Bruce looked up from his textbook, head pivoting back and forth.

He was reading under a tree in his backyard *specifically* for the privacy.

"Who's there?"

"Over here! Do you want to play with me?"

Bruce sat up straighter and squinted into the bushes. A tiny hand poked through the bushes covering the fence that separated his yard from his neighbors.

Their five or something year old son was pressed against the fence, waving excitedly.

Bruce, closing and setting aside his book on the ins and outs of the justice system, stood and made his way over.

"Um. Hi. Tommy, right?"

The bright smile that had lit up the boy's face a second ago when he'd seen Bruce coming closer died immediately.

"My name's Timmy."

"Sorry. Why don't you go play with your parents?"

Timmy looked away, and then down at the ground. "They don't… they don't play. They just work."

"Do you have a nanny, then?"

The kid seemed to catch on that Bruce wasn't interested in playing with him and just stared sadly at his shoes. "I don't know where she is. She says I can play on my own. But I'm always on my own."

Bruce felt bad for the kid. He really did. But he also needed to get back to studying.

And so he reached through the fence and patted him on the head.

"Maybe we'll play some other time. But I'm busy right now."

Timmy just nodded quietly and trudged away.

Yyyyy

Several years later, Dick Greyson lay awake in bed.

He couldn't sleep.

Not after the week he'd had.

Not after seeing his parents die.

Not after being stuck with that social worker who wouldn't let him stay with the circus.

And especially not after being adopted by Bruce Wayne, brought to his huge, empty manor, and basically left to his own devices.

It was all too much.

Too big.

Too empty.

Too quiet.

Too lonely.

He was used to always having people around.

And now he was alone.

Even his room was way too big.

"Who are you?"

Dick sat up straight, ripping his covers off and grabbing his backpack in case he needed a weapon.

"Who's there?"

A boy a little younger than him stood on the other side of the room, nearly invisible in the dim light. He looked just as shocked to see Dick as Dick was to see him.

"I'm Timmy. What's your name?" The boy asked.

Dick lowered his backpack, but didn't set it aside.

"I'm Dick. I thought Bruce didn't have any kids."

The boy suddenly looked uncomfortable. "W-well, um. He doesn't. I'm not supposed to be here."

That put Dick on edge again. "If you're not supposed to be here, then what are you doing here?"

Timmy backed up a step. "I'm sorry. I promise I'm not here to steal or anything."

"What are you doing here?" Dick repeated slowly, annoyance rising.

"I'm… I'm just playing. Mr. Bruce doesn't know I come here sometimes. And I promise I don't break anything. I just… I don't like being home. I'm always alone. It's more fun pretending I live here."

Dick sat the backpack on the ground beside the bed.

"Well, I hate it here. I hate this stupid city, and my stupid social worker, and this stupid room, and…" Dick fell silent and rubbed his eye.

He didn't want to cry again.

He really didn't.

He'd done enough crying lately.

"Oh!" He blinked in surprise as a tissue flew through the air from the box on his dresser and hovered infront of his face. "Um. What? Are you doing that?"

Timmy looked just as confused, eyes somewhat glassy.

Dick took the tissue, but before he could say anything else, Timmy swayed, closed his eyes and brought a hand to his head.

And then he vanished.

Yyyyy

Two years later, Dick grinned and moved his hands as he talked, animatedly recounting the events of that night.

"Penguin was so mad! But I swiped his umbrella right from his hands!" He cupped his hands around his mouth to whisper. "Don't tell Bruce, but I learned SO MANY new words."

Timmy laughed, and Dick grinned.

Becoming Robin had been rough, especially since he knew all too well just how fragile life could be. But his friendship with Timmy had, surprisingly, made it all somewhat easier.

He didn't want Dick telling Bruce or Alfred about his existence, and he didn't like talking about himself, but he LOVED hearing Dick tell him all about being a superhero.

And Dick loved having someone he could talk to about being one.

"Hey, Timmy? Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah?"

Dick had been trained in observational skills by Batman for the past two years. He noticed things now that he wouldn't have before.

Things like the fact that Timmy had grown.

His hair had gotten longer.

His freckles had started fading.

"You're dead, right?"

Timmy frowned, happiness wiped away like it hadn't been there just a second ago.

"So, if you're a ghost, why do you look like you're getting older?"

Timmy looked confused.

He opened his hands and looked down at them, eyes glazing over so he looked dazed.

