Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For a spur-of-the-moment plan, Jason was doing pretty damn well.

He'd been set to leave Robin sprawled across the Titan Tower's floor when he realized that no one would be there for hours. His teammates had all been scarily easy to drug, considering they were supposed to be elite fighters with enhanced senses. Golden boy's old squad might not have done any better but he'd never tried to slip a League of Shadows special to any of them. These guys had one hard fight and one large pitcher of filtered water he had thoroughly drugged. They were even thoughtful enough to label their leftovers. The worst that would happen to them was a lot extra time in a drugged sleep. True to his reputation, Robin ignored rehydrating after the battle and went straight to coffee maker labeled with a hand-drawn Robin emblem. The rest of the kid's team slept through the entire fight and the Tower was silent after he knocked the kid out with one too many blows to the head. He could have kept going with beating the kid but whaling on him when he was unconscious just felt like he was hitting a pinata that didn't have any candy inside.

He'd hauled the kid up on his shoulder and walked right out of the Tower. He had been using a rusted-out utility van because it was the best thing for storing all of his guns and gear in the rougher parts of town where he liked to hang out. The long drive from Gotham had given him time to make a list of priorities for the too-short fight and work out a few more details to handle once he was back in Crime Alley. The van looked awful but it handled just fine. Nobody wanted to mess with something when they weren't sure which gang might be protecting it and his ride was generic enough that no one would be quite sure who claimed the goods.

He'd left the back of the van open to have an easier time heading out fast. It made it a lot easier to drop Robin's unconscious form next to his duffel bag of gear. He would need to start driving soon if he didn't want the Justice League on top of him while he was still in their parking garage. He rifled through his things and broke out the zip ties. Wrists behind his back, tight, with a few zip ties next to each other for good measure. Ankles together, such a shame how that broken bones moved around in the right lower leg when he linked the wrists to the ankles. The cape stripped apart so easily with the right knife at the right angle and that'd do for a gag. No need to hear jabber while he was busy driving. He packed his guns into a duffel and stowed it in the passenger-side footwell, leaving his new cargo in the back with no padding.

The kid was still unconscious when he stopped at a gas station outside of Reno. He filled the tank and paid cash for a few cheap pay-by-minutes phones, two rolls of aluminum foil, half a gallon of milk, and a breakfast burrito. He spent a couple minutes programming a number into the phones and eating breakfast. Such a shame the kid was sleeping right through a meal, he seemed to have missed dinner. He'd miss the first call home, too. There was no use waiting for the kid to wake up if he was going to be all day about it.

Jason put his helmet back on and opened the first roll of aluminum foil. When he knew just what he wanted to say, he reached for the first phone and pressed his brand-new speed dial.

The phone picked up halfway through the first ring but there was silence on the other end of the line. Protocols never changed, not even when they really should have been updated. Such a pity. It might've been a good idea if Batman knew to never let a Robin out of his sight if he dared to keep one around again.

Jason would just have to make sure Batman knew Robins were never safe.

“I'm calling about your missing bird.”

“I think you may have the wrong number,” Batman said in an oddly light tone. He was probably trying to not sound too out of whack in case this was a mere wrong number, not someone intentionally dialing the emergency line for a stranded sidekick with a broken comm. Just as he'd thought, this time of day Batman would be sitting at his computer writing reports that no one else would read. It was five in the morning in Gotham and there hadn't been any police bulletins or headlines to say Batman had accomplished anything important the night before.

“Really,” Jason drawled, pushing the synthesizer to the limit. He needed to sell it, after all, otherwise the game wouldn't be nearly as much fun. “That sure is a shame. Bright plumage, scrappy attitude, answers to the name of Tim... doesn't ring a bell?”

He smirked when he heard the Cave's plastic phone creak under Bruce's grip. It was always nice to know when Bruce was listening.

“If I even think I see a cape, I will kill him,” Jason said evenly. The synthesizer really was top of the line and let the delivery resonate without much help. Bruce was probably vibrating with rage by now. “I know a lot about you and your friends and you know jack shit about me. I'll call back in two hours. By then you should be satisfied that I do have the bird that you want and we can negotiate price.”

“Understood,” Batman growled.

Jason hung up. He turned the phone off, yanked the SIM card out, and wrapped the whole thing in foil, card and phone together, and stopped when he'd made it a little bundle ten times. That was enough to mess up Batman's day. Five layers of foil would've worked as a cheap Faraday cage for anyone else but the Bat deserved the extra caution. He was whistling when he took his helmet off and walked over to the gas station's trash can. The foil-wrapped phone went into the garbage right next to the emptied milk carton and burrito wrapper. No need to be messy, after all. He had all the trash he needed in the back of the van.

Said trash didn't move until he'd been driving for another half an hour. Maybe those extra whacks on the head near the end of the fight had been a little unnecessary but, well, they'd sure made Jason feel better.

The back of the van didn't have any windows. The doors also didn't open from the inside. He'd thought that there might be a mobster or two worth taking for a ride, sometime, so here he was all prepared. He just kept driving with his rearview mirror aimed right at the show.

The kid was staying pretty still, all things considered, but he gave himself away by trying to hold himself still. Jason was a responsible driver moving straight down the road. It was a shame the potholes were right in his path. When the kid actually braced himself instead of flopping like a sack of potatoes, it was clear that he was awake. He was keeping his eyes closed but Jason was pretty sure he'd noticed the lack of mask and the rest of the accommodations. He possibly should have splinted that leg already but he wasn't sure if it was going to matter yet. He'd walked into the Tower thinking he might kill the kid. That still might be the easier option. Batman would be sitting at the phone, though, and he wanted to ruffle his wings a little more before he moved on to something else.

Probably smart to keep still. Boring, though. Jason caught the kid's eyes open a couple times. The kid was doing his best to look dazed (and probably was, he had a heck of a shiner and everything around the left eye was swollen) but it seemed like he'd moved from studying the passenger-side sliding door (not working long before he'd bought the van) to the back doors. The kid could try those doors if he wanted. Those locked from the outside and all the hardware holding them closed from the outside hadn't interested any cops on the way to San Francisco.

He stopped fifteen minutes before he was scheduled to make the next phone call. It wasn't like Batman would dare complain if the call was late just because Jason got sidetracked.

The rest area was nearly deserted. There were only a few trucks on the far side of the squat building that might have vending machines to go with the plain bathrooms. He put his helmet back on before he squeezed between the front seats. It wasn't comfortable but it was worth keeping it a surprise that the back doors could open from the outside. Besides, going between the seats left him looming over the kid longer when he headed toward him with his roll of foil, cell phone, bottle of water, and the black-bladed knife he'd bought because it looked like he should kill zombies with it.

He'd expected a big reaction, something like a big flinch or more crying, but the kid looked at him with an oddly stoic face. It wasn't Batman-stoic, nothing that looked like a threat, but he looked a lot calmer than expected. That lasted right until the knife headed for his face. That got a flinch but the kid's eyes were wide open when Jason sliced through the strip of cape and tossed the gag aside.

“You missed the first phone call home,” Jason said. “Figured somebody'll want proof you're still alive if I'm going to get anything interesting for you. How much you think you're worth, anyway?”

The kid's calm demeanor wavered but Jason couldn't tell just which emotion was covering what – angry pretending to be calm or calm pretending to be angry. “Probably not as much as you want.”

Jason cut the tie that linked the kid's ankles and wrists and pretended he cared more about the pained look as blood started circulating than the brief moment of unguarded relief. The kid hadn't had any room to maneuver and suddenly that had seemed completely unsportsmanlike. If the kid defeated him by doing the worm, Jason deserved to lose.

“Told the Big Bad Bat that I'd nabbed you.” Jason should call him Tim. He should save that for later. It all seemed a lot less urgent after he'd gotten out of the Tower. He'd been imagining that scene for so long it was hard to transpose all the goals he'd considered to the back of his rusted out van. “Really didn't think I'd get this far. Your friends are heavy sleepers and should definitely be more careful about sedatives.”

The relief blooming across the kid's face at that was too bright for him to hide. “Y-yeah,” he said.

The idiot literally cared more about hearing his friends might not be dead than he had about having any degree of freedom. Jason didn't know what to do with that. He didn't know what the heck he was doing. He was inviting the entire Justice League to kick his ass, if Bruce's pride would bend that far, and this was one heck of a way to ruin his plan to get Gotham under control. If he gave up with one phone call, he might have more time to set Crime Alley to rights before Batman put it together. He should have thought this out better. He'd tossed the dumb phone in the trash right where he'd bought it, they might be able to track where he'd bought the phone and they would be smart enough to sift through the trash. Dumping a dead body at the side of the road might work out short-term but wearing gloves probably didn't matter much when he'd touched the phone to his cheek and thrown out a burrito wrapper with the phone. He didn't want to give the game away too early and his plans in Gotham were bigger than Robin.

The kid's eyes were bright. He had to be hurting but he was keeping his breathing easy and pretending he didn't notice the bottle of water. The gag had been bloody when Jason had pulled it out. The blow across the kid's face had made his left eye puffy but it had also left a livid bruise on his cheek.

“Here's the deal, Replacement. Your job is to make it clear you're alive and not piss me off. Do that and you might even make it home to the Bat.”

Jason had expected fear. The creeping horror was entirely different. Fear would be recoiling from Jason, begging, pleading, trying to crawl away... not the sight of those blue eyes going distant as he slumped back. “I'm guessing you don't want me to talk about the van.”

“Rumor said you had a brain in there,” he said mockingly. Jason would take the helmet off again at some point but the synthesizer really gave it all a nice edge. “Cry if you want. Should've recorded you last night but I was busy being surprised anybody trained by Batman held a staff like that.”

The kid's jaw clenched. “Is there something you'd like me to tell Batman? A name? Call sign?”

“I did skip introductions last time,” Jason said thoughtfully before deciding that he might as well have his fun. “I like to think I know you all pretty well, too, so it's not all that fair. Maybe you should be the one to tell Batman to be careful with the Red Hood, Tim.”

The kid's guileless blink was impressive. “Red Hood. Got it,” he said.

“Not all you got. Jackson's an interesting middle name.” Jason smiled behind the helmet when Tim's breath caught. “Not your mom's maiden name, either, so who knows where that came from. How soon should I expect to see Jack and Janet Drake popping up on the news in a tear-soaked press conference?”

Jason drank in the way the kid went chalk-pale. He was already pale by genetics and habits and blood loss. 'Tim' could have been a lucky guess, but not even this little bundle of nerves could stand up to that much of an information dump.

Jason laughed when he dialed the number into the second phone. He had it on speed-dial but it was more fun to let the kid's eyes get even bigger as Jason punched in the numbers one by one to a phone that no stranger should be able to reach.

The call was picked up just a moment into the first ring. “Batman.”

This was even more fun than the duffel bag full of heads. Batman was never careful enough with his toys.

Jason let the call stay silent for a few seconds before hitting the button for speaker phone and holding it towards the kid. “Well?”

“Batman,” the kid said, still pale and shocked. Now that Jason was looking at something aside from the fear, he could tell that one of the the kid's pupils was larger than the other, giving him a bit of a crazed look. “S-sorry. He knows who I am. Don't remember how. He calls himself Red Hood and made it into Titans Tower without setting off alarms. I don't know where we are.”

“Robin, that's okay. Are you injured?” Batman's voice sounded level to someone not paying attention. Jason could hear the rage underneath the calm veneer.

“Of course he is,” Red Hood interjected. It was easy to be faster than a concussed kid. “Nothing fatal yet but I don't live by your rules. You really think he would have left his little nest without a fight?” The break to the leg probably wouldn't kill him as long as the kid wasn't unlucky enough to get a bone marrow embolism or something really dumb. He took the phone off speaker and jammed it closer to his helmet. “Enough chit-chat. Price.”

“I don't know much about you, Red Hood. Not enough to guess what you might find valuable.”

“The Joker's decapitated head would make a nice paperweight but I'm guessing you would watch me kill the kid before you got your hands dirty.”

“If you wanted the Joker, you'd have the Joker,” Batman growled. None of his rage was hidden behind anything else. “You took Robin and called me. If all you want to see is what happens when I get angry, you won't be the first to play that game.”

“That's the whole problem, Bruce. You're careless,” Jason spat into the phone. “You don't take good care of your little tin soldiers and anyone could swoop in and pick them up. You trust all your operation to some dumb kid and act shocked when they aren't ready for the big leagues.”

“You're the big leagues, then.”

He laughed. The synthesizer took some of the hysterical edge off of it and left it more cynical than shocked. “I'm the one with Robin,” he taunted. “I'll call back in another hour or so. Maybe by then you'll have something worth saying.”

Jason powered down the phone instead of ending the call. He ripped the SIM card off and again wrapped the whole thing in a thick tube of aluminum foil sealed at both ends. He smirked at the Replacement's dazed eyes tracking the movements. He was pretty sure that the kid understood that the phone wouldn't be receiving any further signals but didn't bother to explain the finer points of Batman tech on a budget. “You stay put. Or don't. If you can manage to get out of here before I can get myself a drink, maybe I'll let you go.” He left the helmet on when he walked into the small rest station. If they had security cameras looking over two dingy bathrooms and a few vending machines, he thought that whoever found the footage deserved to see the full Red Hood.

He was only gone for two minutes. The phone went into the back tank of one of the toilets and he bought an energy drink. He thought about draining it there but that would ruin whatever security camera footage they eventually found.

The kid was between the front seats when he made it back, trying to pull himself up despite a badly-bruised left wrist. His legs were still bound together at the ankles but he'd borrowed Jason's knife to cut his wrists free. It looked like he'd gouged himself to manage that, by the new slice near the base of his left palm, but his hands were separated and he looked like he was trying to crawl over the driver's seat to escape. Maybe he'd tried out the back doors first.

Jason drew his gun. The kid couldn't tell that he was smiling with the helmet in place but Jason finally felt like he had a Robin in the back of the van. He liked him more for that. “Cute. Drop the knife.”

The kid dropped the knife. Jason swiped the knife, dropped it back into the duffel, and holstered his gun. The kid flailed when Jason reached in to pick him up by the cape and toss him into the back of the van. The flailing didn't make it any harder to throw him. The kid did a decent job trying to improve his landing position but he came down heavily right onto the broken right leg.

Jason set the helmet aside. He might just need peripheral vision on his side now that the kid had done something interesting. He didn't bother with a seatbelt. He'd already been dead once and it wasn't like he was offering the kid anything but the chance this might not end with him dead. Jason still wasn't sure what Bruce could give him other than the promise there would never be another Robin. Maybe that's what he'd ask for the next time he called. If he gave back one broken Robin, that was a token of goodwill. Any future Robin-ing or Robins would not get the same mercy. That'd probably work as long as the kid didn't do anything stupid enough to bring the rage back in the next hour or so.

The first fifty minutes were easy. The kid had rolled into a somewhat-comfortable position, curled on his side facing away from Jason. He hadn't said anything and the pattern of his breathing had looked like he was counting. Not a bad idea as a pain response when Jason was choosing back roads and these ones were not priorities for maintenance.

The kid had waited it out with meditative breathing for fifty minutes before he started moving. He pushed himself up and scooted over to use the back corner of the van as a seat. The two walls kept him up easily enough and he kept his legs straight out in front of him. That left him focusing on Jason instead of putting effort into holding himself up.

“Moving a bit slow there, Replacement?”

“Today, yeah.” Tim looked a bit green when Jason gunned the accelerator. Jason let off so he didn't end up with puke in the back of his van, not because the kid's eyes were starting to look cloudy and unfocused on top of mismatched. “I just can't figure out what you want.”

Jason laughed. If the kid wanted to talk, though, they could chat for a few minutes before he made another phone call. He pulled over to the shoulder of the empty highway. “That's not for you to worry your pretty little head about.”

“Maybe it is,” he replied evenly. Tim's brow was furrowed, possibly from pain, possibly from the effort of not slurring his words. “You don't have to do this. If you want Robin back, leave me at the side of the road and I'll retire.”

For a second, it felt like green didn't exist. The utter shock of the kid's confidence made him forget why they were talking. If Jason wanted Robin back— There was no world where this kid could figure out in eight hours what Batman hadn't put together in weeks. Jason was not possibly that transparent.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

Tim looked him straight in the eyes. “Jason, you can have Robin back. You don't have to prove anything. You never had to prove anything to me. If you let me go, I will never tell Bruce you're the one that did this.”

The green haze creeping into his vision shaded the kid's pale and bruised face into something less stark. The blurring edges of the green smoke that obscured the road and the kid alike let him not see the stark edges of the black eye or the way the kid was bargaining against his own death. He wanted to say the kid was fucking with things he didn't know but that wasn't a kid with a cutting smirk and a winning plan. That was someone watching the timer count down and trying to negotiate with the bomb.

“You're delirious, kid,” he answered when the green faded down to a familiar jade tint instead of a smoke grenade coloring his world.

“Not that delirious,” the kid said with the same care for the words. He sounded like he was talking in slow motion and forming each one carefully. “You didn't just get into the Tower without setting off alarms. You knew your way around better than I do. You know the Cave phone line for help-my-comm-broke and that isn't written down anywhere.” The kid was looking at him with some strange expression he couldn't place. It almost looked like heartbreak. “You call me Replacement.”

“S'what you are,” Jason said, pretending he wasn't shaken. “Replacement Robin.” Sure, people said the new kid was not an idiot, but the kid was dealing with a concussion and broken bones and probably going to go into rhabdo if Jason didn't let him have a drink soon. He'd planned to give him water hours ago. The bottle was still rolling around in the back and the kid's arms were free but he had his eyes on Jason.

“Not one that anybody wanted,” Tim said and even Jason had to admit the kid sounded sad about it. “You died, Jason, and he was going to get himself killed. Batman's supposed to hold it together but he was completely crazy with grief. Nightwing wouldn't come back and nobody else would do anything. You don't have to think he just moved on. I wouldn't go away and he got used to me.”

Tim looked up at the rearview mirror to meet Jason's eyes. “He'll still take you back. He loves you and nearly got himself killed thinking that he hadn't told you often enough before you died. He misses you so much, Jason.” The first tears start, then, of all the stupid things to cry about when he could have cried about a concussion and hours restrained and a broken leg and no water.

Jason couldn't look at the mirror. Tim thought he was going to die and wasn't even going to beg for his life. “Kid. You're just concussed. Let's give Batman some ransom that isn't just a fucking joke and get this over with.”

