Dick hopped out of the driver's side, eyes widening when he saw Jason, covered in grime and wearing a checkered shirt and overalls.

"Jason!?"

"And why am I not surprised?"

"Hush now." Ma scolded lightly, patting his arm as she shuffled down the steps. He sighed. Had Dick tracked him down? What happened to trusting Jason to call. But the anger was overridden by confusion. Dick sounded honestly surprised. When Tim hopped out of the passenger's seat, Jason put two and two together. They were headed to Jump City, and Ma Kent's was a stop on the map. He sunk back into the shadows, not ready to deal with himself, much less them.

Dick watched him, heart sinking.

"We didn't know he was here, Mrs. Kent. We were on our way to Titan's Tower, but I'm falling asleep behind the wheel." Dick looked ashamed, rubbing the back of his head.

"Oh don't worry about it." Ma waved him off. "Come on inside."

Jason curled up on his bed. He was tired, sore from the work, and ready to sleep. Maybe when he woke up, his brothers would be long gone. He didn't have the energy to deal with them, not now. He couldn't handle their pity. He'd run like a coward, rather than facing his problems. He couldn't face Bruce, didn't want to talk about it with Bruce's precious golden boy either. He'd try and convince Jason to go back, and the second robin would probably bend. That in and of itself could be the end of Jason. He was certain that Gotham would kill him in his current state. He wondered if it would be all that bad.

A knock at his door made his heart sink. He didn't answer. But then again, what if it was Ma Kent?

He sighed, getting up and shuffling to the door. He cracked it, spotting Dick standing outside. "Go away." Jason huffed, closing the door. Dick didn't stop him, but the door shuddered slightly as Dick sat down outside.

"Why are you here, Golden Boy?" Jason demanded, using one of his more bitter names for Bruce's first prodigy. "Didn't think I could be trusted?"

"No, I didn't think Bruce could be trusted. So Tim and I are headed to Titan's Tower. This was on the route and I was tired... so I stopped. I really didn't know you were here. I asked Barry not to tell me until you were ready. I guess that kind of backfired." Dick huffed. "I'm leaving in the morning. I won't stick around to pester you..."

"You really ditched, Bruce?" Jason asked, leaning against the inside of the door.

"He's abusive, Jay. It was okay when it was me, but-"

"What did he do to you?" Jason demanded."I mean, Barry mentioned he did something, but wouldn't tell me what."

"Doesn't matter, Jay."

"That's what I said about the monstrosity on my neck. You begged to differ. My turn, boy blunder."

"Touche." Dick went silent for a long moment. "He hit me hard enough to knock a tooth out. He wasn't thinking straight after the court of owls, and-"

"Since when is he ever thinking straight these days?"

Dick went silent, not having an answer. With a sigh, Jason stood up and yanked the door open. "Woah!" Dick fell flat on his back in the doorway. Jason was glaring down at him, piercing semi green eyes studying his face.

"I'm not going back."

Dick recovered his voice, holding a hand up. Jason's calloused fingers locked around his, muscles straining as the younger brother pulled the older to his feet. "I'm not going to make you. I do want Bruce to make it right, Jay... but only at your pace."

"He never will." Jason admitted, a truth they both knew. He wanted to hug his little brother, to make it better. Instead he flopped down on Jason's bed, watching as the kid bit his lip and pace. "He has his work. He can bury himself in his work and forget the rest of us exist."

"Not when we hid all his stuff."

Jason stopped, gaping wide eyed at Dick. "I'm sorry." He choked out. "What?"

TBC- I know, I know. Weird place to end it, but I've had some serious writer's block involving this chapter. It was probably the fourth time I've rewritten it. So anyway, I hope you all enjoyed. The grand finale is in the next chapter.

I took a bit of the focus off of Jason; but it will be back full force in the next chapter. I'm sort of building up towards Bruce being forced into talking with the family... actually... talking. (Clearly not Bruce's strong suit)

I'm thinking this will be the start of a series. But I'm still mulling it over. Brotherly bonding, Bruce finally getting things right, and more angst in the next chapter.... THE GRAND FINALE!!!! I'm excited!

Chapter Text

Who was Bruce Wayne?

Was he a bat themed vigilante who exacted justice from the criminal underworld lurking in Gotham's darkest crevices? Was he a father who'd mucked up so spectacularly that his family refused to look at him? Who was he?

