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“Bruce?” the voice from the phone sounded shaky over the staticky connection. “Bruce, please come get me.” Shaky and small and achingly familiar, though older than he ever thought he’d hear–the voice of his dreams, that taunted him, reminded him always of his failure.
“Jason?” he asked, disbelieving, half-sure this was some kind of sick joke. Dick, home for once and sitting at the kitchen table reading some files, jerked his head up at the name. “Is that really you? Where are you?”
Jason spoke again, almost babbling, something about a child trafficking ring and murder, and Bruce couldn’t catch a name of the place before the connection dropped.
“Jason? Jason!” But there was no answer except the monotonous ring of the dial tone.
“Jason?” Dick asked, concerned. “What’s going on?”
Bruce shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he said, but disappeared down to the Cave all the same. By the time he’d traced the phone call and travelled halfway across the world (“Business trip,” he’d told a skeptical Dick; “Take a break,” he’d added to Tim, giving him a wink, “I won’t be long.”), Jason was gone.
“I’m here,” Bruce said, aloud, as if his voice would bring Jason back. “I’m here to get you. I’m right here. Please.”
The wind rustled in the barren landscape. There was no sign of Jason.