Somehow, that made Tim flinch worse than threats, but Jason didn't care. He grabbed his duffel bag of supplies before he clambered into the back again. Jason wasn't sure why a new ransom was what would make Tim recoil until he opened the bag and found his knife right where he'd dropped it after Tim grabbed it, next to the aluminum foil.

The third phone was missing.

Tim looked at him with nothing but exhaustion in his eyes. “I muted the call before I started talking to you.”

Tim worked the phone out of a reinforced pants pocket and didn't flinch when Jason snatched it out of his hand.

The call was on mute, like he'd said. Call time: 52 minutes and 17 seconds, and still ticking up.

Tim looked up at him and Jason could barely recognize the kid who had fought him so hard just the night before. That kid had been safe and worried about a report he never finished and fought like a bottled hurricane even though Jason knew his favorite weapon and had spent a couple weeks working against the best bo staff fighters Talia could find. That had been Robin, fighting back hard and trying to save teammates that were in so much less danger than he was. Tim was only conscious through pain and fear and sheer will. Conscious wasn't enough.

It didn't matter how close the Bats might be. The road had been clear when Jason stopped and the gun was in his hand before he thought about it. Batman wasn't faster than a speeding bullet.

The kid blinked down the barrel of the gun, looking past the gun and up to Jason. “Bruce will still want you to come home,” Tim rasped. “He knows what the Lazarus Pit is like.”

Jason's domino mask was still on. At some point, though, he'd flipped the lenses down to focus on the road better and he guessed his eyes were as green as they'd ever been. The pad of his index finger was on the trigger. If he moved that finger, the kid was going to die. “Why the fuck would you... Tim, if I kill you, you will not be having a front-row seat at a reunion. You will be dead.”

“Guess that's your choice.” It should have been manipulative or defiant or daring. The kid's words were slurring, though, and he slumped down against the floor of the van.

Dazed blue eyes looked right into death and tried to save someone who didn't deserve it when he couldn't find a way to save himself.

Robin was only fifteen years old.

Batman was on his way.

Tim had been trying to hold out, clearly, but he was about eight hours past multiple breaks in that leg and a bad concussion and had still managed to steal a phone. If Jason had left the keys in the ignition, Tim might have been gutsy enough to steal the van while he made the call, but it wasn't like Jason had left out supplies for hot-wiring a car in two minutes. The phone felt like it was burning in his hand. He dropped it where Tim could reach it.

Tim had the phone and there was a non-zero chance Jason could hitchhike somewhere if he hid in the woods for a few hours and waited for Batman to swoop in and grab the replacement. There was a zero chance the kid was going to keep living if Jason kept standing here with a gun in his hand. Jason would still be furious with Bruce after killing some fifteen-year-old that had held it together through broken bones and a situation that he couldn't escape.

Jason didn't remember getting out of the van. The gun was still in his hand when he fumbled with his keyring to open the padlock holding the frame on the back of the van together. All the places he'd been, no one had even seen the kid, and he could have just dumped him hours ago and maybe he would have never admitted to himself that he had beat up a kid and killed him in cold blood because he was mad that Bruce hadn't saved Jason in time and had left another Robin in harm's way.

He wrenched both back doors of the van open. The kid had gotten his hands on the knife again and kept it pointed toward the threat. Jason realized belatedly that the kid was keeping an eye on him and finally holstered the gun. When the kid's grip on the knife remained white-knuckled, Jason looked up into the dark sky. There was no sign of a plane coming screaming in for a landing. There was no trace of a black car moving down the highway at an impossible speed.

“Kid – Tim,” he said. Jason wasn't sure why his voice sounded so rough when he hadn't been in any pain. The kid was great with a staff and Jason knew that. That's why he had used his bulk and stealth to move in close enough the kid never had a chance to set the terms of the fight or start to give himself space. It wasn't the kid's fault that he had been forced into a reckless move and an unlucky tumble down the stairs had ended with a sick snap, leaving him with a broken leg that couldn't support his leg and no time to get creative. It definitely wasn't Tim's fault that the fall had been almost immediately followed by Jason stomping down on the ankle and taking Tim's own staff to clock him on the head. “Tim, c'mon,” he coaxed when the only response was a blank-eyed stare. “Take the phone off mute and talk to him. Okay? Just use the phone.”

Tim slowly blinked at him. He was still sitting upright braced in the back corner of the van holding a knife.

Jason slowly reached past Tim to grab the phone. He probably deserved a stab wound or two but all he got was a view of the whites around Tim's eyes. This was it. He'd found the limits and Tim had lasted a lot longer than he had needed to. Tim hadn't even been making a risky ploy on sympathy and compassion. He'd been sitting in his own common room after a terrible mission and had looked so frustrated with whatever report he'd been putting together. He'd been sitting there in full mask like the glue didn't chafe after a while and if Jason had been less feral with rage he might have thought the kid needed a break and having someone tell him to just write down the most important points and put a full report together after he had enough sleep.

He pressed the button to take the phone off mute and held it toward Tim. When Tim looked at him blankly, Jason was the one to talk. His voice was so rough that he didn't miss the helmet.

“Where the fuck are you,” Jason growled. “I know you've been tracking the phone.”

That seemed to be the cue. He saw the latest version of the Batplane just a moment later as it soared down for a vertical landing. Maybe they'd been waiting for a clue that they wouldn't land just in time to watch the Red Hood kill Robin right in front of them. Maybe they'd just gotten close enough.

They landed just thirty yards away but the roar of the plane's engines and blast of air didn't get a reaction out of Tim. Jason dropped out of the back of the van and backed out of the path between the plane and the injured Robin. There was pissing off Batman and then there was wanting to end up in worse shape than Robin.

Batman leapt out of the Batplane, Nightwing directly behind him.

Jason wasn't sure what he had expected. He had thought about so many versions of seeing Batman again but most had been long-distance dreams of watching the Batmobile explode. He wanted a world where Batman understood that some criminals would never change and that Gotham's jails and asylums would never contain them. He wanted Batman to look him in the eyes and say that Jason was right and that Joker didn't deserve to live.

Batman stormed past Jason without a single glance in his direction.

Nightwing stepped between Jason and the van. There was a hard expression on his face with upturned lips that some idiot might mistake for a smile. Jason knew enough to recognize Nightwing was about one wrong move away from exploding into a towering level of rage.

“Gun,” Nightwing demanded. “Now.”

Jason could have fought. He could have said something cutting or tried to aim the gun at center mass. He could have been dumb enough to quip when Nightwing was already furious. He didn't push. Nightwing was already biting out monosyllables and he didn't have much patience left.

Even if Dick had grown, his shoulders would never be as broad as Bruce's. Jason could see past him. Bruce had already moved past his initial scan and he had the Replacement in his arms. Tim was saying something, from the way that his lips were moving and Bruce was leaning closer, and Bruce was murmuring something too quiet for Jason to hear. Tim's eyes were open, again, and he was clinging to Bruce with all the strength he had left. Robin had held out long enough to see Batman swoop in for the rescue.

Jason offered the gun stock-first and Nightwing swept it out of his hands. Nightwing unloaded it neatly and tossed the magazine, chambered bullet, and the unloaded gun behind him as fast as Jason himself could have cleared the weapon.

“Second gun,” Nightwing said coolly.

Jason didn't ask. He slowly drew his holdout pistol and watched as it vanished into Nightwing's hands to be unloaded just as rapidly.

“Thank you,” Nightwing said. His tone was still cold but his razor-edged smile was gone. “I want you to draw all of your knives and drop them on the ground. After you've done that, you are going to take two large steps to the right, so don't scatter them too far that way.”

This wasn't how Nightwing usually dealt with weapons but Jason wasn't going to question it. Maybe there was a lack of walls for Nightwing to slam him against unless they moved far too close to Robin. Maybe most people in his position thought they could try their luck with the Bat bold enough to run around with less armor than anyone else. Jason slowly dropped his knives, one by one, and waited for Nightwing's nod to move to the side away from the small pile of weapons.

“Hands behind your head,” Nightwing said quietly. “Get your hands behind your head and get on your knees. If you can't do that for me, I will put you there myself.”

Batman was waiting, using the van for partial cover, and keeping Tim angled away from them. Bruce wouldn't risk Tim, not after getting him back, and he trusted Nightwing to handle this.

Once upon a time, Bruce would have trusted Jason to help him get a child to safety.

Jason slowly put his hands behind his head. Leaving himself open hurt. There was nothing friendly or receptive on Nightwing's face. Once upon a time, he'd thought that younger-Dick had been closed off and angry with Jason. He hadn't remembered that Dick would relax within minutes of Bruce storming out of the room. Dick hadn't even known there was a new kid home. He felt replaced with some street kid dumb enough to steal tires off the Batmobile and he'd still come around sometimes, even though he and Bruce were always one wrong word away from the kind of fight that left Jason hiding in his room.

Dick had still tried to like the kid that replaced him as Robin. Jason had almost killed the replacement Robin.

Jason dropped to his knees.

Nightwing looked down at him and it felt like the white lenses on his mask could see through everything. Jason could see Batman moving in his peripheral vision, could see the sharp edge of the black suit and cape against the bright road and the green on the side of the road, but he didn't move his head to follow Batman's path. He kept his hands up behind his head and focused on staying still.

Nightwing breathed out slowly. With Tim out of the line of fire, he loosened his stance. “Here's how it is going to work,” Nightwing said quietly. “I am going to cuff your hands in front of you. If you don't fight me, I will not hurt you.”

That's how good guys worked. “I'm done,” Jason rasped. “I'm sorry.”

Nightwing put one hand on each of Jason's wrists to guide his arms forward. His hands were gentle when he clipped the cuffs in place.

Jason cringed when Nightwing knelt in front of him.

The lenses of Nightwing's mask opened with a gentle click. Dick was looking at him with growing confusion.

“You aren't a shapeshifter, are you.”

“Why the fuck would I be a shapeshifter?” Jason asked miserably.

“We weren't sure what to think.” Dick looked him over thoughtfully. “But there's a reason that you were able to get into the Tower and know your way around.”

“Y-yeah.” He didn't have any right to stutter and nearly cry because Dick was looking at him with enough shock that the rage was almost entirely gone. It should just be rage. If Dick was angry and just kicked him a few times before dropping him off at Arkham, he could manage. He'd known it was a risk the second that he set himself up as a big enough threat to be a theme villain in his own right. If the Bats hated him, that was enough to make his reputation and he'd heard his dad talk about prison often enough. If he went in angry and with no connection but hatred, he'd probably never be in Joker's tier and nobody would have to wonder much. Joker hadn't even taken his mask off before he died.

If they dropped him off at Arkham with hugs and fussing, though, he was going to be every single Arkham inmate's favorite target.

“Okay.” Dick braced his hands against Jason's sides, just under his arms. “Let's stand up,” he said. “The cuffs are staying on while we sort this out.”

While they sorted this out? The cuffs were staying on until Arkham got out a straitjacket. He didn't particularly want to stay in the dirt, though, so he let his deceptively strong big brother help him up. It was awkward to stand up when he didn't have use of his arms but he could never complain after what he'd done to Tim. “Is Tim...”

Dick moved his hands away from Jason's sides slowly and stepped back. “I want to know how you know his name first. Everything else makes sense. You know the emergency phone line in the Cave, you know Bruce's name, you know your way around the Tower and how to hide our tracks. How do you know Tim's name?”

Jason shuddered. This was where it all went wrong, then. “Talia told me. She... she showed me the pictures. I dug myself out of my grave right around the same time there was some new kid in the Robin costume. All I saw was Batman acting like he hadn't just lost a Robin.”

Dick blinked twice. “Dug yourself out of your grave?”

“Yeah. I came back messed up, though. Brain-damaged. Still had the autopsy scar, still was messed up from what Joker did, but my bones weren't pudding. Talia put me into the Lazarus Pit when nothing else would heal my mind.” Jason flinched away from Dick's scrutiny. Standing here beneath a lightening sky with cuffs on, he could see the gaping holes in his logic. It hurt to see just what he had been doing. He was mad that Batman's partner had been kidnapped and tortured so he decided to torture and kidnap Batman's new partner.

“We're going to sort this out,” Dick said finally. “Just give me a minute.” He kept his eyes on Jason but he was listening to someone else. “Confirmed,” he replied. “Batman will be focusing on Robin and I will coordinate further arrangements for Red Hood.” There wasn't time to cringe at just what Dick would line up for someone that couldn't live up to his standards. He was still talking. “Batman, are we clear to come on the plane? He's cooperating.”

Jason cringed. Getting dropped off at Arkham wouldn't be terrible as long as Dick was kind enough to keep it professional. If he said one word about brothers or hugged him, Jason might cry, and he would not be dropped off at Arkham without a single mark of a beating with tears in his eyes. Maybe if he asked nicely they could stage a brawl in Gotham and he could let Dick get a few hits in. It would save him from a worse fight in prison if people knew that he could lose gracefully against a Bat.

“Batman needs a minute,” Dick said. “What would you like me to call you?”

“Hood,” Jason said immediately. He was not getting checked into prison as Jason Todd and he hoped that Dick got the message. Being an imprisoned drug lord with strange quirks was acceptable. Getting checked in as Bruce Wayne's wayward resurrected son was not happening.

“Okay,” Dick agreed. He paused like he was waiting for Jason to change his mind but Jason was not giving them any room to mess with the intake paperwork. Vigilantes used code-names and Arkham could have fun sorting out the rest. “You're going to be restrained during the flight, Hood, but you'll be right at the front of the plane with me. Think of it like being my co-pilot that can't touch anything if that helps.

Nothing about that sounded right. Jason studied his boots instead of his one-time brother. He wasn't sure he wanted to spend an entire flight back to Gotham crammed onto the plane with the three of them but getting transported by prison van all the way back to Gotham would probably be worse.

Dick walked onto the plane first. He had gestured firmly for Jason to stay where he was and having another minute without seeing Batman and Robin sounded like a great idea. He waited. He could try to run with the cuffs on but he wouldn't outrun Dick on a good day. There wasn't time to wait. Nightwing led Hood onto the plane before he was ready. Batman stared at him. Batman looked less angry than Jason had expected but maybe that was the company. Batman was holding Tim's hand and Tim was clinging even in his sleep.

For once, Nightwing didn't say anything. Batman was staring at him so Jason took the time to look over Robin. Robin's bruised face was relaxed in sleep. There was an IV line running into Robin's arm just past where Batman was holding his hand. There was an inflatable splint in place, parts of the clear plastic showing beyond the edges of the blanket. He recognized that blanket. Alfred always used that blanket when he was worried. It was the softest and warmest and the brown and yellow and red plaid should be objectively ugly but it had always looked like waking up in safety.

“Time to get moving, Hood,” Nightwing said softly. “Just like I told you, you are the co-pilot that isn't allowed to touch anything. Do you want a drink before I strap you in?”

Jason shook his head. He let Nightwing push him into the co-pilot's seat and kept his eyes on the floor while Nightwing worked through the restraints by rote memory. All Robins learned how to take care of this even if they weren't cleared to fly. One of Robin's duties was keeping people safe from Batman if he couldn't control himself. It didn't matter that he couldn't move anything below his neck by the time Nightwing was done. Being strapped down was still better than the straight jacket that was coming, he reminded himself. Arkham nearly always brought that out for the intake exam while they decided if you were mad enough to be a theme villain or downright vicious enough the entire staff would have to be on guard.

Nightwing stepped back. “Is that okay?” he asked. “Nothing's digging in or too tight?” His expression was too soft when Jason glanced up at him. “I told you,” Nightwing said gently, resting his hand on Jason's shoulder. His hand felt warm. “You surrendered. Don't fight me and I will not hurt you.”

Jason looked away but didn't shrug the hand away. Nightwing drew back on his own to fuss with the plane's controls and his comm. Maybe that was the trick. He'd have to fight on his way into Arkham. He could probably manage a decent brawl without leaving anything more than a bruise or two on Nightwing. It was risking a shock from escrima sticks as well as a few broken bones to suddenly tackle Nightwing but it would make Arkham easier to deal with. He didn't listen while Nightwing ran through a flurry of phone calls and text messages.

The flight felt like it went on forever. Dick was focused on flying them back to Gotham but periodically would look at Jason or back at Batman and Robin. Batman kept looking over at Jason and Jason made sure that he was looking down at the floor and not doing a thing that would make it seem like the threat to Robin was back. When he had the chance to look, Robin was sleeping and Bruce was holding his hand. Before he'd realized that he was going to die, he'd wanted to open his eyes and find himself tucked into the Cave's ugliest blanket with Batman making sure that everything was okay. This Robin had that, at least. He was jealous that Batman was taking care of the kid that he'd beat up. Arkham was probably a good idea.

Batman almost caught Jason looking at him after about an hour on the plane. Jason kept his eyes on his knees. He was focusing on his breathing when Tim started to move.

“Robin,” Bruce said in a soft voice that Jason could hardly recognize.

“Hi, B,” the new Robin replied a few moments later.

“You were sleeping for about an hour and a half. It's nearly ten in the morning Gotham-time and we're heading for the Cave first. ” Bruce still had no trace of Batman's gravel. “You should keep resting.”

“Can I sit up a bit?” Robin asked. “Feeling dizzy.”

“Soon,” Batman replied.

Golden boy managed a perfectly soft landing for the injured baby bird. Jason looked out the window at the new security setup for the Batplane. The airstrip and the hangar were the same but the security checks that flashed onto the dashboard were new. The transition from the closed hangar to the cave was smoother, too, without the sudden drop that he remembered. Jason stared out the window while he listened to the sound of restraint buckles coming loose and straps sliding free.

The plane was still traveling down the conveyor when Nightwing abandoned his pilot's seat to go have a look at the new Robin. Nightwing's voice was just as soft as Batman's. Maybe the new Robin was an obedient little thing that only needed to get yelled at when the villains got too close. Jason had to breathe. Someone else was living his dying daydream where Bruce had made it in time. Nightwing was talking with Wonder Woman and Superman because the new Robin going missing was a global crisis. The Joker was still in Arkham busily plotting his escape but taking out a couple corrupt guards didn't change anything. The new people desperate enough to work in Arkham seemed just as eager to take a bribe.