Bruce found the two extremes so far removed from each other that it left him with a sickening realization. He had never mastered the elusive in between. Or, more correctly, had forgotten how to embrace the in between. He'd been a good father once, to Dick, to Jason. But now he was a broken shell, so emotionally damaged that he lashed out at both friend and foe alike. He'd driven every one he cared about away, slowly but surely. The metal bridge that made them family hadn't been able to burn, but Bruce had seen too it that the bridge had been rending and warping for a long time now. Instead of burning, the bridges had snapped and broken.

Bruce was no emotional architect. He didn't know how to fix the bridges, to repair the rifts that tore his family apart. Sometimes even the Batman needed to consult outside help... but he wasn't even the Bat anymore, was he?

He made a cup of tea. They said he couldn't touch a stove without it exploding; and that was quite a misconception. Bruce had trained with the best masters around the world; he'd trained with tea drinkers.

Truth be told, he could make a terrific cup of tea, one that rivaled Alfred's. He hadn't told many though. Cradling the steaming china cup, Bruce carefully ascended the heavy oak steps. He felt for Alfred. The old man probably felt like a prisoner here, kept by chains of duty. And honestly, Bruce could handle the league getting mad at him. Dick getting mad hurt more than Bruce could ever admit; the other kids getting mad hurt just as much.

But Alfred's wrath was purely devastating.

It wasn't the best place to start. He'd wronged Jason before anyone else; but Alfred was the one who stuck around. Alfred was the one who could give him pointers on making it right with the others. He had to start somewhere; and he missed having Alfred by his side.

The old butler was dutifully cleaning his own room, dusting the dresser. Bruce silently watched from the doorway as Alfred paused to scoop up a framed photo. It was one of the few family photos that featured the entire family, last Thanksgiving. It was a prized moment, captured for all eternity on pixels and paper. Alfred's fingers ghosted over the faces, head lowering in grief.

I caused this.

The thought crushed Bruce just a little more. He almost backed out. His fingers brushed the door, an almost knock.

Setting the photo down, Alfred looked up, eyes red and tired. "Can I help you, Master Bruce?" His tone was heavy, resigned.

"Yes-" Bruce replied. "Sit down, Alfred, we need to... we need to talk."

He held up the tea, a silent peace offering.

With a sigh, the Butler sat primly on the edge of his bed, taking the cup and saucer and watching Bruce with an air of refined weariness. "I'd think so."

"Alfred, what I did... it was inexcusable. And I'm not making excuses here."

"I'm well aware, Master Bruce."

"I..." He sighed, scrubbed a hand up and down his face, shifting from one foot to the other. "I'm sorry." He'd said the words time and time again. He said it to people who'd lost everything, to victims who had just seen a loved one pass, to those who'd fallen at the feet of misfortune. But this was one of the rare times that he'd said it because of a screw up on his own part. The words sounded so familiar, yet foreign as he forced his heart open, forced emotion into his voice. "I'm not good at... I don't...." Bruce couldn't meet Alfred's gaze. "I'm broken Alfred." He finally whispered. "I don't know how to... to show that I-" Care... His fingers curled in frustration. "I messed up. And I care about it. Believe me, I hate myself for it! I'm sorry. I hurt you, the boys... and I don't know how to fix it. I want to be better... I"

Alfred studied him for a long moment. Bruce was many things, but a liar was not one of them. Alfred hadn't overlooked the fact that this could be an attempt for the cowl. 'Patch the pipes and recede back into old habits' so to speak. But he had a mighty suspicion that this was weighing heavily on Gotham's defender, just as it was on Alfred himself. He'd give Bruce the benefit of the doubt.

"Master Bruce, forgive me for being bluntly honest; but you need help not even I can provide."

"I'm... aware."

"So what do you intend to do about it?"

"I have a few people I'm considering. I'd like to run background checks, but Oracle has all my devices locked down from anything beyond basic searches."

"Hmm. Quite the quandary isn't it? Perhaps, this can be your first test... Asking for help."

"Maybe." Bruce narrowed his eyes. There was silence. He had to ask. "Alfred?"

The old man raised a wrinkled hand. "I forgive you, Master Bruce. I am disappointed in how you've conducted yourself, yet you are my son... and I do forgive you. But there are others you have grieved far worse."

"And I'd like to make it right... But I need help."

Th faintest of hopeful smile fluttered across Alfred's face. "Then, as always, I shall be here to assist." His hand came to rest on Bruce's shoulder. "We can still save this family."