He stared forward. With the dim of the cave as a backdrop, he could see the hazy outlines of the scene behind him. Bruce hadn't moved a step away from the precious baby bird for the entire flight. It didn't matter that Bruce only thought about the new Robin. It meant that he'd gone after the right target. If he wanted to have a conversation with Bruce, maybe the man needed a little incentive. It couldn't be that hard to escape from Arkham. Guards liked money and money was easy to get when you picked it up by the suitcase after taking care of a trafficking operation that worked through the wrong port.

He only paid enough attention to see that Bruce was carrying his cargo straight out of the Cave. Nightwing was keeping his mouth shut, for once, and as expected it was because Golden Boy was following orders.

Drifting had been easy without the green. The pretense was wearing thin, though, because Nightwing had never bothered to spend an entire hour looking worried about Jason before. Even Golden Boy's orders from Batman probably wouldn't stand up to a bit of a push.

“I'm not sure why you ever let him put on the tights, Dick,” Jason said as casually as he could when the silence started to wear on him. He was in the Cave but wasn't allowed to get out of the restrained seat on the Batplane. They probably wouldn't even let him up before they dragged him off to Arkham without a single mark to show that he'd tangled with the Bats. “Tim's not much of a fighter.”

Dick's brotherly worries vanished into Nightwing's blank stare. Every muscle in his jaw had clenched and his shoulders were tense enough to bulge out his thin costume.

“I'm not in the mood, Hood,” Nightwing said evenly. The modulation was strange for Dick. Jason had to wonder how much of his earlier goodwill had been faked to avoid a fight he didn't want to bother with.

“What's the matter, Dickie? Truth hurts?” Jason goaded. All he needed was a prominent bruise or two. He was not getting checked into Arkham as a meek little pet of the Bats that surrendered because Nightwing flashed his baby blues. Nobody in Arkham should know that Nightwing's eyes matched the outfit. “I don't think Robin managed to leave a bruise on me the whole fight. I expected a bit more of a brawl but that's the best he could do.”

Every muscle in Dick's jawline was tensed. “I am not discussing Robin with you right now, Hood.”

The green surged back as if it had just been waiting for proof that Nightwing had gotten sneakier with age. Bruce never bothered to manipulate with emotions other than fear. He'd scare criminals into surrendering but otherwise he'd try to appeal to reason. Dick would play the concerned big brother for an entire hour if that's what it kept to keep the new baby bird safe. Dick had thought he was a shapeshifter before his sudden switch to feigned caring.

Dick was still calling him Hood.

“Not in the mood to talk to your brother?” Jason wheedled. He laughed when Nightwing flinched. “Just as well. You never were my brother.”

Even that didn't get the perfect golden child to take a swing. “I think we're done here,” Nightwing said, and that was the truth. Nightwing ignored him entirely and started tidying up the medical bay and setting several things aside on a tray. Not even saying that Batman would have been too late if Jason had decided to pull the trigger got a reaction. It was like he was talking to a wall dressed in black and blue spandex.

It was almost a relief when Batman came back. Bruce might be his only chance to end up in Arkham as anything but the weakest link.

Chapter Text

Bruce Wayne would not make it to a vital board meeting. Depending on Lucius' mood at the last-minute cancellation, the resulting tabloid stories might be embarrassingly eye-catching and give a good reason for Bruce to not show his face in society for a week before breezing back into Wayne Enterprises as if nothing had happened. Bruce would not going to take the time to explain. The potential tabloids were not a priority.

Batman would not be taking the cowl off until the nightmare was over.

Batman had approximately fifteen minutes until his second conversation with the unknown person who had presumably abducted Robin. The first phone call had been too brief to track and did not give him enough information to do anything but ask others to gather further data for him.

Superman and the Flash were both at the Tower minutes after the first call from the presumptive kidnapper and found no sign that Robin was anywhere nearby. The rest of the Titans were in a deep sleep and could not be roused. A toxin screen was still pending for blood samples from each Titan as well as several food items and beverages from their kitchen. The Titans minus Robin were resting comfortably in the medical bay and seemed to be in perfect health.

All Batcave systems said that Robin was still inside Titans Tower. The tracking beacons had been cut out of the uniform with a sharp knife and stacked neatly in the parking garage with the Robin emblem on top. The same knife had left traces of Robin's blood on those cut pieces of uniform, matching the blood trail that led in droplets across the common area to the bottom of an emergency stairwell. There, the trail had changed to drag marks leading to the parking garage. No one realized anything was wrong until the kidnapper called on the line reserved for Robins, Batgirl, and Spoiler.

Batman obeyed a years-old promise and called Nightwing first. After the kidnapper hung up, Batman had called Nightwing even before Alfred. Nightwing had dropped everything and called himself out of work at five in the morning to rush to the Batcave.

The Titans Tower security system had finished rebooting an hour after the call and showed no unauthorized entry. It showed two unusual logs, though, as if Robin_002 had visited the Tower twice that night, once during the Titans' fight out in the city and once approximately an hour after the team returned to the Tower.

Robin_002 was dead but his biometrics had been used to access the Tower.

Batman needed to focus on the evidence. Abduction was the most likely possibility. At this point, the most preferable circumstance was Robin freeing himself and calling for help getting home. There was the possibility that Robin was already dead and Batman was sitting in the Cave doing nothing. If Batman thought about that, all he could see was the aftermath of an explosion that had happened two years ago. He would treat this as an abduction until he had further evidence and ignore the way that the air in the Cave tasted like the aftermath of an explosion.

The abductor was disguising his or her identity through a vocal synthesizer. The abductor knew Robin's identity. There could have been some detail or item in the Tower that would have revealed his identity or the abductor may have known in advance. The abductor could have coerced or tricked Robin into revealing his civilian identity or have telepathic abilities Robin was unable to shield against. The abductor had targeted Robin specifically and left the rest of the Titans unharmed. The rest of the Titans were still asleep and had not been awake during the attack, suggesting that Robin had not been drugged or that he had been given a reversal agent. Robin had fought someone larger and stronger, by the pattern of damage caused to the kitchen and common room, suggesting a male attacker. The fighting had been at close enough quarters that the attacker had successfully countered a bo staff with a knife. All resulting cuts had been shallow based on blood spatter, suggesting a high level of skill with a knife and an attacker avoiding fatal strikes.

Ten minutes before the next expected phone call, the Watchtower forwarded a preliminary toxin screen. It was an unknown compound most similar to various poisons that Batman had previous logged from the League of Shadows. Nightwing read the report over Batman's shoulder before stalking back to the plane. Nightwing had been performing all of the pre-flight checks and medical inventory with Alfred between phone calls to allies.

Oracle's icon blinked on the screen. <Status update,> he typed. He was saving his voice for the upcoming phone call and silently thanked Oracle for keeping the comm line quiet.

<Updated tracking algorithm is in place. No updates on tracking the number used for a previous call. The company's database of sold pay-by-minutes phones will not update for several more hours.>

He should thank her. He shouldn't take his focus off this case. <Status on Batgirl and Spoiler.>

<Neither has any more details to offer. Both will remain on lockdown with me.> Oracle's typing indicator stopped for several seconds. <Working hypothesis?>

<Ra's al Ghul may have tasked an agent with taking Robin. See Justice League report on preliminary toxin screen.>

<On it,> Oracle replied immediately. <Standing by for updates.>

<Thank you. Batman out.>

The next phone call would happen soon, if it happened, and he did not have time to think about how Oracle must feel. It was still possible that Joker had hired someone. He would have had time to make records of Jason's biometrics but that didn't explain learning this Robin's identity. It didn't explain why he would have a poison from the League of Assassins.

Alfred set a fresh cup of coffee at the workstation. The previous untouched cup had vanished at some point. Batman had eaten two ration bars to avoid a similar rotation of untouched plates of breakfast. Alfred touched his shoulder for a moment before vanishing back into the Cave. Batman did not have time for pleasantries or looking around the Cave to appease curiosity about what Alfred was doing beyond preparing the Batplane and making cups of coffee that he would just pour down the drain later. One glance at Jason's memorial was enough to make Batman wonder if a second case would become necessary.

If a second became necessary... Robin had pulled him back from the edge last time. No one would make that sacrifice again.

Meditation was better. Batman emptied his mind of everything but hostage negotiation principles and verifiable facts.

The phone rang. Batman had the phone in his hand before the first ring ended and noted the call was four minutes before the two-hour mark.

“Batman.”

This should be the call where they established terms. Batman would not presume to guess just what ransom the kidnapper might set.

He counted three seconds of silence before the disguised voice spoke. “Well?”

“Batman,” Robin said. His voice was clear on the line and Batman focused on every clue that Robin could give him. Robin was likely working through pain and fear. Batman couldn't spare time for either. “S-sorry. He knows who I am. Don't remember how. He calls himself Red Hood and made it into Titans Tower without setting off any alarms. I don't know where we are.”

“Robin, that's okay.” Batman had the call's audio transmitting through the comm. He could see Oracle's icon flashing confirmation that she was listening. If this Red Hood was related to the rumors that had started spreading through Gotham in the last couple weeks, she would tell him more soon. “Are you injured?”

“Of course he is,” Red Hood said before Robin could respond. “Nothing fatal yet but I don't live by your rules. You really think he would have left his little nest without a fight?”

Batman knew very well that Robin hadn't left the Tower without a fight. What he couldn't tell was just how many injuries Robin had sustained before he lost consciousness. Answering Red Hood's rhetorical question would not help so Batman waited.

“Enough chit-chat,” Red Hood said. “Price.”

Batman was calm. He had to treat this like any other hostage negotiation situation. There was no room for mindless rage. “I don't know much about you, Red Hood. Not enough to guess what you might find valuable.”

“The Joker's decapitated head would be a nice paperweight but I'm guessing you would watch me kill the kid before you got your hands dirty.”

Mentioning the Joker could mean someone knew how Jason had died. Someone had used Jason's biometrics to access the Tower. Someone had kidnapped Robin. Batman did not know the timeline for this to end in anything but tragedy.

Someone wanted him to be angry and Ra's would expect Batman's control to waver.

“If you wanted the Joker, you'd have the Joker,” Batman growled. Maybe Red Hood would finally hint what he wanted if he thought he had the advantage and Batman was losing focus. “You took Robin and called me. If all you want to see is what happens when I get angry, you won't be the first to play that game.”

“That's the whole problem, Bruce. You're careless,” Hood spat. The man's emotions were finally breaking through the distortions but that was no comfort when Batman could hear rage. Whoever Hood was, this was personal beyond the use of Batman's name. “You don't take good care of your little tin soldiers and anyone could swoop in and pick them up. You trust all your operation to some dumb kid and act shocked when they aren't ready for the big leagues.”

Robin did not know how his identity had been compromised. This was another point toward the idea that the kidnapper had known Robin's identity before ever setting foot in the Tower. Ra's knew all of their names.

“You're the big leagues, then,” Batman said.

Hood laughed. It wasn't Joker's laugh but that didn't mean it sounded sane. “I'm the one with Robin,” he boasted. “I'll call back in another hour or so. Maybe by then you'll have something worth saying.”

The call was over. Oracle's emblem blinked before displaying a single line of text. <Working on location radius now. Batgirl and Spoiler researching Red Hood.>

Batman sat at the workstation and considered best options and the most likely suspects. Nightwing and Alfred had both listened to the call and neither was approaching yet. He appreciated the silence and acknowledged Oracle's message without a reply.

The phone rang less than a minute later. The call was coming from a different unknown number.

“Batman,” he answered a second time. He kept his voice blank even as he started to calculate immediate next steps. Hood was changing the rules again and Batman needed a plan.

Hood wasn't the one on the phone.

“Red Hood stopped at a rest station,” Robin said rapidly. If he had been playing up his confusion earlier to slow his words, there was no sign of that now. “I don't know where we are. It's still dark outside and I can't see much. There are no other cars here and he took the keys in with him. He's using a rusted old utility van as a mobile base, no windows in the back, and the back doors do not open. Exterior color is white on the hood. My right lower leg is broken in at least two places and there's nowhere for me to go. He's using burner cell phones, B, and this one gives the time as 4:07AM. Wraps them in a lot of foil and ditches them after calls. I think this phone is what he planned for the third call. He doesn't have any more phones in his duffel bag. All his gear goes in a duffel bag in the passenger footwell. He has guns and knives in the bag, too.”

“Good work, Robin. Can you keep the phone?” he asked instead of the dozens of other questions he needed to ask. Robin sounded much more centered than he had just minutes before and Batman had to trust his judgment. “We are trying to track your location.”

“Probably,” Robin said after a moment's thoughts. “If you can mute your end I'll keep it on speaker,” Robin continued, voice sounding less clear as he focused on something else. He exhaled audibly on the line before his voice became sharply precise again. “Taking the chance he's going to care more about the knife for now. I really wanted my hands apart.”

Batman didn't ask. He could make several hypotheses about just how Robin's hands had been bound together but would not waste Robin's time. “Robin. I will do everything I can to get there. The Batplane is ready for takeoff. If you keep the phone on for thirty more seconds Oracle should have your location. If you can keep it on, we'll track you in real time.”

“I know. B – I know,” Robin said quietly before there was a rustle of stiff fabric much like the reinforced edge of a pocket. “He's coming.”

Batman didn't ask. He transferred the call to a waiting cell phone and carefully hit mute. When the call continued, muted, he locked the screen and took a moment to breathe and transfer any new incoming landline calls to his communicator.

Red Hood's voice came through the phone's speaker. “Cute. Drop the knife.”

Batman was moving before he heard a loud thud followed by a pained gasp. He didn't turn when Alfred stepped forward to await a report. “Please ask Oracle to continue monitoring,” he said without slowing. Alfred kept pace with him. “She should have the location by the time I'm in the plane. We will check from the air if Superman and Flash are able to remain on standby.”

Alfred was still walking next to him. Batman reached for the extra words. Alfred was worried, too, and he would be maintaining communications from the Cave instead of moving closer to Robin. “Robin made a risky move in the face of a kidnapper showing unpredictable behavior and not setting a ransom after two phone calls. It's probably his best chance.” He saw Alfred's brisk nod in the corner of his eye and kept walking.

Nightwing fell into step beside him.

Batman didn't have words for his oldest son.

The comm chimed when they reached the Batplane. They had a location. The signal was moving at approximately seventy-eight miles per hour down a Nevada freeway. Batman and Nightwing were going to move a lot faster than that.

Batman sat in the pilot's seat. Nightwing took the co-pilot's seat. The muted call connecting them to Robin was secured on the center console so it would not be dislodged mid-flight.

Batman didn't speak until they were already in the air and moving at speed. “Thank you for scrambling the plane.”

“Thank you for calling me,” Nightwing replied. He was checking Robin's location between sending messages to the League and Oracle and the Cave.

They said little else while Batman put the plane through its paces. He could intercept the kidnapper in fifty-two minutes if the van continued its current course and rate of speed. He grunted a thank-you when Wonder Woman convinced the FAA to accept his flight path as something other than a prank. The Flash was on standby and reviewing maps and overhead footage while keeping a ten-mile perimeter.

Superman had eyes on the van. He was keeping watch from two miles up and said that Robin was conscious and was curled up on his side in the back of the van, far from the driver. Robin had broken bones in his lower right leg but no other clear fractures or injuries by X-ray vision. Superman couldn't tell them much about the abductor without getting closer. Red Hood seemed to be wearing a motorcycle jacket and had two guns and several knives on his person. He had a helmet on the passenger seat. There were more weapons in the car within Red Hood's reach.

Batman closed in on the van as minutes passed without an update from Superman.

“Where the fuck are you,” Hood growled into the cell phone without his voice synthesizer. “I know you've been tracking the phone.”

Batman didn't have any words to say to Hood and the time for subtlety had passed. He flicked off the camouflage hologram and soared down for a vertical landing. He kept the plane to the shoulder and could pay the state of Nevada for damages later. He'd replace the entire road if he destroyed it and the plane to get to Robin before it was too late.

Batman had Superman's voice in his ear. “Robin is okay,” Superman said quietly. “He was talking to Hood and had the phone on mute. I didn't realize that he had cut you out of the conversation.”

“I've got Red Hood, Batman.” Nightwing's voice was cold and the words were uncharacteristically clipped. He took Batman's pair of cuffs. “Get Robin.”

Batman nodded. He moved the thirty yards between the plane and the rusted white van. Both back doors were open, now, but he could see where an external brace had kept the back doors secured from the outside. Nightwing peeled away ten yards from the plane to keep Red Hood occupied and away from Robin.

If Nightwing wanted backup, he would call Superman. If their enemy was resourceful enough to have kryptonite, he didn't appear to have any defenses against the Flash.

Batman approached the open cargo area of the utility van carefully. There were no visible traps on the way and Superman's voice was quiet on the communicator. The interior of the van was a blank grey-upholstered space, empty except for Robin. Robin was sitting up, leaning against the wall of the van with his legs stretched out in front of him. He was breathing shallowly and did not have his mask on, showing the dark bruise around his left eye that continued down over the cheek. There were a few shallow cuts through the armor and none were still bleeding. There was a zip tie holding his ankles together. Robin was clutching a knife and staring up at nothing. The cell phone was next to him, call time still ticking upwards, but he wasn't reacting.

“Robin,” Bruce said gently. He reached out carefully and brushed his gloved hand against the right side of Tim's unmasked face when he didn't respond to voice.

Tim moved with the touch and blinked up at him. Tim's pupils were uneven. “Batman?”

He ruffled Tim's hair gently. “Robin,” he said roughly. “I need to check your neck and spine before I get you out of here.”

Tim leaned into the touch. “They're fine.” Tim didn't say that he was already sitting up. “I don't have any pain there. I might have a few cracked ribs on the left side. All of the cuts were shallow and they stopped bleeding hours ago. My left wrist hurts but I think it's just a sprain. My leg's the worst of it. I still have a zip tie on my ankles. I was using my other leg as the best splint I could get since I didn't see a chance to run.”

Just as Tim predicted, Batman still checked his neck and down his spine to convince himself that he wouldn't cause further harm moving Tim to the plane without a backboard. He took the knife out of Tim's hands when Tim offered it but set it aside. He used a batarang to slice the zip tie binding his ankles together.

Finally, Bruce had Tim in his arms. Tim was alive and conscious and warm. Bruce was not too late. This was the dream, not the nightmare, and he could breathe. Robin was safe and the air didn't taste like the burnt aftermath of an explosion. It didn't smell like charred blood. He could stand with his body blocking Tim from further harm. Even if Red Hood tried to shoot, there were two layers of body armor and Batman himself protecting Robin now.

“Bruce? It's Jason.”

Bruce leaned closer to look Tim in the eyes. Tim's gaze was starting to lose focus and a concussion seemed more of a guarantee than a possibility. Bruce didn't need Tim to worry about anyone else's emotions. There would be enough trouble later with coaxing Tim through the concussion protocol of avoiding all work. “It's okay, Tim.”

Tim reached up and grabbed Bruce's shoulder hard enough that Bruce could feel the pressure through the armor. “Jason is the Red Hood, Bruce.”

Bruce did not turn toward the Red Hood. “You're still my priority, Tim,” he said quietly. He could not focus on what had happened the last time he had gone racing back to Robin. Last time, he hadn't called the entire Justice League demanding answers and assistance. Last time he'd lost his son. He would have time to sort out whether Ra's had been behind this after Tim was safe and someone had looked over his leg. Bruce could tell just from carefully picking Tim up that this was far beyond what Leslie could handle in her clinic or the Cave. “Let me take care of you before we talk about anything else.”

“Okay, B,” Tim said in the tone that meant he would never change his mind. “I'm right, though.”

“You often are,” Bruce said mildly. Oracle was already finding everything she could about Red Hood and Batman would be back on the case when he was sure that Tim was safe. “I need you to take a break on being right for a bit. You have a concussion until Leslie says otherwise.”

Tim scowled. “I hate concussions,” he grumbled.

Superman cleared his throat quietly on the comm. “Red Hood surrendered and is currently unarmed. I have eyes on and I'm close enough to cover you, Batman. I don't see any signs of a brain bleed or fractures in the spine or head.”

“Understood,” Batman said as he started to move. “Superman's covering us, Robin.” He still felt exposed crossing the short distance to the plane. He knew that he could trust Superman and Nightwing. He knew the Flash was on standby. It was surreal to be walking across an empty Nevada highway at five in the morning local time. Red Hood had called three hours ago and now the worst was over. Robin was safe.

Bruce felt more at ease back on the plane. The plane's tiny medical bay was set up precisely as Alfred preferred with all supplies laid neatly in locking drawers beneath the bed. Bruce set Tim down carefully and grimaced apologetically as he reached for the pulse oximeter and blood pressure cuff first. Tim waited patiently through having his vitals checked but winced when Bruce checked his pupils with a penlight.

Bruce cut the sleeve of the Robin suit out of the way when Leslie agreed with starting fluids immediately and analyzing bloodwork later. Tim reached for the stress-ball without prompting and breathed slowly while Bruce got the IV catheter in place and drew several vials of blood before starting a bag of fluids. When the line ran clear, he reached for a syringe neatly labeled in Alfred's copperplate. “Leslie's strong suggestion is half a milligram of hydromorphone.”

Tim tilted his head to look at the syringe. “Not arguing,” Tim decided.

“Good,” Bruce said. He pushed the clear liquid into Tim's IV line. “After that kicks in I want to use the inflatable splint on your leg. Is that okay?”

Tim was quiet when Bruce did what he could to prepare for the flight back home. Tim flinched when the splint inflated but refused a second dose of pain medication. Bruce tucked the oversized plaid blanket Alfred had sent around Tim, leaving just the arm with the IV uncovered. “Are you going to be okay with the restraint belts?” Bruce asked quietly. “We need to you to be safe during the flight. We'll work something out if that's too much.”

“If you're here,” Tim said, blinking slowly. “Or Dick.”

“I'm not moving unless you're in danger. Even then it would only be long enough to make sure that you're safe,” Bruce promised. He rested his left hand against Tim's hair and started gently feeling for bruises when Tim leaned into the touch. He found only a few raised areas and nothing that felt concerning for a skull fracture beneath. Bruce didn't have to be careful of worsening an injury, then, and Tim wasn't pulling away.

“That's okay, then.” Tim yawned. “Can I sleep?”

“If Leslie's mad, she'll be mad at me.” Bruce rested his hand close to Tim's and relaxed when Tim wove their fingers together and held on. “Superman doesn't see any signs of a brain bleed and you would have passed any neuro check with how you've been handling this. If you go to sleep, one of us will still be here until you wake up. We might need to handle this as civilians to get the right specialists.”

“Mugger?” Tim suggested sleepily.

“Mugger,” Bruce agreed softly as he continued stroking Tim's hair. He wouldn't have the heart to refuse Tim anything for a while. “Leslie will handle the rest of the details.”

“Jason?” Tim asked, eyes barely open.

“Would you feel safe if Red Hood was on the plane with us? I want you to feel safe, Tim, and the Justice League can handle transportation.”

“You can protect me,” Tim said as he tried to stretch while moving only his left shoulder and leg. “It's fine, Bruce. Jason should come with us.”

Bruce sighed. “Get some rest, Tim.” He was not going to argue. Tim had a concussion and should be resting. Bruce focused on finding a pattern that let him stroke Tim's hair without coming across any of the raised bruises. He had learned through too many exposures to fear toxin that this was the fastest way to coax Tim into sleeping.

Tim's eyes closed without further argument. He was fast asleep within a minute.

Bruce reluctantly leaned back. Tim hadn't let go of his hand and Bruce only needed one hand to handle everything else. He tapped his comm. “Oracle, I have good news. Please patch me through to everybody.”

“Just what I wanted to hear, B,” she said warmly before the line clicked.

“Batman to all,” he said quietly enough that Robin didn't stir. “Robin is asleep and stable. He is on the Batplane and we will be traveling back to the Cave soon. Robin will need further medical care from an outside team. We will need a containment cell ready in the Cave for Red Hood. At this time, no specific metahuman precautions are required. Details to follow.”

“Confirmed,” Nightwing said. “Batman will be focusing on Robin and I will coordinate further arrangements for Red Hood. Batman, are we clear to come on the plane? He's cooperating.”

Batman still had an unhealthy amount of rage he'd have to deal with before he would be able to patrol. He was not going to patrol, though, and had enough control to stay in his seat with Robin beside him. He had promised Robin to stay by his side unless he was in danger. If Red Hood stopped cooperating, Batman and Nightwing would deal with it. There were plenty of sedatives on board. He loaded an auto-injector with a sedative that worked well for aggression triggered by fear toxin. If Hood stopped cooperating, then he would be injected with a dose that would take Batman himself down and grappled until he was unconscious and no longer dangerous.

“Another minute,” Batman said. He slowly worked his hand out of Robin's long enough to secure the medical bed's restraint belts in place, leaving Robin's right arm free. He checked that the next dose of pain medication was ready and went through Alfred's carefully organized injectable medications to be sure he knew just where everything was. The auto-injector was not labeled but it would be easy to grab without looking away from a target. When he was done, he rested his hand near Tim's. Tim grabbed onto his hand again without waking up. Batman's seat was close enough that it would only be a minor strain to not let go for the entire plane ride home.

“Ready,” Batman said into his comm.

He saw Nightwing first. Nightwing had walked up the ramp alone and had enough trust to leave Red Hood standing to wait while Nightwing looked over Robin with sharp eyes before he led Red Hood onto the plane.

Red Hood was younger than Batman's sources had guessed. He had a prominent white streak at the forelock of unkempt black hair. His hands were cuffed in front of his body, not behind. He was wearing a domino mask but the lenses were retracted, revealing wide green eyes.

He looked like Jason could have.

Batman didn't break the silence. Nightwing was letting Hood stand there looking at Robin and Batman would not countermand that decision yet. Red Hood's gaze moved too often to say that he was staring. He took in the livid bruise on Tim's face and then the edges of the inflatable splint that were not quite covered by the blanket. He looked at the running IV fluids and Batman's ungloved hand holding Tim's. He looked at the blanket itself for several seconds.

“Time to get moving, Hood,” Nightwing said kindly. “Just like I told you, you are the co-pilot that isn't allowed to touch anything. Do you want a drink before I strap you in?”

Red Hood shook his head. He complied when Nightwing nudged him into the co-pilot's seat. He kept his head down when Nightwing worked through the complicated series of restraint straps that would keep any human and some meta-humans in check. Red Hood was bulky enough that Nightwing was using the pattern usually needed for Batman. Unlike the last time that Nightwing had struggled to force Bruce to stay still after the first dose of fear toxin antidote had no effect, Red Hood didn't move.

Nightwing stepped back. “Is that okay?” he asked. “Nothing's digging in or too tight?” His expression softened when Red Hood looked up at him with complete confusion on his face. “I told you,” Nightwing said gently, resting his hand on Red Hood's shoulder. “You surrendered. Don't fight me and I will not hurt you.”

Red Hood looked away. Nightwing started pre-flight checks.

Nightwing talked quietly to people not on the plane as he prepared for takeoff. He talked over their possible flight paths with Wonder Woman and thanked her for her help getting their earlier plan through so quickly. He coordinated with Agent A about expected arrival time. Nightwing typed out several messages before verbally acknowledging Superman. He thanked the Flash for staying around to be sure that the van was processed correctly and laughed as he promised him pizza sometime in reward for a speedster staying on call that long and then waiting longer.

Batman kept to texting. Alfred had several pointed questions that he couldn't answer aloud in company and the answers looked surreal in writing. He stuck to facts. Nightwing was calling their prisoner 'Hood.' Tim said that he was Jason. Red Hood had surrendered and was not making eye contact with anyone. Nightwing had been speaking with Red Hood while Bruce was taking care of Tim and Nightwing's protective fury had been tamped down to protectiveness without leaving a mark on Red Hood. Tim was resting and seemed comfortable. He would definitely need orthopedic work past what they could do in the cave. Alfred already had both containment cells and the Cave's medical bay ready.

Every time Bruce looked toward the front of the plane, Red Hood was looking down, and Bruce wasn't willing to disrupt Tim's rest to settle questions about Red Hood faster. Nightwing trusted Red Hood enough to bring him onto the plane instead of asking Superman to deal with him.

A minute after Dick started their descent, Bruce almost caught Red Hood looking at him. If Bruce could just look Red Hood in the eyes, if he could see his face for more than a second, then maybe he could admit that Tim could be right. Bruce couldn't bring himself to ask Red Hood to look at him when Bruce didn't know if he wanted the answer.

Red Hood was still avoiding his gaze when Tim stirred.

“Robin,” Batman said gently.

Robin frowned for a moment before he opened his eyes. He relaxed when he saw Batman. “Hi, B.”

“You were sleeping for about an hour and a half. It's nearly ten in the morning Gotham-time and we're heading for the Cave first,” Bruce said quietly. Ten hours ago Tim had been working on a mission report. “You should keep resting.”

Robin frowned. “Can I sit up a bit? Feeling dizzy.”

“After we land, Robin.”

Tim settled back down, leaning his head against Bruce's hand in clear invitation. Usually neither one of them were quite so bold about touch, even after a year and a half working together and months of being father-and-son, but it was easier to stop thinking about the ways this could have gone wrong when he knew that this was real.

Batman waited while Nightwing touched down in a perfect landing and taxied to their hangar. When all of the perimeter security checks were clear, the tunnel into the Batcave opened and the plane's wings folded to fit through the tunnel. When the landing gear was engaged in the conveyer that would bring them into the cave, Batman undid the restraint belts at Robin's shoulders and waist and propped the bed up.

Red Hood was looking toward the windows even though the view only showed the rock of the cave walls. Nightwing turned to smile at Robin, though, and unbuckled his seatbelt to crowd into the back of the plane.

“Hey, Robin,” Nightwing said quietly. “Concussion?”

“Yeah.” Robin rubbed at his jaw with his left hand. “My leg feels a lot better but my head still hurts.”

“Your friends are just starting to wake up. I'll let them know that you have a concussion,” Nightwing said as the plane stopped automatically at its place in the Cave. “No video calls or in-person visits until you're cleared. We need your brain to heal up before you try to deal with excitable super-powered friends.”

Batman checked his phone. Alfred had set up a suite upstairs so they could run a few checks and get Tim changed before they headed to Leslie's clinic to set up a civilian history for his injuries. “I'll bring Robin out first and come back to assist, Nightwing.”

Batman released the restraint belts around the splint carefully and set the Cave-specific blanket aside. He closed off the IV line and disconnected the nearly-empty bag. Alfred would have all the supplies they needed upstairs.

“Ready,” Robin said. He looked past Batman and flinched.

Batman looked toward the front of the plane. Red Hood was staring forward, away from them, and his shoulders were tight. Batman glanced at Nightwing and flashed a hand-sign: wait.

For once, Nightwing nodded immediately and flashed yes in return.

Batman held out his arms and relaxed when Robin immediately reached up to him. There were wheelchairs and he had no intention of using them when Robin would tolerate being carried. There would be conversations, later, and he was going to have to insist on a therapist for both of them. Tim would agree to therapy if Bruce made an appointment. Bruce's last therapist was unshakeable enough that she might be able to handle hearing that Bruce's late son had possibly come back to life.

Batman carried Robin into the empty Batcave. “A?” Bruce asked quietly.

“Clear, sir,” Alfred said through the comm. “I have set up the downstairs guest suite closer to the elevator.”

It felt surreal to be going up the elevator still in costume, much less carrying Tim down the hall in his costume, but they couldn't handle this entirely downstairs. Alfred had agreed to stay out of the Cave until they were sure that Red Hood wasn't a threat. Bruce carried Tim into one of the handicap-accessible guest rooms. Alfred was waiting with a tray of supplies and an openly worried look.

“Master Tim,” Alfred said, reaching to squeeze his shoulder gently. “I was very worried about you.”

“Hi, Alfred.” Tim leaned his cheek against Alfred's hand. “I'm really glad to be back.”

Bruce gently lowered Tim to the bed. Tim's eyes were looking bright and he was looking at Alfred like he was the most real person in the room. It was a learned response from too many times waking from fear toxin or some experimental pollen of Ivy's or a Mad Hatter crime. When Alfred was the one looking down at you, you were safe.

“I'm going to help Dick downstairs.” Bruce stepped back reluctantly. Tim was going to be okay even with Bruce out of the room for a few minutes. “I have my comm if you need me. We're planning to drive you over to Leslie's and let her try for a direct admission to the hospital.

Tim looked down at the costume and frowned. “I have to change, I guess.”

“I will assist with that.” Alfred tugged at the long edge of sleeve that Bruce had cut when he placed the IV. “I imagine we may be done before Master Bruce is finished downstairs.”

Bruce took that as the polite dismissal it was. “I'll be back soon,” he said. He took the elevator back down to the cave and approached the plane carefully. He could hear the bite of voices and it seemed that Hood's passivity was over.

Hood's gaze snapped to Batman when he walked onto the plane. Hood's eyes nearly glowed with a too-familiar shade of green.

Lazarus green.

Bruce retreated to facts. Tim was safe and in Alfred's care. Alfred had a comm in his ear and undoubtedly had his shotgun in easy reach. Red Hood had been active in Crime Alley for two to three weeks. He was brutal toward drug kingpins but showed no interest in selling drugs for his own profit. There were rumors that he was brutally against the sale of drugs to children. There were no rumors about Red Hood demanding protection money. The people of Crime Alley all seemed to be under his protection but there was not a single rumor saying that he expected money or services in return. No one in Crime Alley would tell Batman about the Red Hood and he hadn't had time to work Matches Malone close enough to Crime Alley to hear something worth the time.

Red Hood had killed drug-runners but rumor had it that he protected children.

If Jason was a few years older and had vividly green eyes, he would look a lot like Red Hood.

Batman had enough facts to hypothesize. He met Red Hood's gaze evenly and didn't watch when Nightwing left the plane.

The first step was giving nothing for the Pit to latch onto. Bruce kept his tone as bland as his expression. “We can talk here or we can talk in a holding cell. Your choice.”

Red Hood raised a brow and leaned back. That was about the most range of motion allowed to him. The restraints in the seat were meant to handle Batman or Nightwing when they were not in control of themselves. Red Hood wasn't going anywhere until someone freed him. “That is really the first thing you're going to say to me?”

“Discounting those fascinating talks on the telephone, yes,” Batman replied flatly. “Robin needs further medical care and I will be handling that personally. This might be your only chance to talk to me today.”

“I'm hurt. You aren't going to come fuss over me in Arkham?”

“You aren't going to Arkham. You are going into a containment cell while I wait for blood tests to come back.” Batman kept his expression unmoved at the flickers of confusion in the man's expression. He couldn't assume this was his son. He couldn't assume this was a stranger. “At minimum, you know information I would rather not have distributed through Arkham. When I have a few more answers, we'll talk about where you go from here.”

Red Hood blinked. “You're not sending me to Arkham?”

“No.” Bruce did not picture someone that looked like his son in Arkham while the Joker was still imprisoned there. Bruce needed his voice to be flat and stoic. Pit rage always reacted to anger. Pit rage would try to stoke more anger to feed itself. “Would you like to introduce yourself with another name, Red Hood?”

Red Hood's eyes flared greener. “You know damn well who I am, Bruce,” he spat.

“I buried my son,” Batman returned plainly. He had faced down raging green eyes before and the stakes were too high to fail this time. “Whatever the Lazarus Pit may heal, it will not bring back someone who is days past death and an autopsy. I want a blood sample. I will be back tomorrow morning at the latest and we will continue that discussion when I have more evidence than your appearance.”

Red Hood scowled but relaxed. “You can have your blood sample, jackass, but I'm expecting lunch.”

“You'll get meals.”

Batman reached for the control panel on the far side of the plane and pressed his palm against the scanner before typing in the code. The restraints released slowly. Batman waited for Red Hood to make his choice.

Red Hood stood up slowly and walked off the plane. Batman followed. Nightwing was already in the medical bay with supplies for a blood draw laid out. Hood walked right to the bay and hopped onto one of the treatment beds. The key to the cuffs was next to the vials. Batman drew three vials of blood with Hood holding his arm obligingly still and the handcuffs already back on Batman's belt.

Batman left the blood samples on the tray. Nightwing shadowed both of them as Batman escorted Hood toward the larger containment cell. Hood walked in without a word.

Batman sealed the door. He left the window transparent. The sound-proofing was excellent and this cell should have enough amenities that Bruce would only need to have someone monitor the surveillance cameras. Hood would be in control of the lights and have a few options for white noise or background music. There was a projector that would show a limited collection of movies and a few paperback books that were periodically changed out. There were blankets and pillows and a bathroom complete with a shower stall. There wasn't much privacy but Nightwing had laid out a set of Bruce's clothing that should fit well enough.