"I hope so Alfred..." With no Batman and no mission, They're all I have left.

{Ma Kent's Farmhouse}

"So let me get this straight, you not only did you ditch the Old Man; but you left him without any way to be Batman."

"That's about the half of it. Alfred and Oracle are keeping an eye on him. Clark has one of his suits; that way the Batman still makes up regular appearances... or shows up at the next big Arkham break out."

"Brave ones, those three." Jason chuckled, sitting down on end of the bed and leaning against the blue curved footboard. Dick nodded with a huff, falling silent as he really mulled over just what had occurred. "I'm sorry." Jason's apology drew Dick out of the minefield of his mental life. He glanced up sharply, seeing a genuinely apologetic look on the nineteen year old vigilante's face.

"For what?"

"I started all of this. If you hadn't found me on that rooftop, if I hadn't been pitying myself, you never would have known." Jason shot him a broken look. "I destroyed your relationship with Bruce; You're all on the run because of me. I knew I'd never be able to call Bruce a father again; but I never meant to-" He curled his fingers tightly. "I messed things up for you. I always do that."

"Jason, stop." Dick huffed, scooting close enough to Jason to grab his knee. "I treated you like dirt when Bruce first took you in. I was hurt; I was young; and I was stupid... and for that, I will be eternally sorry. But you are my little brother. You were then; and you are now.. you have every right to be a part of this family." Jason frowned. "And as for Bruce..." Dick frowned. "When I left, and you died, our family was fragmented... like a broken leg. It never healed right, even when Tim and Damian came on the scene. We've been been limping along damaged for so long, that every step hurts... and the pain never goes away. When we found out what happened to you... what Bruce did, we finally decided it was time to rebreak the leg, the family... but only so it can heal properly. This family is fragmented, but when we heal..."

"We'll be stronger than ever."

Dick nodded. "Exactly. I'm going to make sure this family gets the help it needs... and I'd like to make sure you're officially part of it."

"Sounds like I caused the problem, threw a wrench in the works." Jason remarked sullenly. "What's to say I won't do it again? Why would you want that?"

The first robin looked Jason dead in the eye. "You have a right to be in this family. I want you there; and even though he can't say it, so does Bruce. It's time to stop distancing yourself. A lot of people have forgiven you for what was beyond your control... The only person who still needs to forgive you... is you. I want you to come home, little wing. Let us help you."

Jason looked down at his hands. "I'm broken... like really broken, Dick. I'm gonna screw up; and I don't know how bad." Fear lanced into his tone. "I- I'm a mess. I don't want you to have to deal with me and Bruce."

"Jaybird, I'm a vigilante. I help a lot of people... And my family is no exception. I want to help you. I want to make up for my mistakes. Let me do that... let me be your brother. You may mess up; but so will I... We're going to hurt each other. That's part of being a family, but we're going to bounce back. We're going to work hard to make it right... every single time. I swear, Jay. If we want to be a real family, it's time we act like one."

Dick held a hand out, formality. Jason stared at it a long moment. Dick could have ignored him, could have just stayed out of the way and left in the morning. Dick didn't have to tell Jason how Bruce had once hurt him too. He didn't have to promise anything. But he'd chosen too. Jason sighed. He'd been hurt so many times. It was easy to back away like a wounded animal, which wouldn't have been out of the question considering what the kid had been through. But the logical side told him that this was his chance. If he lost it now, then he might never get this chance again. That thinking only fed the hurt thirteen year old who died in Ethopia, the hurt thirteen year old who just wanted a family. He'd locked that piece of him up; but at this moment, Dick was addressing that kid personally.

Daring to trust was risky. It was probably going to hurt like the eldest Robin had bluntly pointed out... Heck, Jason knew it would. But Dick was no liar; and if he said that they could bounce back, Jason was willing to bet they could.

A tear dripped down his cheek as he slapped his hand against Dick's, locking their fingers. A weight on his chest lifted, liberating, letting him breathe. Hope. Maybe he wouldn't have to handle the pain alone. Another tear fell, spurred by the strange feeling of liberation, something he hadn't felt since his death. He wiped it away quickly. He wasn't crying. He wouldn't. Dick used the handshake to pull his little brother forward and lock his arms around the kid's shoulders.