Bruce walked back to the central computer to give Dick some space. He grabbed the blood samples on the way and put two aside while he prepped the first for analysis. Alfred had sent a brief update that they would be ready to leave in a few more minutes and that he had spoken with Leslie. Nightwing attacked a training dummy for several minutes before he approached Bruce.

“You should talk to Superman,” Dick said.

Bruce looked at his son. Dick's jaw was tight and he looked like he wanted to go right back to the training dummy. “We're going to talk about this later, Dick,” he promised quietly. “Leslie and Alfred are already setting up a cover story for how I find Tim at her clinic after the unfortunate mugging.”

“I'll be here.” Dick glanced toward the holding cell. “Someone needs to stay, in case something goes wrong, and I won't stick Barbara on this. But you need to talk to Superman.”

Barbara, but not Clark. Bruce didn't see any point in waiting. “Kal-El, if you have a moment to call I would appreciate it,” he said at a normal volume, facing away from the cell's window in case Red Hood could read lips. “Unfortunately the Cave is not ready to host at the moment.”

His comm chimed a moment later. “Batman,” Superman said quietly. “Nightwing asked me to look into a few things. One of them was Jason Todd's grave. There isn't a body there. I should be able to see bones. I verified with other graves of similar age at the cemetery.”

“Understood,” Bruce said roughly. He opened the notification from the first round of bloodwork. “Hood's blood type and cross is a match for Jason. His eyes are green, Superman. Lazarus green.”

Superman knew him well enough to wait until Bruce had put together the words he needed to say.

“I will be taking Robin to the hospital as a civilian,” Bruce continued. “He needs an orthopedic specialist and an excuse for his civilian identity to have a long recuperation. Please thank the rest of the League for me and say that Robin is safe. I'll reach out to them soon. His teammates can have a video-chat with him when his concussion is healed and I'll arrange an in-person visit soon.”

“For the perpetrator... can I call it a Gotham problem?” Superman suggested. “I know Red Hood was mentioned over the comms but there were no other details about him.”

“It's the best I can say for now,” Batman said, staring at the results. The full DNA workup would take longer but the blood type matched and there were several blood antibody matches. Bruce would need to re-check his old protocols for running a sample for Lazarus Pit contamination after the initial results came back. “He is in custody and Oracle will make sure that security protocols are updated to compensate for the breach.”

“Batman. Is it...”

“It's improbable,” Batman said. He verified that Barbara had access to the data and ended his session in the computer. “But the alternatives are starting to look impossible. Red Hood is still in Pit-madness and there is a chance that he'll regret what he's done in the last few weeks.” His comm chirped to notify him of a text from Alfred. They were ready to leave when he was. “Nightwing has offered to stay in the Cave with Red Hood.”

“Understood. I'm covering monitor duty for you tomorrow and I'm afraid I won't take no for an answer.”

“Thank you, Superman.” Clark knew him well enough to understand the words that wouldn't come yet. He'd probably show up in person right when Bruce was ready to talk. “Batman out.”

Nightwing waved him off and had already taped up his hands for a more formal round of training against a practice dummy. Batman left him to it and took off his costume for the first time since suiting up the night before. He went upstairs wearing a sweatsuit and a domino and took ten minutes to take a brief shower and put on the suit Alfred had laid out the night before. There was a board meeting scheduled at three. When he had told Lucius that Bruce Wayne was completely unavailable, Lucius had sent him details of an utter crisis in Research and Development and a precis of the emails “Bruce” would be sending through the day while he tried to deal with the problem.

He texted Lucius on his way back to Tim. Bruce was ready for the initial crisis to resolve and would head toward the board meeting but unfortunately he wouldn't make it at the last moment.

Lucius texted back a plan to have all copies of emails “Bruce” had sent that day ready for him within five minutes.

Bruce had been ready to deal with the kind of tabloid melodrama that would have his children teasing him for weeks. The half of the League that knew his identity would be perfectly aware that the story was fake but still would have laughed about it. Bruce sent a simple thank you. Lucius would know the rest soon enough.

Alfred had replaced the Robin suit with a pair of black jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that were damaged precisely to line up with injuries. Alfred had cut the right leg of the jeans along the outer seam up past the knee to allow the splint and found a pair of battered sneakers and dirty socks.

“Hi, Bruce,” Tim said. He still looked battered but his eyes were more focused. “Leslie likes the story where I was mugged downtown. I didn't have much cash on me and they got mad and took my wallet. Somebody eventually found me and dragged me to her clinic. She said that you can buy everybody coffee and then someone can realize why I look vaguely familiar.”

Bruce ruffled Tim's hair. “Concussion,” he chided gently. “I know it's hard for you but you need to slow down. You were dizzy earlier.”

Tim scowled. “I hate concussions.”

“You'll like it even less when you don't get the coffee we're bringing to Leslie's,” Bruce said plainly because he would not let Tim win that argument, either. None of them liked concussions. He and Tim both hated having to stop thinking so much. Dick hated not being able to move. Jason had hated been kept away from his books.

Bruce half-smiled at Tim's grumpy expression. “You could barely handle ice chips earlier and I don't want to give you anything else until an orthopedic surgeon has taken a look at you.”

The ride to Leslie's was surreal. Alfred had pulled through a donut shop drive-through in the Bentley and discreetly tipped the flabbergasted young worker at the window when he accepted the large order of coffee and donuts.

It was still the middle of the afternoon. Tim was alive and safe. Dick was still at home and willing to drop everything to help. Jason might be alive.

Smuggling Tim into Leslie's was easy. They pulled up to the back entrance and Bruce set Tim gently in a wheelchair that Leslie rolled into the alley. Leslie and Alfred wheeled Tim in the back while Bruce Wayne walked through the front door balancing three large boxes of donuts and two large containers of coffee. He made small-talk with the receptionists and kept his press-face in place when Leslie appeared a few minutes later to invite him back for a visit. Bruce wasn't sure just how Alfred had managed to disappear so quickly but Tim was set up in a secluded room. Leslie's staff adored her and if she said that the boy had been there for half an hour while she tried to arrange admission, none of them would gainsay her. No one cared that labelled vials of blood they hadn't drawn were sent off with the hospital lab courier. They were working at a medical clinic in one of Gotham's worst neighborhoods. One medical technician whispered that she hadn't even seen one of the Bats drop the kid off this time. Bruce walked past them like he hadn't heard a thing.

One of Leslie's medical assistants put it together the moment that she looked through the opened door to see Tim. She discreetly approached Leslie. Leslie took Bruce as if quietly giving news.

It was easy to pause in shock when he saw Tim. Tim made a convincing show of waking up from an uneasy sleep and recognizing Bruce in return. Leslie spun out the rest of the plan from there.

Bruce said goodbye to Alfred while he was climbing into the ambulance and called Lucius to apologize for missing the board meeting but his son had been mugged and was going to be admitted to the hospital. Lucius's shock was probably genuine but he sounded completely calm as he promised Bruce that the board would understand that his son's care came first.

Bruce waited. The swarm of doctors that descended before Tim was in a room quickly agreed that surgery would be a priority as Tim was stable. The orthopedic surgeons were happy with the job 'Leslie' had done of splinting the leg and showed Bruce the x-rays, pointing out multiple fractures just below the right knee and at the right ankle. Only one involved a growth plate in the bone and the lead surgeon was happy to tell Bruce Wayne that his team had excellent results with similar cases.

Alfred had physical therapy, occupational therapy, home nursing, and medical equipment in place by the time Tim had been in surgery for an hour.

The orthopedic surgeon said surgery had gone perfectly and warned Bruce about the cast stretching from above the knee down to the foot.

Tim relaxed the moment Bruce walked into the recovery room. Tim smiled when Bruce asked if he wanted to go home.

Neurology wasn't happy but the CT scan was clear and he only had a mild concussion.

Internal medicine wasn't happy but they didn't have anything to treat.

Orthopedic surgery was the admitting service for a trauma case and they were happy to sign off on outpatient followup. They were even happier when Bruce offered to bring Tim in for appointments at their office, daily if necessary.

Before eight o'clock that evening, Tim was tucked into bed back in the guest room. A medical supply company had set a grab-bar in place over the bed and brought several other mobility aids to help while Tim's cast immobilized his knee and ankle. Alfred coaxed half a bowl of consommé into Tim before pronouncing himself satisfied.

Tim was safe. Alfred would sleep in the suite next door to Tim's in case he needed anything overnight. Dick would probably claim the cot in Tim's room while Bruce kept watch in the Cave. Tim had been abducted from a place where he should have been safe and none of them would leave him alone for a few days at minimum.

Dick still needed to talk but Bruce had the feeling that he had to let Dick choose the moment.

Tim said that Jason was the Red Hood. Jason might have been resurrected somehow before he ended up in a Lazarus Pit. Jason might be the one that had attacked Tim with League resources.

Bruce might have three sons in his house and he didn't know what to say to any of them.

Chapter Text

Nightwing left the plane the second Batman came back up the ramp.

Jason was still strapped to the plane seat with restraints meant to hold back Batman. Robin was probably upstairs getting fussed over by Alfred and Jason couldn't even raise an arm to flip Bruce off.

Batman's expression was far too mild and didn't belong near the cowl. That was the 'you messed up but I am more upset than angry' expression. Jason was ready for Batman's fury. He did not want look at Bruce's disappointed face half-covered by Batman's cowl.

“We can talk here or we can talk in a holding cell,” Batman said in a neutral tone that sounded like Bruce not asking why there was paintball spatter all over the driveway and the front steps. It wasn't a voice any Rogue would hear. “Your choice.”

Jason didn't have many options. He'd tried working at the restraints when no one was looking at him but hadn't figured out how to break free. They had not been built with a manual emergency release that he could reach. He shouldn't have sat still and let Dick tie him down. Jason should have ran into the woods and hoped that they wouldn't chase him when they had Robin to fuss over.

Jason steeled himself against Bruce's continued mild disapproval. It would be easier to stay angry if Bruce raged. Jason could be furious that Batman had left him and hadn't made it back in time. He could rage that Batman should have killed the Joker before he could hurt anyone else. It was harder to draw up the rage when he was fighting the urge to let Bruce hug him and pretend that this could still work out. “That is really the first thing you're going to say to me?”

“Discounting those fascinating talks on the telephone? Yes.” Batman could have been talking to a wall for all the expression he was bothering to show now. “Robin needs further medical care and I will be handling that personally. This may be our only chance to talk today.”

“I'm hurt,” Jason drawled. His voice sounded hollow and he didn't know what expression he was making. He shouldn't have taken the helmet off. “You aren't going to come fuss over me in Arkham?”

“You aren't going to Arkham.”

Bruce looked at Jason like he was waiting for a reaction. Bruce would be waiting a while for Jason to react if he was going to keep saying things that made no sense.

Bruce cleared his throat when Jason only stared at him. “At minimum, you know things I would rather not have distributed through Arkham,” Bruce said. “When I have a few more answers, we'll talk about where you go from here.”

Jason had thought the denial was too pat but that made sense. They wanted to know how much of a threat he was and it wouldn't be too bright to toss an enemy into Arkham that could yell about Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake. He should have kept his mouth shut if he wanted to pretend he was a generic criminal.

“You're not sending me to Arkham?”

It was a stupid question. Jason knew it was a stupid question. But it was hard to think it could be that easy. He'd planned for a year straight to do what he could to avoid Batman because Bats would chuck him straight into Arkham and knowing Jason's luck he'd have a cell right next to the Joker's. Jason had planned to avoid Batman because revenge against Batman would hurt his dad. He was going to fix Gotham his way and Bruce would be an obstacle.

“No. You are going into a containment cell while I wait for blood tests to come back.” Batman looked at him thoughtfully, reserved but curious, like he'd look at a kid stealing the tires off of his car. “Would you like to introduce yourself with another name, Hood?”

Green flooded his vision so fast that Jason could hardly tell where Bruce's cowl ended and his skin began. “You know damn well who I am, Bruce,” he snarled.

“I buried my son,” Bruce returned plainly. That was his Disappointed Dad voice, his I Expect Better voice, and it made Jason want to go back in time and make a different choice. He could have just walked out of the Tower with Robin left at the bottom of the stairs and Bruce might have been too busy fussing over Robin and the Tower's security measures to bother chasing Jason down right away. Jason could have just made a normal ransom demand and then left Robin with a phone and less damage somewhere in California. Jason could have chosen so many things that weren't trying to push Batman to the limit and forgetting that also meant pushing Bruce to the breaking point.

“Whatever the Lazarus Pit may heal, it will not bring back someone who is days past death,” Bruce continued with no departure from his Dad Look. “I want a blood sample. I will be back tomorrow morning at the latest and we will continue that discussion when I have more evidence than your appearance.”

Bruce wouldn't brawl. Not the way that Jason wanted. He could picture every way the fight would go if Bruce released the restraints and Jason lunged for him. Bruce was bigger and Jason had never prepared to take him on in hand-to-hand. Bruce could fight Ra's in single combat and walk away when the fight was over. Jason couldn't take Talia down every time. If Bruce wasn't in the mood to fight, then he'd just pin Jason down until Dick jabbed him with a sedative. If he managed to break away from Bruce, Nightwing would oblige him in a fight, but not for long enough. The golden child would stop fighting when Bruce barked out an order and then Jason would have just enough bruises to feel even angrier when the fighting stopped.

There was no way Bruce would tolerate a long fight tonight. He had an injured kid to fuss over and Jason could reluctantly admit there was no way they'd be handling that in the Cave even if Jason was cooling his heels in Arkham. Jason had snapped bone when he stomped down on that ankle and was pretty sure that the leg had already been broken up closer to the knee.

Jason was going to end up in a holding cell no matter what he did. If he could hold it together for ten minutes, he had a chance at the one with books and lights that he could control. If he landed a good punch on Dick, he was definitely getting the smaller one with nothing to do but listen to classical music or white noise.

Jason let go of the green. It hurt to come down to a world where everything was flatter and dull but it would give him the better chance of a room large enough to not set off his claustrophobia.

“You can have your blood sample, jackass, but I'm expecting lunch.”

“You'll get meals.” Bruce reached across the plane and scanned his palm on the dashboard before typing in a code. The restraints released slowly and left Jason time to breathe and stretch out his legs.

Jason tried to play off that he was moving slowly out of insolence and not because his legs were half-asleep. He was not going to cling to Bruce. Jason walked to the medical bay on his own and didn't complain about the handcuffs. His hands were cuffed in front of him and Jason did not have room to whine after what he'd done to Robin. The cave and the medical bay still looked the same. A few of the supplies were slightly different but it was the same ivory-tiled wall with cabinets that backed up to the larger bathroom. There were four beds now, not three, with Nightwing standing by the fourth. Jason sat on the bed that would let him stay the farthest away from Nightwing. Nightwing obliged by not taking a single step closer.

Bruce unlocked the handcuffs first and set them aside. Jason didn't fuss when Bruce drew several vials of blood. He did not watch the needle touch his arm, and knew that it would be easier if he could relax his muscles, but Jason didn't yank his arm away or try to punch Bruce in the face.

He could feel Nightwing shadowing them when Bruce led Jason straight toward the larger containment cell. Jason ignored him. Fighting Dick wouldn't get him anything but trouble. Jason had been ready to bargain or wheedle to get the extra space and control. All he had to do was follow Bruce's lead and walk right into the best option he would get.

Bruce left the window clear when he sealed the door. Jason didn't watch him leave.

The small television was gone but there was a touch-screen on the wall. When Jason tapped it, a small light in the ceiling flickered blue. The projector was twelve feet up and the few bits of wire weren't worth the trouble. There were blankets and pillows on the twin-size bed. The plastic-walled shower had a translucent curtain as a break from the security cameras but no razors, just a bar of soap and bottle of shampoo. There was an armchair wedged between the shower and the plastic milk crates that kept everything else organized.

Paperback books, bottles of water, protein bars, stress balls – it was the same mix of stuff he remembered from years ago. This was the containment cell they used when there was no one available to sit with someone coming down from fear toxin or some new trick of Ivy's. This cell was meant more as a safe place to wait out side effects than a prison. Jason had been the one to put a few of the books on the built-in shelves. There wasn't a speck of dust on them, not with Alfred maintaining the Cave, but several books were just where he'd tucked them onto the shelf. The spines were a little more ragged but they were shelved in the same order with a few new books in between.

Jason couldn't deal with that. He stripped off his armor and showered. He put on Bruce's clothes and pretended to not notice how close they were to fitting him. On the rare occasions a stranger made it into the cave, there were scrubs in the medical bay.

The small hatch near the door had a blinking green light. Someone had left a tray while he was standing in the hot water trying to not think.

Alfred hadn't dropped the meal off. The plate had slid away from the center of the tray and the insulated cup holding milk had fallen over. The turkey sandwich had been facing toward the Cave, not toward him, and the apple had rolled into the homemade granola bars. Alfred had put the tray together, though. Jason ate the meal and tried not think about how Alfred had used the specialty mustard that no one but Jason liked.

Jason moved to pushups. There wasn't enough space to pace and he needed to move until he couldn't think about anything but the burn of muscles pushed to the limit. He possibly should have considered that he would sweat straight through the clean clothes but he hadn't started out the day thinking things through and it seemed that wasn't going to change.

Working out ended with him lying on the floor of his cell between the bed and the wall.

Alfred had been busy with Tim from the moment Bruce handed him over, probably, but the full lunch tray had been ready. He only would have had time to put together a sandwich if he started the work when Dick was still flying them home. Alfred would have taken time aside from whatever work he was doing for Tim to make a sandwich for someone that had attacked Alfred's latest kid.

Jason stayed there, staring at the ceiling and not thinking about what that might mean, until he realized that the hatch light was green again.

Most of the things on the dinner tray had been pushed aside to make room for two stacked changes of clothes. A large thermos was nearly covered by a zip-up hooded sweatshirt.

Dick must have noticed that Jason could use a change of clothes. Jason should have noticed anyone that got that close to the door. He should have snapped right out of a daydream even if Dick hadn't ever hurt him. Dick had noticed the need for the extra clothes, though, and he'd fixed it without drawing any attention to himself or leaving a note on the tray. He had just arranged things so that nothing would spill or be ruined.

Jason looked over the meal without much curiosity until he opened the thermos. The thermos was filled with chicken noodle soup. Jason ignored everything else on the tray to give his full attention to the soup that he hadn't tasted in years.