"It's okay, Jaybird." Dick muttered, running a hand up and down his shoulder. "It's okay to be hurt. It's okay to be sad and angry and upset.... At Bruce, at me... at anyone really." Jason shuddered, sniffling slightly. He'd tried to restrain the tears, but now they dripped freely down his cheeks, leaving wet marks on Jason's shirt. He hated it, but he was trapped in a patented Dick bear hug, one almost as suffocating as Barry Allen's... yet in a good way. "You don't need to bottle it up. Take it from someone who knows... It'll fester and destroy you."

Jason wanted to argue; and yet he couldn't. He just closed his eyes. For once, he was okay with letting himself enjoy something that didn't involve breaking bones or jumping off buildings. It was a feeling of belonging he hadn't truly embraced in over half a decade.

Jason woke up feeling way too warm for comfort. He was stiff, curled up on his side. His back was pressed to someone else's. With a huff, he got up and stretched, vaguely remembering being too tired to keep his eyes open the night before. Dick was laying on the other side of the bed, still oblivious. They'd sat up talking into the wee hours of the morning; long after everyone had gone to bed. Dick had dropped off first; and there was no way Jason was gonna try and wrestle him onto the pull out bed. That didn't mean he couldn't have his fun now though.

They were supposed to be acting more like brothers now anyway... right? Jason grinned maliciously, pulling the slide out mattress out on the side Dick was dozing on. Then he shoved Dick off the bed. An unmanly shriek left the first Robin's lips as he fell off the side of the bed and landed on the pull out bed, looking thoroughly startled. A Pillow dropped on his face with a plop.

"Up and at 'em sleepy head."

Dick groaned, grabbing the pillow and pulling it across his face. "Why?" He mumbled into the pillow. "Why would you do that to me?"

Jason stretched out across the bed, peering over the edge at his older 'brother.' "Just thinking about the day I fell asleep in your bed back once upon a time. Back at the manor. Back when you didn't like me. Alfred made us get along; but the tensions ran high."

Dick snorted into the pillow. They'd actually fought that day, the first of many unpleasant encounters they'd have down the line. He heard Jason talking right above him. He grabbed the pillow and clocked Jason in the face, feeling way too gleeful at the muffled shout.

As Dick took a shower, Jason singled out Tim. He'd been given Clark's room. It was strange being in the same room that the mighty superman had grown up in; and he took a moment to take in the clutter. There were pens and pencils, notebooks, globes, knick knacks, writing trophies, and souvenirs. Tim was sitting with his lap top, looking like he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep.

"Hey, Timbers."

The boy looked up, eyes widening slightly. "Jason." He yawned. "Thought you'd be avoiding me."

Jason couldn't fault him there. "I was. Then Dick got a hold of me, convinced me to give the family another shot. Last I checked, that included you too." He sighed. "Besides, between you and me, I never felt like throwing up around you." He was smiling as he said it. Family. He didn't want to be too hopeful, but a small unwelcome feeling of excitement took hold.

It was a strange compliment, but Tim recognized it as just that. He and Jason were the outcasts of the outcasts. Dick was the first, Damian the blood son. That made it hard for the second and third robin to actually find their places. They could understand each other just a little better than everyone else.

"Eh... Thanks." Tim scooted over, letting Jason plop down on the edge of the blue duvet covering Clark's bed. "You're really giving the family another shot?"

Jason nodded slightly, sprawling across Tim's legs. The kid huffed but otherwise said nothing. "You all..." Jason frowned. "You all stuck up for me. That... I..."

"I get it."

"Figures. Thanks, Timbo... And for what it's worth; I really am sorry about trying to kill you."

"I know." Tim shrugged, peering at Jason over the top of his computer screen. "You were insane. I don't really hold it against you."

"People blame everything on my insanity." The tone was resigned, as if he didn't fully believe it to be the cause. "Why do they do that?"

"Well...What did you do to me?" Tim asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall with a pointed look. Jason searched his memories, meeting brick walls and green haze. He furrowed his brow, wrinkling his nose. "How did you try to kill me?"

"I... uh..." Jason looked sheepish. "I don't remember."

"My point exactly." Tim rubbed his eyes. "I didn't want to admit that... That Bruce could do something like that to you or Dick... but it's... I looked up to him... Is that wrong? Is it wrong that I still do?"

"Kid, I still look up to him. So does Dick. He's your... our... dad. and honestly, the thing with my neck was on me and me alone-"

"That's not true. I watched the video. The angle was wrong. he was trying to hit your hand; but he hit your neck. It was his miscalculation. you couldn't have done anything about that."

Jason said nothing.

"You were insane and he was stressed. Not a great combo; but it's mostly his fault."