Alfred only made chicken noodle soup when someone was sick. Jason wasn't sure if that was to save the apparent healing powers or because the soup was so much simpler than Alfred's usual plans for supper. It was one of the only recipes where Alfred reached for pre-made bouillon instead of using his own stock. Chicken noodle soup happened when Alfred was busy with the sick or injured person in addition to looking after Bruce, the Manor, the Batcave, and however many other people were living in the house.

Alfred had made soup for the current Robin. Jason was sure of that. Broken bones and surgery and a concussion were more than enough reason for chicken noodle soup before counting the kidnapping. Alfred could have sent anything down to the Cave, though, and he'd chosen soup instead of another sandwich.

That stuck with him long after the soup was gone. Jason kept thinking about it after he'd rinsed off in the shower and changed into fresh clothes. He put the empty dishes and dirty laundry in the hatch. Jason saw Nightwing approach that time, probably because Dick wasn't being subtle and had yet to change out of the black and blue, but Jason kept his eyes firmly on the paperback book that he wasn't reading. He'd been meaning to read the book before he died but he couldn't keep the title in mind for more than a second. The words on the page looked like strings of unfamiliar characters that wouldn't settle into words. Jason stayed on the floor between the bed and the wall long after he'd set the book aside. He liked feeling less on display through the clear cell window.

Jason was too tired after hours alone with his thoughts for the quiet chime at the door to startle him. He looked toward the cell's window and saw Bruce's face.

No cowl. No domino mask. Just Bruce.

Bruce looked old.

There were traces of grey at his temples. The lines at the corners of Bruce's eyes weren't new but they had always softened to laugh-lines when he wasn't frowning. The lines looked carved in. Bruce's dress shirt was rumpled and open at the neck and a charcoal tie had long since been worked loose. His hair might have been swept back at some point but it looked like he'd spent hours with cowl-hair before trying to look respectable for a while.

Bruce looked exhausted. He looked like he could have gone to bed hours before but he had still come down to the Cave to see Jason.

Jason sat up slowly.

He was bracing himself for Bruce's voice to come through the intercom when the door to the cell swung inward.

Jason felt like the bottom was dropping out of the cell. Jason had been ready for a check-in through the speaker. Bruce had probably been awake for almost forty hours. It would have been generous just asking through the door if Jason needed anything before Bruce finally got some sleep.

Jason thought that he'd have more time before he had to find something to say.

Bruce was standing in the doorway of the cell. “It's your choice.” Bruce's voice was so much softer, now, and there was no hint that Jason's choice could lead to a fight. “We can talk in the Cave or here. We can wait until morning if you'd rather get some sleep.”

Jason wasn't sure if he could walk back into the cell when the talk was over. He wasn't sure if he could walk when Bruce was looking at him with an expression Jason never thought he'd see again. That was Bruce's “almost lost you” look after a rough patrol dialed up so high that Bruce looked like he was squinting against a bright light.

Jason used to tease Bruce that he could just smile like a normal person.

Teasing was past what Jason could manage. He stayed on the floor and nodded to the armchair. “Want a seat?”

Bruce left the cell door open when he sat in the broken-in armchair.

Jason waited. He was not going to guess just what Bruce was here to say. Jason had messed up enough chances. He could have just called Bruce with the Lazarus Pit rage turning the entire world green to yell at him on the phone. Jason could have stopped at the Manor instead of heading straight for Crime Alley a month ago. He could have found Batman on a rooftop instead of going across the country to attack Robin.

Bruce seemed just as hesitant to speak first.

“Jason,” Bruce said finally.

Jason swallowed, hard. “Yeah.”

“You were dead.”

Despite the flat inflection and the nearly blank expression on Bruce's face, Jason knew that it was a question. It was one that he'd asked a few times, too, back when he thought Talia would explain anything about what happened before she brought him to the League of Shadows for training. He still had the scar from his autopsy to go with the scars from Joker's attack. He had still managed to get out of his coffin months after he'd died.

Jason looked away. “Yeah. Still don't know what happened. I guess that I dug my way out of the grave but I don't really remember that.”

“Jay...”

“No.” Jason refused to look back toward Bruce. He would not look at whatever expression matched that pleading tone. He would not look at Bruce and see a target. “If you can figure out how I woke up in a coffin, great, because no one has an answer for that. Might also be cool to learn how I was apparently wandering around Gotham with brain damage for months asking for Bruce without anyone catching on.”

“I'll look into it.”

Jason looked up to see Bruce's soft expression flatten into Batman on a mission. “World's Greatest Detective,” Jason sneered. “Enough people get resurrected, you think you would have been paying attention.”

Bruce was probably exhausted, Jason knew that, but it didn't change that he slipped into Batman's flat stoicism when criticism hit home. “We had alarms on the outside of the coffin. Clearly that was an oversight.”

“An oversight. A fucking oversight? I dug myself out of my grave. I could have suffocated in the dirt and you never would have noticed.” Jason shoved his way off of the floor and stood up, suddenly feeling penned in between the bed and the wall. “I was in your city and Talia's the one that found me. Maybe you can find the timeline in your investigation to figure out if I was out of the grave yet when you put a new kid in the Robin suit. I died in that getup, Bruce, and you just went and put another kid in harm's way.”

Bruce stayed in the chair like he didn't need to worry about defending himself from an attack. “That's not what happened, Jason.”

“Sure seems like it.” Jason forced his hands out of fists. He knew that thinking about the Replacement would only end in enough rage that he'd lash out. Dick was probably still lurking in the Cave just waiting for the chance to come save Bruce from his own mistakes. This time the mistake was bringing Jason back to the Cave like they could have a talk that wouldn't end in a fight.

Not yet, though. Jason still wanted answers.

Bruce didn't look like Batman anymore. Cold stoicism and resolve had faded back into a tired man that should have been in bed hours ago. Jason could feel the anger fade. Bruce hadn't gotten out of the chair and nothing in his patterns of muscle tension suggested that he was ready to defend himself.

When he spoke, Jason's voice was quiet. “The Joker's still in and out of Arkham like he owns the place.” Jason had pictured shouting those words at Bruce. He had imagined just the way they'd sound coming through the helmet or snarled without anything between them.

“Fixing security at Arkham is a long process,” Bruce replied at the same volume.

“You let Joker live.”

“I don't kill, Jay.”

Jason stared at his dad's controlled expression. “He killed me.”

“Jay,” Bruce said. “I don't kill.”

“He killed me,” Jason repeated. “I died, B. Somehow getting back up out of the coffin doesn't take that away.”

Bruce's jaw clenched before he relaxed. “Jason. If I killed him, it would be hard to justify not killing several other repeat offenders in Gotham.”

“Then they should die.” Jason couldn't see why that was so difficult. None of them would reform. None of them would get better. If criminals knew that Gotham didn't give second and third and seventh-eighth chances, they could reform or leave.

Bruce looked up. He didn't stand up but Jason could see that Bruce was holding himself back. “There has to be a line, Jason,” Bruce said evenly. “If you had killed Tim, would I kill you? If I could justify a single death I'd have no reason to stop. I would be Gotham's judge, jury, and executioner but no one is perfect. Innocent people would die. People capable of redemption would die.”

Jason had pictured this conversation with threats and weapons and fury. He didn't know what to do with Bruce looking exhausted and tired and heartsick.

“Jason. Losing you was the worst thing that ever happened to me.” Bruce stood up slowly. “If you need me to kill to prove that I love you... I can't do that. I'm sorry.”

Jason fought the urge to back up a step. Nothing had prepared him for the compassion in Bruce's face. “That. That's all you're sorry for?”

“Of course not.” Bruce looked years older in a moment. “I'm so sorry that I couldn't save you. That I didn't think to hope for a miracle and put something inside the coffin so that I could have helped you. That I didn't find you. That I didn't listen to you, before you left.”

Jason held up a hand and breathed easier when Bruce stopped the litany. Jason couldn't handle more.
He had assumed that Bruce would never welcome him home. It was hard to admit just how far he'd been from the truth.

“Get some sleep, old man. I'll... another time. We'll talk again,” Jason said. It was the most he could offer when he was still coping with reality turned on its head.

Bruce paused in the doorway to the cell. “One last apology,” Bruce said. “I can't have you up in the house yet. I'm sorry, Jay. We'll talk more about that tomorrow. Sleep well.”

When Bruce walked away, he left the cell door open.

Jason stared up at the ceiling for a long time rather than look at the open door.

Bruce had apologized for keeping Jason out of the house. Of all the lines to draw, keeping Tim safe from the guy who had attacked him seemed comical. The cell door was wide open and Jason had the run of the Cave. If he wanted, he could go and sleep on the overstuffed couch over by the practice mats.

Bruce had waved Dick away. Dick had changed out of his Nightwing gear at some point and left for the house when Jason wouldn't meet his eyes. That probably meant that Dick was on duty making sure Tim was safe, since Bruce wasn't known for being highly trusting, but it still left Bruce alone in the cave. It left Bruce sleeping on one of the cots in the medical bay.

None of Jason's guns were here. Someone had probably picked those up off the side of a freeway in Nevada. There were plenty of weapons in the Cave, though, and Jason knew how to use all of them. Bruce was still asleep, right where Jason could see him, and he had changed into the Batman pajamas that Jason had bought him as a joke one Christmas. Those had meant Bruce was too injured to go upstairs and too tired to choose his own clothes.

Bruce trusted Jason not to attack him and he was probably right. Jason's anger with Batman was fading rapidly when all he could see was his dad.

He was not going to stare at his d—stare at Bruce all night. That was weird and would just get boring. Jason killed the lights in the cell, grabbed the plain blanket, and laid flat on his back.

Chapter Text

With the cell door unlocked and wide open, the containment cell was a bit like a cramped guest room. Bruce said that the door wouldn't lock, if Jason closed it, but Jason was getting used to the Cave's odd noises again.

The quiet tapping sounds from the keyboard made it easy to keep track of Bruce after he woke up. Jason had feigned sleep and Bruce had stared for a moment from the open door of the cell before walking away. Jason had crept across the cell to grab a book but kept staring blankly at the pages and listening to the quiet sounds of Bruce working. Maybe sometime Jason could stop at his safehouses and make sure that the rest of his gear didn't end up in the wrong hands. It would probably be better if he had a convincing non-criminal excuse for why he had so many explosives but getting pounds of C4 and several firearms out of Crime Alley would be enough to justify the trip.

Maybe he'd get through a full twenty-four hours with the cell unlocked before talking about explosives.

Bruce looked away from the computer screen when Jason walked out of the cell. Jason only glanced at Bruce before turning away. Jason wasn't ready for more talking yet. He could hear the pause in typing go on for several seconds before Bruce went back to work.

Bruce let him wander through the Batcave alone.

The sounds were so familiar but he had spent years not remembering just what it was like to be in the Cave. The bats were still high above him, tucked into crevices and chirping occasionally. The hum from the main computer was probably different but it was hard to remember just how it had sounded before. Bruce's even typing suggested a mission report that he'd already drafted in his mind. The sound of the keyboard was just as familiar as the cadence of footsteps coming down the stairs.

Jason moved before he could think. This time, it wasn't rage motivating him faster than his mind could keep up. He knew those footsteps. He hadn't heard them in years but knew them.

Alfred was carrying a large covered tray down the stairs.

Jason stood frozen near the trophy case with the crime-planning journal he'd stolen from Riddler one time. Alfred looked just the same as always. He was older, maybe, and his hair was a touch thinner. The lines around his eyes were deeper. His posture was just the same, though, and so was the air that nothing was out of the ordinary. Alfred always said it was the British refusal to be surprised. Jason thought it might be the only way to survive living with a billionaire crimefighter who kept bringing kids home.

Alfred set the tray on the conference table and looked at Jason with a brow slightly raised.

Jason swallowed back the shock that Alfred was down here with him and slowly walked closer.

Alfred looked calm from a distance. Up close, Jason could see that Alfred's hands were shaking slightly. Moisture was gleaming at the corners of Alfred's eyes and he was blinking a little too often.

Jason was never going to outdo Alfred on emotional control. He could feel tears at the corners of his eyes before he was within ten feet. Alfred wasn't afraid of him.

“Heya, Alfie. Been a while.” Jason's voice wasn't steady and he didn't care.

Alfred smiled. If the smile was shaky, neither of them had to admit it. “Entirely too long, Master Jason.”

Jason didn't try to pretend that a few tears hadn't already escaped his eyes. The Lazarus Pit couldn't make him find something to hate in Alfred. He hadn't let himself remember that Alfred was waiting at home while Batman patrolled. If Jason had killed Batman... Jason would have been the one that made Bruce not go home to Alfred at the end of the night.

Alfred opened his arms.

Jason had been an inch or two shorter than Alfred. He was tall enough now that he had to bend down slightly and hold on carefully. He was stronger than he had been and he had spent so much time hurting people.

Alfred rested one hand on Jason's upper back while Jason gave up all pretense and cried into his shoulder until he could get his composure back.

By the time Jason was ready to stand back, Alfred looked just as composed as ever, and Alfred ended the hug with his customary back-pat. It was exactly the same as Jason remembered.

Jason had thought the domed silver tray was one of the most surreal things he'd ever seen the first time Alfred pointedly carry it down to the cave. Sometimes the silver tray was a wry reprimand for Bruce still being in the Cave at two in the afternoon after skipping both breakfast and lunch. The large tray was eye-catching and Alfred would put it directly on top of the keyboard if necessary. Sometimes it was because an urgent patrol had interrupted dinner and the tray would go right on the hood of the Batmobile until they ate enough to satisfy Alfred.

Sometimes, though. Sometimes it was because someone had been through a hard night and needed something nice. That was when the lid would lift up to show the plain porcelain tea service and dishes from the kitchen instead of the china from the butler's pantry.

There were two teacups. Alfred took the place across from Jason and poured the tea. Alfred looked at him with sharp discernment before making the tea just as always, with three sugars and a splash of milk for Jason and just the milk for Alfred.

There was only one plate with a large omelet but it was rare enough for Alfred to sit with someone to drink tea over a meal. The omelet was colder than it would have been if they hadn't been emotional all over each other but Jason didn't regret one second of that hug.

“I am not the only person who wishes to speak with you today, Master Jason. There are quite a few decisions to make and many of them require your input.” Alfred set the dishes and tea service precisely in their places on the tray before covering it again. “I will expect you to let us know if you require a break.”

Alfred might be the only person in the house that could look at him like nothing had changed. He was too grateful for that to ask just how that worked with Bruce adopting Tim. “Thanks, Alfie.”

“Until lunch, then,” Alfred said warmly.

Alfred left with the large tray that Jason would usually carry up the stairs for him. Usually, Jason hadn't been asked to stay in the Cave.

Jason didn't know when Bruce had stopped working at the computer but he was gone and the Cave was empty. Standing in the Cave too long with nothing but his thoughts would not end well. It was easy to hold it together when he was talking to Alfred. Standing alone just made him think how much he wasn't moving toward any of the goals he had built up so high that they had mattered more than the chance Bruce and Alfred would let him come home again.

Jason headed for the gym. The cave's gym was built to handle Batman in a bad mood. It could handle a workout to bleed some of the green out of his system.

He'd moved from a punching bag to chin-ups when the Cave entrance slammed open. That took enough force that he glanced toward the stairs while holding himself up on the bar. It wasn't Dick or Bruce. It was some girl he'd never seen before.

A blonde girl in a purple hoodie and ripped blue jeans was stomping down the stairs as loudly as her sneakers allowed. He could imagine steam coming out her ears and her scowl was fixed firmly on him. The Asian girl trailing in her wake closed the door before following her. If she made a sound, he couldn't hear her over the blonde.

He dropped from the chin-up bar when Blondie stormed right up to him. “Can I help you?” he drawled.

She scowled up at him as if he would be intimidated by a half-trained vigilante. “I am not here to ask for your help. I am here to threaten you.”

Jason looked her in the eyes. She didn't flinch. “Blondie, you would lose that fight, and I don't think you're worth the trouble.”

Blondie raised a brow. “Me? Fight you? Yeah, no thanks.” She reached into her hoodie's pocket and grabbed a plastic-wrapped package of discount-brand microwave popcorn. “I'm here to let you know that the next time you think about hurting Tim, I am going to find you. I am going to pop this bag of popcorn even if it is in Alfred Pennyworth's own kitchen. Then I will eat cheap chemical-covered popcorn out of the bag and watch while Cass kicks your butt.”

Only the sudden realization he hadn't seen the other girl for several seconds kept him from jumping when someone tapped on his shoulder with two fingers.

He turned slowly to look at 'Cass.' Unlike Blondie, who moved like a teenager that only occasionally remembered martial arts training, Cass had a stance that screamed years of training only occasionally tempered by being a teenaged girl.

“League of Assassins,” Cass said quietly while she looked at him intently. “They... twist. Twist words and motives and people.”

It felt like 'Cass' was learning more about him than he wanted to tell her. She was staring at him with a knowing look that made him want to take a step back. Most people stopped with the green eyes. She looked at him like she was studying a Renaissance painting and something in the brushstrokes told her where to look next.

“Everyone will forgive once,” Cass said when she came to a decision. It felt like she'd asked a silent question and he had answered her. She stepped past him to elbow Blondie when she opened her mouth. “League of Assassins is bad. Tim is good.”

Cass knew about the League of Assassins and it wasn't just on a casual level. She absolutely held herself like someone dangerous enough to put him on the ground and not worry that it would be a close fight. 'Cass.' Moved like she was dangerous. Comfortable in the Batcave.

“Cassandra Cain,” Jason said. She inclined her head slightly. “Talia said that if I was dumb enough to try close quarters fighting against you I would deserved losing.”

Cass accepted that as her due.“Talia sent you after Tim.”

“Kinda.” Jason ran his hand through his hair. Cass waited while he found the words. “I should've done my own research about what was going on around here. I know that. I shouldn't have just taken what she said about Robin at face value. The little B ever said about Talia should've been all that I needed.”

Cass looked him over before nodding. “Tim won't twist words. You should apologize.”

“If he wants to talk to me, sure.” Jason wasn't sure why they were acting like that would be easy. Tim deserved better than an 'I'm sorry and won't kidnap and threaten to kill you again.' “I might need to make a list for why I'm apologizing, though.”

Blondie groaned. “Fiiiine.” She stuck her popcorn back into the pocket of her hoodie and held out her hand expectantly.

“Uh – Jason Todd. Nice to meet you,” he said, carefully taking her hand.

She shook his hand briskly. “Stephanie Brown. A pleasure,” she replied with an exasperated look at Cass. When Cass nodded approvingly, Stephanie dropped his hand and rolled her eyes. “Cass told Tim that she would make sure I played nice.”

Jason looked from Stephanie's eye roll to Cass's tiny smile. “Tim wanted you to play nice,” he said. Tim the kidnap victim wanted the firecracker to take it easy on Jason.

“You're surprised?” Stephanie laughed at whatever expression his face was making. “You really didn't do a lot of research on Tim. He is the most middle-child ex-only child ever. He doesn't know how to be the youngest. Oh!” Her expression abruptly darkened. Firecracker probably could look intimidating when she had her full gear on. “Stop being a jerk to Dick. Seriously. He thinks you don't want to see him so he's giving you space. I made no promises to be nice on Dick's behalf and Tim's power only goes so far.”

Letting the message go through Blondie would probably keep it closer to what Jason meant than asking Bruce or Alfred to pass it on. “I'd appreciate it if you told Dick I would like to see him.”

Stephanie looked straight past him to Cass. Cass poked Stephanie in the side without looking away from Jason. “We'll tell him,” Cass said. Cass grabbed Stephanie's wrist and twisted her arm up behind her back when Stephanie tried to retaliate. “Good to meet you, Jason.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” he said as David Cain and Lady Shiva's daughter frog-marched Blondie toward the stairs. When Blondie stumbled over the edge of the first step, Cass released her immediately and reached to keep her from falling. Stephanie poked Cass in the side and dodged Cass's retaliatory swipe mostly by falling down flat. Cass poked Steph in the side before holding out a hand to help her friend back up.

When they left, Jason went back to chin-ups for another few repetitions before downing an entire bottle of water. He kept forgetting that people outside the League had motives that could be entirely based on emotions that weren't hatred. People outside the League wouldn't kill you for messing up or take an apology as a promise of an unspecified favor. You could apologize and maybe build from there.

He heard footsteps.

It was Dick, probably, but Jason never heard his brother move slowly down those stairs. Dick was always in a rush or limping in a rush when it came to the Cave.

Jason made himself turn to face the staircase.

Dick looked hesitant and it was Jason's fault. Jason had been looking for any reason to keep the rage going and he'd lashed out at one of the only people that would have let him give up without landing a single hit.

“Um. Hey.” Jason should have told Stephanie and Cass to give him a few minutes. After what Jason had done, he had thought Dick would take his time.

“Hey, Lit–Jason.”

If he let rage win, Jason would guess that Dick was avoiding nicknames because he didn't want Jason as a brother. He'd miss the flash of pain quickly covered by a press-smile. He'd take the press-smile as a slight instead of a sign that Dick was being cautious.

If he let rage win, Jason wouldn't get his brother back.

“You can call me Little Wing.” Of all the things to win out, those were the first words that Jason blurted out.

Dick's camera-ready smile gentled into something much more familiar. “Little Wing,” Dick said so warmly that it felt like a hug.

There were so many things that he should say that the words felt like they were tangled together. Jason didn't know what he was supposed to say but he wanted more than words that felt like a hug. He opened his arms in a wordless invitation and nearly fell over when Dick launched himself forward and grabbed him.

Dick gave the best hugs. Jason had forgotten that.

“I'm sorry,” Jason said into Dick's shoulder. It was easier to not look while he got the words out. “I'm sorry for saying that you weren't my brother.”

“I forgive you,” Dick said as if it could be that easy. He clung to Jason, hard, and Jason was not going to be the first one to let go. “You were dead. I kept thinking that I'd been the worst big brother possible. I wanted the chance to do better but you were gone.”

Dick wasn't letting go enough for eye contact. It helped with what Jason had to say. “Dick. I almost killed Tim.”

“I know,” Dick said. He held on tighter for a moment before standing back and nodding over to the couch. He sat sideways on the arm of the couch, just like he always had, centered in the divot left from years of not sitting on the couch properly.

Jason sat on the other end.

Dick let the silence last longer than Jason had expected. He'd had more practice being a big brother, maybe, because Jason had missed a couple years.

“I was crazy,” Jason began slowly. “I figured it right at the end. I was this crazy person calling himself Red Hood deciding how this fifteen-year-old kid was going to die just because I hated Batman.” Jason looked down at his borrowed sweatpants. “Remind you of anybody?”

“Jason.” When Jason looked up to face the music, Dick's expression was so knowing that it burned. “You stopped. Whatever reasons you were telling yourself at the time, you stopped, and you called for Bruce. If you were anything like Joker and had Batman on the phone, you wouldn't have backed off to let Batman get Robin out of there.”

“It was too close, Dick.”

“Not going to argue with that.”

“I was going to kill him.” Jason glanced up, making sure that it wasn't too much, but Dick only looked at him steadily. “I had a gun to his head. He said Bruce would still want me to come home.”

“I know,” Dick said, voice very quiet. “Superman had eyes on you, though, and he decided to give you a chance.”

Jason blinked.

“Clark heard whatever you and Tim said while Timmy had the phone on mute. You know how fast Superman can move. If he'd thought Tim was going to die, he would have blasted straight through that van before you knew what was happening. He didn't.”

Jason didn't know what to do with that. He had pulled himself back, he knew that, but Superman had been there. Superman had trusted Jason enough to wait him out even when he thought Jason was a villain.

Maybe Clark had given Jason a chance. Maybe he would have done that for any unstable person about to make the right decision.

“B called in the big guns, huh?” Jason's voice sounded quiet in his own ears.

Dick shifted closer. He wasn't touching Jason, and wasn't close enough to reach out, but he sat cross-legged on the couch cushion instead of the arm. “Jay. Bruce was so close to saving you and he'll never forget that. We didn't even know that you'd come back to life.”

“I don't even know how that happened,” Jason began slowly. It was easier to explain when Dick hadn't asked. Jason moved away from the edge of the couch and told himself it was because he'd sat on just the wrong part of the frame. It just happened to be more comfortable a foot closer to his brother. “I kinda... I don't remember, exactly, but I woke up in the coffin. I don't know how I dug my way out. I don't know how Talia found me before anyone else did but she grabbed me out of a Gotham hospital. Something was wrong with me. I don't remember much until I woke up in the Lazarus Pit.”

“And Talia was the one to fill in the blanks?”

Jason nodded.

Dick reached out but paused with his hand still a foot away from Jason's face. When Jason leaned forward slightly, Dick rested his hand on Jason's cheek, right next to his now-green eye. “Jason. You missed some of it but Bruce knows that Talia's persuasive. I know Talia's persuasive. You had the Lazarus Pit, years worth of missing memories, and we still have no idea how you're alive.”

“Dick, it's not that easy,” he protested without pulling away.

“As easy as anything with Talia ever is,” Dick said, tapping Jason's cheek before dropping his hand. “You and Bruce might need to have an actual conversation about feelings. Bruce and Talia dated for a while and he kept thinking that she might leave the assassins behind. They broke up a few years before Bruce adopted you so you might not know he's seen people dealing with Lazarus Pit aftermath.”

“I thought it was just a weird flirting thing.” Jason frowned. Something about Bruce and Talia...

The Cave entrance opened again.

Jason looked past Dick to see Bruce coming down the stairs.

Dick turned around, frowning, and made a clear shooing gesture.

Bruce did not shoo.

Jason didn't like seeing Batman's stoicism on Bruce's face.

Neither did Dick, apparently, because he shifted from the couch to his feet with the fluid dangerousness he usually saved for Nightwing. “Give us some space, Bruce.”

Batman's stoic expression didn't waver. Jason knew that one. That was called 'it's for your own good' and meant Batman would not turn back from whatever trial he'd set up.

The elevator dinged. Jason stood up before he got stuck on the worn-in couch and backed up. That only gave him a view of the people coming out of the elevator.

Blondie looked ticked when she stomped out. She aimed a glare at Bruce, not Jason, but it wasn't helping when Cass backed out of the elevator pulling a wheelchair after her. Backing up only made sense when the wheelchair's occupant had his right leg sticking straight out with a cast from foot to thigh.

Jason took one look at the kid in the wheelchair and the world went green.

Chapter Text

Jason's eyes were vividly green as he headed straight for Bruce.

Tim blinked from his wheelchair. Bruce had asked Tim to come down to the Cave as soon as possible. Bruce had helped Tim settle in his wheelchair when Tim said that he was too tired to get down to the Cave on crutches. Stephanie had called Bruce names until Cass put a hand on her arm.

Tim was not sure what was going on. He couldn't decide if he should blame his confusion on a lingering headache, recovering from surgery, exhaustion, or Bruce's strange request. Luckily, all he had to do was stay put and let Cass or Steph push him. He'd already been up on crutches with the physical therapist and he'd planned to take another nap before Bruce knocked on his door.

“You seriously dragged him down here to see if I'd attack him again?” Jason demanded. “Look at him! He should still be in bed."

Tim looked around to see if someone else understood what was going on. Steph's anger had evaporated and she looked just as confused as Tim felt. Dick looked upset but he was only glaring at Bruce. Cass, though, had a tiny quirk in the corner of her lips that meant she was holding back a smile.

When Jason was in arm's reach of Bruce, he jabbed Bruce in the chest with his index finger and started talking in a lower tone that was lost to the Cave's echoes.

Dick turned his back on Jason's quiet diatribe and Bruce's quieter responses. The tension vanished from Dick's shoulders and his arms dropped to his sides as if he hadn't been reaching toward escrima sticks he wasn't carrying. “I'll yell at Bruce when Jason's had his turn,” Dick said. “Did he pull you out of bed for this stunt, Timmy?”

“Almost.” Tim looked away from Jason's continued tirade and yawned. “I was going to take a nap.”

“Let's leave them some space,” Dick said. He smiled a bit when Jason progressed to throwing his hands up in the air and yelling. Bruce's replies remained quiet and he looked like he was making an effort to not smile.

It was a tight fit to get Cass, Steph, and Dick in the elevator with Tim's wheelchair none of them would go anywhere near Tim's broken leg but they made it work. The three of them settled Tim in bed before he could think about trying to stand up on his own. Dick ruffled his hair gently before heading down to the Cave to take his turn yelling at Bruce. Dick looked cheerful enough that Tim was pretty sure that the yelling would only end in hugs. Tim was half-asleep when Steph sat cross-legged in the bedside armchair and Cass pulled a yoga mat out from under the bed. By the time Cass put on the quiet classical music she liked for her stretching routine, he fell asleep and thought he could probably handle a couple more days with no one giving him more than two minutes alone.

Tim made it five and a half days before he wanted time alone that wasn't in the bathroom. Someone had been lurking outside the bathroom door for the first two days but the physical therapy team backed him up. Tim got to close the bathroom door right in his well-meaning minders' faces.

Tim wanted to be alone for a few hours. He possibly wanted to be alone to mope about months away from patrolling without having someone immediately work to cheer him up. Bruce made a counter-offer.

Batman had monitor duty on the Watchtower. He said Tim could have the secondary workstation and the basic access that junior members of the Justice League would have. Tim could help with low-priority messages if he wanted. Tim was on a space station with the Justice League's supercomputer in front of him and his cast propped up on a stool. He could handle a little extra time with Bruce refusing to let him out of sight when it meant that he was in space.

Tim overheard a couple members of the Justice League asking if Robin should have more time to recover.

Bruce's glare had been tangible. Tim hadn't looked away from his monitor. “I do not think you want to know the kind of trouble a bored Robin can cause.”

Tim had looked as innocent as possible with a mask blocking the upper half of his face.

No one bothered Batman about it twice.

When he wasn't on the Watchtower, Tim helped to run comms from the Clocktower. Bruce was serious about not leaving Tim time to get bored. That included visits to the Teen Titans after Bruce was assured that none of his friends would let Tim aggravate his injuries. The entire team enthusiastically offered to sit on Tim rather than let him fight crime or mess up his leg. Batman smiled. Tim didn't know if it was from the Titans' earnest promises or Tim's disgruntled look but at least the Titans were distracted from the usual questions when he transported to the Tower. They wanted to know if Batman was actually capable of smiling or if he'd rigged up a hologram. That only left time for a couple questions about Tim's injuries and just what was going on with Red Hood before someone started the movie and Tim got to throw popcorn at anyone trying to sneak in another question.

After almost two weeks, Tim moved out of the guest room and back to his own bedroom. Bruce might have argued more if Tim hadn't been on the Watchtower two times already. Tim could handle the transporter, he could handle the occasional flight of stairs. Everyone else would have argued if Tim hadn't let Dick and Alfred move the cot up to his room. He still had a rotation of people insisting that they were spending the night in his room in case he needed anything. He still wasn't ready to kick them out and get his privacy back. Having someone close helped keep the nightmares away.

Tim pretended not to notice that he hadn't seen Jason since that brief glimpse in the Cave. Tim wasn't sure if he was ready to talk to Bruce's prodigal son. Tim wasn't sure if Jason was ready to talk to him.

“I believe we'll start renovations soon,” Alfred said over afternoon tea in the kitchen's breakfast nook. Tim's constantly rotating detail of someone that just happened to be around always left room for Alfred to take tea with him, even at the start when Tim hadn't been able to keep much food down. “We discussed an entirely separate room but I think everyone would like Master Jason's room to be updated for recent preferences. That may take some time, of course.”

Tim sipped at his tea. He preferred coffee, usually, but afternoon tea came with Alfred's company and tiny meticulously-decorated cakes.

If Tim changed the subject, that would be it. All he had to do was not comment and Alfred would give Tim more time before Jason stopped sleeping in the Cave. If Alfred thought it was okay, though... Tim didn't think anyone should sleep down there long-term.

“Jason could stay in his room during the renovations,” Tim said. His voice didn't shake because he wasn't afraid. Everyone else trusted Jason and Tim trusted his family. “He's got to be tired of being in the Cave by now. Even if you wanted to replace the bed, he could sleep in the old one while you're waiting for delivery.” Tim took a moment to admire the delicate cross-hatching piped onto the top of a cake before popping it in his mouth. He looked up afterward because he could feel Alfred's scrutiny and wouldn't be able to avoid the man's gaze for long.

Alfred looked at him intently. “If that is the case, I believe it will be at least another week before I am able to move the cot out of your room.”

“I don't mind,” Tim said. He hadn't expected anything else. “Bruce was right. Having stuff to do helps feel less weird about someone keeping me in sight almost all the time.” Waking up from a nightmare only to have someone in the room helped, too. Steph was a pretty deep sleeper but she had convinced him that she did not want to sleep through one of his nightmares. Cass, Dick, and Bruce usually woke up before Tim could break himself out of the nightmare. If Alfred slept during the nights that he stayed in Tim's room, Tim hadn't caught him yet.

Alfred patted Tim's hand. “I would not suggest this if I thought there was any risk to you.” Alfred's gaze was serious and he met Tim's eyes squarely. “We have not regained a son to lose another.”

Tim flushed at the open regard on Alfred's face. Usually he and Alfred avoided talk about emotions and both of them were happy to only hint at them. “I—um. I was thinking it's also a lot of work on you to portion off a separate dinner,” Tim said, meeting Alfred's eyes. “Almost everybody comes to dinner anyway, it's just splitting off someone so that Jason isn't eating alone.”

Alfred considered Tim again before nodding. “Very well.”

Tim refused to be nervous. He was going to sit at a dinner table with Bruce and Dick in the mood to be overprotective even before counting Cass and Steph into it. There wasn't any chance that Alfred should be counted out of the protection detail, either.

Tim didn't say much at dinner. That wasn't unusual when moving around the Manor on crutches was still enough to wear him out. Jason didn't say much, either.

Dick stopped Tim before dinner to hug him and ask if maybe a movie night would be okay, too. Dick promised that he wouldn't let anyone make fun of Tim for falling asleep during the movie so Tim agreed. Steph and Dick saved dinner from awkward silence by discussing just which movie they should all watch.

Tim didn't remember the movie. He was asleep before the opening credits were finished and Dick ended up carrying him to bed.

Tim let Steph or Dick draw him into conversation at dinner the next few nights and didn't mind that they were baiting him by asking about some new processing chip for a computer or a television show that he liked. Jason was still pretty quiet but he would respond to direct questions. Bruce was quieter than usual but he looked so happy to have all of them at the table together. Barbara came by for dinner, too, and whatever she and Jason said to each other after the first visit seemed to help. Jason smiled at her the second time she stopped in.

Jason said more when Tim wasn't around. Tim would hear Jason talking with Dick or Alfred or Bruce and do his best to quietly turn around. If Tim got too close, Jason would stop talking, and no one had persuaded Jason to say much to Tim. Jason had apologized but he hadn't been able to look Tim in the eyes. He hadn't even looked up when Tim accepted the apology.

Bruce didn't understand why Tim felt safe. Dick was still trying to find a way to ask. Steph didn't want to talk about Tim getting kidnapped at all and kept to lighter topics. Alfred trusted that Tim would say something if he felt uncomfortable. Cass listened and Tim thought she might the tangle of words and emotions better than he did.

It was easier to forgive someone from almost killing you when the malevolence flicked off like a switch to leave behind someone uncomfortable in his own skin. Tim only saw Jason in passing, now, and every single time Jason didn't move anything like the man in the Tower. He didn't talk like the guy in the van. Tim only saw someone creeping around the edges of conversations convinced that one mistake meant it was all over and he'd have to leave.

Tim gave up after staring at the ceiling for half an hour.

It didn't matter if it was a nightmare or being alone in his room or a break from his usual sleeping patterns. It was three in the morning and he would not be getting back to sleep.

He could wake someone up. He knew that. But he was bored, not afraid, and he'd rather check to see if anyone else was awake. If everyone else was still asleep, then he'd have the rec room all to himself.

The television was on. Tim could see the screen's glow but couldn't make out the volume.

Tim couldn't see who was in the room until he moved past the armchair and saw Jason wake up of a doze with a start.

Tim plopped down onto the couch. He should have been more careful. Someone had left the rolling stool right where he'd wanted it, but he kicked it while dropping onto the couch. Tim reached out with one of his crutches and nudged the stool close enough for his leg.

Jason was still sitting in the armchair.

Tim didn't look away from Jason. He had the feeling that even one glance at the screen would be enough for Jason to vanish.