"Maybe...." Jason acquiesced. "I wonder how Bruce sees it though."

"Hey, Tim, you ready to go?" Dick asked, finding the boy repacking his bag in the middle of Clark's room. They'd brought in the bare minimum in from the car; but with Tim's electronics, he had more to repack than the first boy wonder.

"Yes... But you might want to unpack."

"Uh..." At a loss for words, the first Robin frowned, folding his arms and fixing Tim with a look. "Why?"

"You're staying here... or at least you might be. Look, I'm fine... But Jason... I overheard some of your conversation last night. He needs you more than I do. I've got the titans... he's got someone who doesn't really understand. I mean, Ma Kent is great... but she just doesn't know what we've been through. She hasn't lived it."

"I don't think Jay wants me here." Dick pointed out.

"Have you asked him?" Tim slammed his suit case shut with a little more force than he should have. "We always think we know what he wants; but a couple of weeks ago, we thought he wanted space. He was so depressed and alone that he was drinking himself to death." Dick felt his chest tighten with guilt. Tim, as usual, was right. "We just decide what he wants, but we never ask. If we're really going to fix this family, we have to open our mouths and use words. We can't fall into old habits. He looked excited this morning, when he told me he was giving the family another shot. Now we're just up and leaving, without really considering what he wants."

"You're right... but Tim, if he decides he needs me. Are you going to be okay? I don't want to abandon you for someone else... not again."

"You won't be. I'm hurt. Bruce's betrayal stung. But I'll live. I've bounced back, and I know you'll come if I call. I know this family will pull itself back together." Tim lowered his voice. "But Jason doesn't... He's really hurt, up here." Tim tapped his head. "And as much as he thinks he can deal with it... he can't, Dick. Not on his own. He's a big piece of the problem. He doesn't think he can approach us. He needs to know he's a part of this family. And I don't think leaving him will help him understand that. Ask, Dick. If he says no, we can leave... If he says yes, then I'll call KF to come pick me up."

Dick found Jason cleaning the barn. Though he'd tried to be quiet, Jason's head tilted. "I know you're there, Dickiebird. Are you and Timbers about to head out?" Jason turned to face him, brushing his gloves off on his dusty trousers and tossing them on the work bench.

"Actually..." Dick watched his face. Jason kept it impassive. "Tim is... I don't know about me."

Jason stilled, curiously, suspiciously. "What's stopping you?"

"A little brother named Jason Todd." Dick replied, spotting the surprise that just barely won the tug of war for Jason's face. "Look... If you want me to go, I will. But if you need me to stay, I'd be happy to."

"Why would I need-" Jason cut himself off. "I'm fine."

"Are you? Because it's not a burden on me or on anyone else to say no. In fact, this Tim's already said that he has no problem with it." Dick took a step forward. Jason tensed. "I will gladly stay here if you need me too. We don't have to talk about Gotham, or your feelings, or even Bruce. We can clean sheds and chop wood. We can be brothers and goof off and drive each other crazy, and if you want to talk... I'll be here."

Jason remembered that he had to breathe at some point, sucking in a startled breath. Dick took that as a sign to continue. "You're not fine, Jason. You haven't been for a long time, and I'm sorry it took us this long to see it. We never asked because we assumed you trusted us enough to tell us. We hadn't earned that trust though... and for good reason." He put a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Do you need me to stay?"

Jason let out a shuddering breath. "Maybe... I... I don't want to burden Ma with... with the crap in my head... don't want to burden anyone really... But it's gonna destroy me. And... And..." He felt bad as soon as the words left his mouth. Dick had his own burdens, his own nightmare fuel. He didn't need Jason's too. Apparently Dick didn't see it that way. His face hardened with firm resolution, fingers digging into Jason's shoulder.

"Alright then, it's settled. I'd never forgive myself for leaving you like this. I'm going to stay, and we can talk at your pace. I've seen and been through a lot. I can almost certainly handle what's in your head."

Jason sagged lightly, both in relief and secret joy that he refused to acknowledge. "Thanks, Dick."

Jason and Dick only had one small fight that week, and true to Dick's word, the matter was resolved before the day was over. That aside, it was the best week Jason had experienced since his run with Arsenal and Starfire. They didn't really talk much about Jason's skewered mind, but on the rare occasion they did, Dick would listen. It wasn't something he could comfort Jason over very often, and he wasn't a professional who could help with the wide scale amnesia. But he learned how to tell when Jason was depressed, feeling down.

Jason would isolate himself, work hard and not focus on anything but the task at hand. Often, Dick would have to remind him to take a drink, or even a break.

Despite the fact that Jason and Dick weren't hashing out all the second Robin's problems, it turned out to be a very enlightening week nonetheless. Dick didn't regret staying, not for one moment. He'd been able to bring Jason's spirits up whenever the kid was brought low -a scarily regular occurrence-. When the time came to return to the Haven, Dick gladly asked Barry to cover it a little longer.

One week and four days later, Oracle told Dick that Bruce was ready to talk.

Jason talked to Ma Kent, getting her permission to enact a quickly conceived plan. Then he talked to Dick. If Bruce wanted to make it right, he could come to them. Tim and Damian came back to the farm house, the morning of the same day Bruce was scheduled to arrive.

"So how do we want to handle this?" Tim asked, tossing his dufflebag aside and studying his two older brothers. Jason pressed his lips together. His idea had been for them to meet on neutral ground. But it was clear from the way Dick kept shifting, that he himself had something to add.

"Dick?"

"Thanks, Jason. I think we should meet him like a family. If he wants to say something, he can say it in front of all of us."

"Sounds like a satisfactory plan." Damian nodded.

"I was thinking... well actually, it was Wally's idea. We need to have an agreement, moving forward. If Bruce hurts any of us like he did before... we tell each other. I obviously don't mean a good hit in sparring, or in extreme circumstances of mind control... but you know."

"I do. And I'm in."

"Tt." Damian rolled his eyes. "I suppose it couldn't hurt."

All eyes landed on Jason, who had yet to vocalize his opinion. The boy was staring at the ground, a wary look in his eye. He had been trained in the league and Al Caste long enough to know the weight of an oath. If he agreed to this; there was no going back, no denying it. But if he did refuse, so would they. And he couldn't stand by and let them suffer in silence . Honesty was a small price to pay. He nodded in affirmation.

"Then it's settled. No more silent victims."

"Do you honestly believe Father will attempt to hurt someone again?"

"I won't go around acting like I'm expecting it, but he very well may." Jason interjected with a shrug. "This whole thing is about third chances, right? Starting new? I mean, that's why I'm here. We might as well give Bruce the same benefit of the doubt."

Three nods of agreement, and the matter was settled.

Bruce pulled into the drive of Ma Kent's, spotting his four sons lounging outside. Dick and Jason were on the porch steps, Damian practicing his katana, the gleam of metal bouncing the afternoon sunlight. Tim was sitting against a tree, nose buried in his phone. He parked his black Mercedes-Benz in the dirt driveway and opened his car door, sliding into the comfortable evening sunlight. The family had noted his arrival warily, slowly leaving their resting positions to create a small crowd. Bruce let the door shut with a thud.

It had been a week and a half too long since he'd seen his kids; but he wanted to be sure he was ready, sure they'd cooled down. He'd been seeing a therapist, one recommended by Kent of all people. Apparently Dr. Woods had been lending an ear to Superman for years. Now he was doing video sessions with Gotham's bat. It had been difficult for Bruce to open up at all. But every time he hesitated, he reminded himself that everything was at risk.

Now he stood before his own kids, nervous and wary of what they might say.

As he approached, he noticed Dick shift a little to step in front of Jason on the left, Damian on the right. Tim stood in the front.

"Bruce."

"Tim, Jason, Dick, Damian... You all look well."

"We are."

There was silence, Bruce finding a non existent speck on his zealously polished shoe to scrutinize. He'd brainstormed everything he wanted to say. He'd come up with counters to every question they might throw, every verbal dagger they might send flying straight through his heart. What he didn't expect was for Jason to extricate himself from the human shield and approach.

"You okay, Old Man? You look tired."

His brothers let their jaws drop. Bruce just gaped. He recovered quickly, treating this as if it were combat and every minute counted. "Yeah... I'm fine. Better than I have been... I should be asking you the same thing."

Jason shrugged, sobering up and dropping the smile. "I've got a wicked headache. Ma doesn't stash any alcohol around here."

"Good." The words slipped out of Bruce's mouth before he could stop them. "I'm glad you're kicking that addiction." He continued, softening his tone. Jason shrugged.

"I hear you're here to make nice."

"I want to make amends... Yes."

Damian scoffed slightly. "Great damage has been done, Father. How can we trust your word if you've broken it?"