"You don't have to leave," Tim said. It was rude, maybe, since Tim wasn't planning to leave, but this was the rec room. The rule was always that if someone wanted private time they'd watch television in one of the offices.

"You should want me to go." Jason's voice was quiet. "Don't you wonder if all this is a front?"

It was hard to see much of Jason's expression. The animated movie he was watching washed the room in pastels but the light wasn't enough for details.

"No." Tim settled back and grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch. He leaned his crutches between the arm of the couch and the end table. "If you were faking it, you would talk to me at dinner. That would draw a lot less notice than completely avoiding me."

"Maybe I don't want to talk to you," Jason said. If Tim was tracking his gaze right, Jason was looking right at Tim's cast.

"Maybe," Tim agreed. "You don't have to avoid me, though. You already apologized."

Jason's gaze snapped to Tim just as a white wash of light from the television showed just how green Jason's eyes were. "That's not enough."

"It can be."

"No." Jason's leg muscles tensed but he didn't stand up. "I'm not planning to stay here forever. I'm checking on my safehouses with B soon. I might change my overall plan but living here is not a permanent thing. You'll have your house back soon."

"It's your house, too," Tim protested. "Just like it's Dick's house whenever he visits."

"You live here. You should feel safe."

Tim frowned. Jason was curled into his chair and his shoulders were hunched. "I do feel safe," Tim said. "Bruce, Dick, and Alfred trust you. Cass says that you don't want to hurt anybody. Barbara already promised to hook you into the group comms when you start patrolling again and she wouldn't say that if she didn't trust you. Stephanie said that you're fun.”

Tim knew who was left off that list and kept his expression as even as he could. Maybe he shouldn't have assumed he knew why Jason was avoiding him. “You don't have to... Bruce adopted me. That doesn't mean we have to be brothers.”

Jason stared at him. “You say that like you want to be brothers. With me.”

“We technically are.” Tim tried to keep his voice even but Jason's tone was hard to read. “It's okay if you don't want anything more than technically, though.” Maybe the rules about the rec room weren't enough to cover this. Tim reached for his crutches. It was going to be embarrassing. Standing up from the couch on his good foot was getting easier but it was hard on a good day. He shouldn't have pushed. He could have just left it alone but he never learned.

“Tim. I meant it, when I apologized. I don't know why you'd want to... I'm sorry.”

“I know,” Tim said. Jason had walked across the Cave to Tim with determination on his face and Dick hadn't followed him. “I believed you and so did Cass.”

Jason frowned. “Was someone recording me or something? Cass was on the other side of the Cave with headphones on.”

“Cass doesn't need the words.” Tim tried to decide how to explain without telling more than Cass was ready to share. “She has trouble with words sometime. Body language is her first language and she told me that you meant it.”

“Huh. Glad I got on her good side,” Jason said. “I've sparred with her a couple times now and could watch her fight with Dick all day. It's like the two of them mutually decide that the laws of gravity don't apply.”

They were technically brothers. If Jason wasn't against the idea... Tim wouldn't mind having another brother in truth. “I think they're both planning to be around tomorrow. If you'd spot me during physical therapy, they could do warmups.”

“You're sure.”

“I'm sure.” Tim nodded to the empty couch next to him. “If neither one of us is heading back to sleep soon... would you mind starting the movie over?”

“Sure.” Jason looked at him intently, like he thought Tim would change his mind, but moved to sit on the other end of the couch.

Dick found both of them in the morning. Tim woke up with both of his legs draped across Jason's lap and his cast propped up on a throw pillow. Jason was dozing sitting up with one arm gently curled around Tim's legs.

“Only my deal with Tim is saving you from pictures,” Dick whispered. Tim thought about opening his eyes but thought that sounded like too much work. “Just so you know, Jay.”

“Might have to stay closer during movie nights, then.” Jason's voice was rough with sleep but he sounded calm. “Since Tim's the picture-free zone while the cast is still on.”

Tim stretched. He didn't want to wake up but really did not want to get stuck feigning sleep during a serious conversation. “I still think it should be until I'm back on patrol,” he said. “Is this afternoon still okay, Jason?” he asked.

“Yeah, I'll help out,” Jason said.

Dick looked between the two of them and visibly tried to dial down his surprise.

Jason shrugged. “Tim thought that I helped spot him during PT exercises, maybe we could watch you and Cass spar afterward.”

Tim could almost see the moment that Dick decided to not ask any questions. “I bet Cass would be up for that. Breakfast will be ready in about twenty minutes. I was upstairs to give Tim a head's up and he wasn't in his room.”

Tim pushed himself up off the couch. Jason helped him maneuver the cast down to the ground and watched as Tim hauled himself up off the couch before balancing with his crutches.

Jason waited until Tim was stable on his feet. “Is your physical therapist coming by again tomorrow? I'd like to sit in, if that's okay. Everybody else knows how to help when you're having a rough day.”

“Um—yes.” Tim hesitated. Jason was already spotting him for exercises. That could get pretty boring for whoever was helping him. Watching for a full appointment was even duller. “You don't have to, though, it's been a lot easier lately.”

“I broke your leg. The least I can do is help you heal.”

Jason looked serious enough that Tim couldn't doubt that he meant it. “Thanks, Jason.”

If dinner didn't come with a show, Tim would probably have been face-down in his fettuccine.

Physical therapy appointments had dropped to just twice a week but Tim had too many people happy to make sure that he did his daily PT exercises. Jason kept his workout times in the Cave around Tim's schedule even when someone else was Tim's spotter for the day.

Bruce's determination to keep Tim busy worked to keep Tim from having time for self-blame or wondering what Lady Shiva would think if she knew just how badly he'd lost a fight with his staff in hand. It also left him with his eyes half-closed over dinner, some nights, with Steph or Cass poking him in the shoulder before he fell asleep. (So far, no one had teased about the time Tim did fall asleep on the table and only Dick's quick grab for the plate saved Tim from having a plate of roast beef for a pillow.)

Before Tim excused himself to nap before helping with comms during patrol, Jason set his fork down with a deliberate thud.

“Say it,” Jason challenged. “B, you are sitting there twirling your fork around like you don't know how to eat pasta. Just say it and get it over with.”

“I don't think we need to talk about that at the dinner table,” Bruce said evenly. “Everyone knows that we cleaned out your safe houses today. You can certainly expect refresher courses on the safe handling of explosives but that is all that we need to say here.”

Jason's glower broke. “That's it!” he exclaimed. “You interrupted me a few weeks ago when I was talking to Dick and I forgot. Refresher course on League of Assassins dialect. Do you still speak it, B?”

Bruce raised a brow.

“Great,” Jason said. “Side question first. You and Talia were together. You said repeatedly that's why you pushed so hard and launched Tim at me with no warning because Lazarus Pit and rage and whatever. Which is still a terrible idea when you didn't even explain it to Tim first. Yeah?”

Bruce set down his own fork and pushed his barely-touched plate away. “Yes.”

“So you and Talia. Were you together-together?”

Everyone else in the room went still as only trained vigilantes and butlers could.

“Yes,” Bruce replied evenly.

Jason met Bruce's unimpressed look steadily. “How would you translate Ibn al Xu'ffasch?”

Bruce frowned for a moment before his expression went blank. “Son of the Bat.”

“Talia has a son, B.” Jason's voice was quiet. “Damian al Ghul. He's about eight or nine years old. When they don't call him al Ghul, they call him Son of the Bat.”

Bruce pushed his chair back from the table. “Excuse me. I need to make a phone call.”

No one overheard Bruce's first conversation with Talia.

No one would leave the Batcave when he called her again the next day.

Tim ended up at Bruce's left hand when they all sat at the long conference table. It wasn't worth trying to work the cast underneath the table. Tim always got a seat at the end of the table and Jason had taken over making sure that the rolling stool was always where Tim could reach it to prop up his leg.

Bruce ignored them when he dialed Talia's number but he let the conversation play through the speakers. Talia called Bruce beloved, however icily, and she would spit that out like an insult if she was actually mad. The conversation went nowhere for several minutes, Bruce and Talia exchanging half-truths and veiled insults but coming any closer to an agreement.

Not until Talia changed her approach.

“I don't know how I could expect you to keep track of another son,” she said flatly. “One would think you have enough boys running around.”

Jason looked at Bruce. Bruce nodded.

“I think there's room for another, Talia,” Jason said. The smirk playing on his lips broadened into a full smile at the sudden silence on the other end of the line. “Hey, T. Trust me. If Bruce is willing to give me my bedroom back after what I pulled, there is no way Damian's going to give him too much trouble. He's already said you can visit the squirt and we both know that Ra's is only going to get worse when Damian's big enough to be an heir apparent.”

“Jason.” If Talia was surprised, her voice betrayed nothing. “You stopped answering your phone. I had thought you were in some sort of trouble.”

“Ended up going home.” Jason leaned back in his chair and ignored that he was the center of attention. “You know Damian would be safer here and B's willing to let you visit him.”

If Talia had a retort, she didn't voice it.

“I know that Damian isn't the first son you've kept away from me, Talia,” Bruce said evenly. “I am also familiar with League training. I will not disparage you to our son. I have the resources and distance to keep him away from your father's influence.”

Talia didn't say anything for several seconds. “You could have just taken him.”

“I want him to feel safe, Talia,” Bruce said. “From what Jason tells me, you cannot give him that guarantee, but I had hoped that you might be willing to help.”

Talia sighed. “I suppose I had thought that I may send him to you in the next couple years. My father cannot decide if he is pleased or threatened to have such a worthy heir. I suppose we can allow my father to think this is a kidnapping. One of those Justice League transporter stations would be difficult to guard against should you come in force.”

Robin had been on the Watchtower with Batman often enough that no one blinked to see him sitting next to Superman at the central monitor station. He would be able to get rid of the cast in one more week and then he could get back to armored pants instead of cast-friendly basketball shorts.

Tim Drake's cast had signatures and doodles from his family. Robin had large signatures from the Teen Titans and half the Justice League on a removable cover sealed over the cast underneath. Tim had collected a couple missing signatures while handling a few low-priority calls and listening in on the comms as the rest of his family ran a mission.

Green Arrow was looking for an empty spot on the bright red neoprene when the all-clear came in through Robin's comms.

“If you want to sign, make it fast,” Tim warned as he paused his session on the computer. “They're on their way back to the transporter.”

Green Arrow took Tim at his word and scrawled a quick drawing of a bow-and-arrow with G.A. written out in in the center and capped the marker. Tim tucked the permanent marker back into his utility belt and hauled himself up onto his crutches to make it over to the transporter.

He never wanted to miss someone's first chance to look down at earth from orbit.

Tim ignored that Green Arrow was following along awkwardly behind him. Green Arrow was curious about just what the Bats were up to after an hour and a half of failed attempts to pry any detail about the mission out of Tim. All Green Arrow knew is that almost every Bat had gone down to Ra's compound and Oracle was running their comms, not the Watchtower.

“Clear,” Barbara said with justifiable triumph in her voice before she switched systems and her voice rang out over the transporter unit. “Oracle to Watchtower. Large party transporting in. One is a first-time guest authorized by Batman.”

Tim ignored Green Arrow and kept his eyes on the transporter.

Steph came through first. Tim could tell she was grinning even through her mask. She squeezed her arm over his shoulders in a quick half-hug. “Mission success,” she said, bouncing on her toes. “No injuries but bruises, just winning.”

Cass walked out of the transporter next, and Dick followed just seconds behind her.

Dick looked around the Watchtower, gaze sharp. “Robin. Are we clear?”

“Green Arrow, Superman, and Martian Manhunter are on the Watchtower,” Tim said. He ignored Green Arrow again. That was only half because annoying Ollie was a Bat tradition. Tim didn't want to miss a second of this.

“Clear,” Dick said through his comm. “Green Arrow and Superman are in the common area. Send him through.”

The transporter's light faded to show a young boy. The boy doing his best to pretend he wasn't at all surprised to suddenly find himself in orbit with a clear view of the stars and the earth below. Someone had convinced him to put on a plain black domino mask but the rest of his outfit was probably what he had been wearing when they found him. He was dressed in a pint-size version of an outfit they'd see on any of Ra's al Ghul's assassins.

Damian al Ghul, soon to be Damian Wayne on the adoption papers, was more composed than adults that saw the view for the first time. He looked doubtfully at Tim's crutches but still held out his hand. “Robin. A pleasure to meet you.”

Tim smiled and shook Damian's hand. “The pleasure is mine.”

Nightwing beamed at the pair of them. “Come on over here,” he coaxed, turning the smile on Damian alone. “We can see Gotham from here!”

Damian walked over very solemnly but Tim thought that there were stars in his eyes at the view. Tim left Damian to bond with his oldest brother in peace.

Jason walked out of the transporter next with the red helmet in place. He refused to change his call-sign or outfit and no one from the League had mentioned that R. Hood had been added to the transporter access list that morning.

Tim could feel Green Arrow tense behind him and sighed.

“Must you?” Tim asked, projecting as much aggravated-little-brother as possible before Ollie tried to defend Tim. No one from the Justice League had heard much after Batman said that no one needed to pursue Red Hood and that the kidnapping situation was resolved. Jason hadn't been sure how much he wanted to share and Bruce had been particularly unwilling to talk about why Red Hood was not in Arkham. “I know you have the domino under that.”

“What can I say, don't mess with a classic look.” Now that Tim knew Jason better, it was incredibly easy to tell when Jason was being a smart-aleck no matter how much the helmet distorted his voice. Jason turned to reveal the scarlet bat emblem on his chest. “'Sup, G.A.”

“Don't ask,” Superman said without looking their way. “If you ask, they might explain.”

Green Arrow thought about it. He might have asked anyway if the transporter hadn't lit up for the next transport.

Batman stepped through the transporter with two large black duffel bags hanging from his left shoulder. “Oracle, we're clear,” he said into the comms. “Fifteen minutes and then we'll be ready to head to Gotham.”

“Confirmed,” Barbara said into the group's comms. “I'll stay on until you're safely back in the Cave.”

“Batman,” Green Arrow said. He looked like he was still thinking over Superman's words and didn't say anything else.

Batman nodded gravely. “Green Arrow,” he replied. He did not explain a word about the child in a domino mask or the large bags that had been empty when Batman's team all left from the Watchtower.

Green Arrow walked away after a few seconds of silence. Batman did not smile. He did look like he was marking another point in a decades-old rivalry.

Damian spent several minutes looking out through the observation windows before Dick convinced him to take a quick tour of the Watchtower. Damian greeted Green Arrow politely but looked far more interested in Superman. Superman also looked quite interested in Damian, especially since Superman was one of the only people on the Justice League to know just why Batman ran most of his operatives straight through one of Ra's strongholds.

Alfred had been tracking the mission from the Cave. Barbara had invited Tim to keep watch from the Clocktower. Tim had gone to the Watchtower in case Bruce needed Clark's help. After the first few weeks of helping Bruce, Tim had been added to the substitutes list for monitor duty, and he did not care that the Titans were teasing him for being on the hook for monitor duty the second Bruce registered him as an adult.

Tim opened his paused session on the computer. Jason looked over Tim's shoulder at the current roster of Batman-affiliated operatives.

Jason sighed. “It won't last anyway,” he grumbled. “Go ahead, baby bird.”

It took just seconds for Tim to update a profile. Robin_002's status changed from deceased to active. His chosen pseudonym changed from Robin to Red Hood. Tim's pre-written profile for Red Hood went from a private draft to publicly accessible.

Jason pulled off his helmet.

Tim logged out of the system and pushed himself up onto his left leg before grabbing his crutches.

Green Arrow looked at Jason. “Weren't you...”

Jason shrugged. “Got better.”

Green Arrow smiled. “Glad to have you back.” He stepped up to the monitor as Superman stood aside. “Time for my shift.”

Superman walked back toward the transporter with them. “I'm glad to see that you're feeling better,” Superman said quietly.

Jason cleared his throat and tried to look unaffected Tim could tell he was pleased. “Thanks, Supes,” Jason said. “Thanks for giving me a chance.”

“You deserved the chance to prove yourself,” Superman said. “The rest of the Justice League will be happy to have you with us, Red Hood.”

Jason looked like he didn't know what to say to that but it was hard to tell Superman he was wrong when he looked absolutely sincere.

“Thank you,” Jason repeated. When Superman reached out, Jason stayed still and smiled a little at the broad hand gently touching his shoulder. “Maybe we'll work together next time.”

Bruce shooed Tim through the transporter back to the Cave first. Tim thought it was probably to keep the rest of the team from seeing him stumble. The landing still felt bizarre balanced on one leg and crutches. Bruce came through last again, still carrying the two large duffel bags holding most of Damian's clothes and possessions. Bruce thanked Barbara when they were all back in the Cave and promised an invitation to dinner the following night.

Tim grabbed a bottle of solvent and removed his mask at half his normal speed. Dick smiled at him when he took the solvent and made sure Damian had a second chance to watch.

“Any problems?” Tim asked after Damian had peeled his own domino mask off to blink at them all without the lenses in the way.

“None,” Bruce said. His cowl was back and he looked more relaxed than he had been since they started planning the mission. “Talia and I are still negotiating just what constitutes causing trouble while she is visiting in Gotham but we both agree that this will be better for Damian. If meeting in Gotham is too much of a sticking point we'll find a neutral place.”

Tim pretended that he didn't notice the way that Damian was looking carefully at the Robin costume. Batman and Robin was a classic team all these years after Dick had started and it was only natural that Damian would think about just what he might be able to do while living in Gotham. Damian would want to be the one patrolling with his father soon. Dick hadn't been that much older when he started out. Dick had hinted that Tim would probably want to start thinking about a new identity months ago and they'd started to talk about designs. Dick was still holding out for a Flamebird to go with his Nightwing but Tim was pretty sure that the Flamebird folder was where Dick kept pranks instead of costume designs.

Most of Jason's costume ideas for Tim involved prominent firearms (and showing Tim said costumes while Bruce was close enough to see) but Tim thought the design with bandoliers wasn't bad, even if he was going to skip the cowl.

When the cast came off and his doctors cleared him for skateboarding, it was hard to tell if Batman or Red Hood was more protective of Robin on patrol. Two nights of feeling like a mascot had him ready to take on a new name that wasn't so connected with Batman's overprotectiveness and Red Hood's new plan that nobody lays a finger on Robin.

Tim had thought his brothers were joking with Red Robin, at first, but it was starting to grow on him.