"Because you know me, Damian. I... I have betrayed your trust. I understand it will take time for you to regain that trust in me again; and I don't blame you. But I'm..." He let out a breath. "I'm trying to get better. I'm seeing a psychiatrist." He wasn't surprised at their surprise. But he didn't comment on it.

"Good." Tim finally said, instantly slinking back when Bruce looked at him. Jason instinctively put a hand on his shoulder, sensing the tension, the anger, the stress knotting up the young man's wiry back. He didn't even think about how 'brotherly' it was until Tim leaned into it a bit, shooting him a grateful smile.

"You screwed up, Bruce." Dick stated, not for the first time. "Not once, but twice."

Bruce sighed, nodding slightly. "I know, Dick. Believe me, I know. I... I had no idea what I did to Jason; but I should have followed up." His voice was thick. "I failed you. I couldn't find you after-"

"You looked?"

The words, combined with the look of utter shock on his son's face absolutely tore Bruce apart. He didn't think I looked? How much had he destroyed his son's trust?

"Of course I looked!" Bruce breathed. "I dragged Joker out of the rubble and came right... I came right back, Jason! I scoured the rubble, and..." He trailed off, at a lack for words. Dick, Tim, and Damian watched in shock. Jason's complete disbelief was yet another revelation as to how far his faith and trust in the family had been damaged. Bruce sagged.

"I just figured... After what I'd done that-"

Bruce grabbed Jason's shoulders, ignoring how Dick shifted to a defensive stance. "Jason, I know I messed up. But I never meant to hurt you like that. I never meant to hit your neck, and I never would have left you to die in that rubble... I came back, Jay. I promise you, I came back."

"He did." Dick interjected. "I saw the cowl footage."

Jason stared at Bruce, knowing that Dick wouldn't lie about that. He'd already stood against Bruce once, in Jason's defense.

"I know my apologies can never even begin to make up for the damage I've caused you; but I want to try and make it up to you."

Jason had so much he wanted to say. A piece of him wanted to just shrug and say no harm no foul. Another piece -undoubtedly the lazarus pit in his veins- wanted him to be angry and hard. The street rat in him didn't want to trust the bat who'd caused so much pain. He'd dared to trust Dick, and Tim, and maybe even Damian. But Bruce was in a crazy league all on his own. The Bat called the shots, the Bat was never proud of him, the Bat had nearly killed him. And Dick said he was allowed to be angry about that.

"I'd like that." Jason nods quietly. "But I'm not the only one you need to apologize to."

Bruce agrees, glancing at Dick. "No. No you're not."

They talked for an hour, discussing grievances, problems, and solutions. For once, they talked about everything that came to mind. There was no holding back and assuming a problem would be dealt with. Not if this  whole 'family reforging' or 'bone re-breaking' thing was going to work.  Jason kept to himself, listening to the others talk unless directly addressed. When all had been said, Tim went to help Ma with Supper, Damian went back to practicing katana, Jason went to chop wood, and Dick stayed to talk with Bruce.

Jason figured they'd all go home tomorrow. Dick had life to get back to, Tim actually had an excuse to go home, and Damian still loved his father, despite the anger. They'd leave, and Jason would try and figure out his place from afar. He and Bruce were a volatile combination; probably not the best thing for a newly reforming family. The thought upset him, the concept of being alone again. He hated it. It's why he always found himself allied with someone. Who now though?

He had Ma Kent. Probably Barry, and-

"Jason?"

The axe bounced. Jason yelped, dropping it and jumping back. He spun around and came face to face with Bruce. They were alone.

"Sorry."

"Eh, don't sweat it." Jason huffed, dusting his hands off. "Golden Boy finally run out of steam and let you go?"

A sheepish look splattered across Bruce's face. He rubbed the back of his head. "Not quite. I slipped off to the bathroom and never came back."

Jason burst into laughter. "Left him hanging huh?" He straightened up when Bruce's face remained impassive.

"I needed to talk to you."

"We already talked." Jason pointed out, sinking against the log, letting his back scrape against the rough bark.

"You weren't ready to open up to an audience." Bruce replied, proving that once again, despite all the odds, he knew Jason... At least the major aspects of the former robin's personality. "So now we're one on one."

"Right."

Bruce folded his arms, realizing that at this point, he was towering over his son. Jason sat in his shadow, both literally and figuratively. These days, people associated Hood with the Bat, a shadow many of his kids had tried to flee from. That wasn't something that Bruce could change; but maybe, just this once, he could stoop to Jason's level. He sat down, letting the setting sun burn a warm patch on his neck. The grass swayed against his finger tips.

Jason watched him, and Bruce noted that despite the respite he'd gotten at Ma Kent's, Jason looked beyond tired. There were dark rings under his eyes, brought out by the evening shadows.

"I'm not even going to ask why you didn't tell me." Bruce said calmly. "And it hurts that I know." He added. "You never came for medical help because you didn't want me to see that." He gestured vaguely towards Jason's neck. He hadn't seen the scar, but he'd reviewed the video, knew where it was. "

"It's more than that." Jason muttered, drawing his knees in tight. "I... I'm not an idiot. I'm one foot away from Arkham." The uttered words chilled both of them. "I've been shattered, and... You made it clear that you couldn't condone my methods. That you weren't proud of me-" Bruce considered interjecting, pointing out that the results Jason brought in were worth being proud of... But he hadn't heard this level of honesty in years. So he refrained. "I was a screw up, the black sheep. And sure, I made everyone think I was proud of it, but... I was barely making the cut to be in your family... if you all knew how broken I really was... You'd have an excuse to throw me out... to put me in Arkham and never look at me again." His were locked around his knees, fingers digging into his biceps. Bruce's face had become more and more horrified as Jason spoke.

He'd caused this. His inability to reach out emotionally had left his son in a quagmire of depression with no way out. Who could he turn to? Better yet, who would he turn to?

"It got bad." Jason admitted, voice cracking. "I couldn't go anywhere, couldn't... wouldn't... burden people. I'm really messed up, and I'm scared of Arkham. I won't go there. I won't."

Bruce stared at his son, jaw tight with fury. He'd turned his back on his son over and over, oftentimes without realizing it. But the first had set the ball rolling.

"Jason, I dress up as a bat and fight crime." Bruce pointed out. "Or I did... before they took my suit. I understand what it's like to be broken." He hesitantly reached out, letting his hand curl against Jason's shoulder. "I'm the king of having issues. If I throw you in Arkham for being damaged, we'd have to be cellmates."

Jason huffed a laugh.

"You shouldn't be carrying this alone. I'll listen... but frankly, we both need more help than an attentive ear, bud." Jason looked at him. I'm seeing a psychiatrist. Bruce had said. Bruce had taken a step towards getting good help for his problems. "I'm not going to tell you what to do. I lost that right, I'm afraid... but I think you should talk to Dr. Winters, the Man Clark and I are talking to. He's good. And he knows about our night jobs."

"Only if you get the others in on it. No way am I seeing a shrink and having the demon brat rub it in face." It was said with a coy little smile that slightly warmed Bruce's heart, chasing the chill of failure away slightly.

Jason let his eyes widen when Bruce snorted in amusement. "I can see about that."

They went silent, watching the sun sink low beyond the farmland horizon. Bruce frowned as replayed the entire conversation in his head. Many things had yet to be addressed. So he chose one. "I'm proud of you, Jay." He hated himself a little more when Jason's breath hitched. "You've come a long way since that night. I'm proud, proud that you've stayed true to your word, proud that you're my son. I want you to talk to me. I want you to come to me if you relapse into alcoholism, or if you start thinking you're better off dead. I swear, Jason, I will never throw you in Arkham. I won't let you get that broken."

Jason buried his chin behind his knees, focusing on the sky with blurry eyes. Bruce scooted over and draped an arm over Jason's shoulder, drawing him close. It was awkward, not something the bat was used to doing... But his son needed it.

"I..." Why can't I say it? Bruce furrowed his brow. No I'm going to say it. I'm going to get past this. "I know we have a long way to go, to fix this family... But I'm going to work hard at it Jay."

Jason relaxed against Bruce, listening intently.

"I-..." Bruce took a breath, scolding himself internally. "I really do love you, Jason."

Bruce worried he'd given his son a premature heart attack... But the boy breathed out once more.

"Yeah yeah... I love you too, old man."

FIN.

And that's a wrap folks! I hope you all enjoyed the ending. I'm pretty pleased with it. This is part one of my Batfamily: Mending Broken Hearts and Broken Minds series. The others will take place in this same little world, unlike my other Jason stories. So keep your eyes peeled! Thanks to those of you that have reviewed to this story! It means a lot to me as a writer. I appreciate you all, have an awesome, day/week/ forever XD.

Until next time

-Bl00dR4v3n