"I'm… what?"

"You're aging. How are you doing… that…"

Dick trailed off in surprise as Timmy looked back up at him.

His eyes were wide with fear.

His hair was wet and plastered haphazardly to his face.

"Wh- where am I?"

"Timmy, what's going on?"

Timmy didn't respond.

His hands started to shake, and Dick noticed that it wasn't just his hair that was wet anymore.

Timmy was soaked.

The tremors spread from his hands until he was shivering, bent over like he was freezing.

"Timmy?"

"I- I don't want to be alone."

"Timmy, you're scaring me." Dick scooted closer. Slowly. Hoping he wouldn't scare the other boy.

"I don't want to be alone."

"You're not?"

"I don't want to be alone."

Dick reached out a hand to touch Timmy's shoulder.

"You're not alone-,"

As soon as his hand made contact, Timmy screamed.

Dick felt some invisible force throw him back and quickly braced his arms in front of his face.

Timmy was now hovering several feet off the floor in the center of the room, still screaming.

It was unearthly.

And terrifying.

And then the windows started to shatter.

And the lightbulbs burst.

Mirrors exploded.

Picture frames snapped and cracked.

Even the water glass on Dick's nightstand broke, sending glass and water all over the small table.

And then it was completely silent.

Dick's ears rang and his heart raced, but that and the shattered glass were the only signs Timmy had ever been there.

"T-Timmy?" He whispered, peeking through his arms.

Running footsteps could be heard coming up the hall to his room, and then Bruce was there.

From there, it was a whirlwind of questions.

"Are you okay?"

"Are you hurt?"

"Did you see it?"

"Did it try to hurt you?"

The manors sensors had picked up the presence of a poltergeist, because of course Bruce had installed sensors to protect against deceased foes.

It was several months before Dick saw Timmy again.

Yyyyy

Jason wandered the halls of the manor, taking in his new 'home'.

It was bigger than the elementary school he'd been enrolled in back when his parents still had it together enough to send him.

He walked past an open door and stopped, staring in awe.

This was certainly something his old school had never had.

Rows upon rows of freestanding bookshelves, complete with even more of them lining all four walls. There were comfy-looking chairs, window seats overlooking the quiet backyard, and, at the back of the room, a little cozy living room area with two couches, a coffee table, and a thick, fluffy rug. There were throw blankets draped over the back of the couches, just begging him to bundle up in them with whatever book looked the most exciting.

Hesitating, but ultimately unable to stop himself, Jason walked into the room.

"Wow." He whispered to himself, tilting his head back to look at the tallest shelves.

And then he heard someone gasp.

"You're not… Dick?"

Jason turned, trying to find who had spoken.

In one of the window seats, curled up without a book, was a boy.

He looked to be about twelve years old, but that wasn't the shocking thing about him.

"Why can I see through you?"

"... Who are you?" The boy asked, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, as if that would make him more solid.

"Jason. And let me guess who you are. One of Bruce's kids? You had the role of Robin before me, he got you killed and moved on to try again with me? Yeah. Figured as much. Guy gives off all kinds of freakshow vibes."

The boy scowled deeply and hunched his shoulders.

"Mr. Bruce didn't adopt me. He didn't want me." The boy rested his chin on his knees, scowling at the other half of the window seat. "No one did. I just… pretend."

Jason tilted his head and stepped closer.

"You… pretend? Pretend what? That you live here?"

The boy nodded. "Mr. Bruce doesn't know I'm here. Please don't tell on me? I- I don't want to be alone again."

Jason was silent for a while.

He watched the boy's expressions.

His movements.

The way he was also watching Jason, just as intently.

And then Jason grinned.

"Well, I've always wanted a brother. And one that I get to keep secret from Bruce? I'll just choose to see that as a bonus."

The boy's face brightened with a smile.

"I'm Timmy."

"Jason. Now why don't you point me towards the fantasy section. I'm in the mood for a good book."

Yyyyy

Bruce walked slowly through the manor.

The lights were off, but that didn't matter. Enough light from the low sun made it inside, allowing him to see where he was going.

It had been a whole day.

An entire twenty four hours.

And yet, he still imagined that he could feel the tackiness of drying blood on his hands.

The weight of his son's limp body, hanging from his arms.

The heat from the embers and the complete and utter helplessness as he searched for enough medical supplies to save him.

But it was too little, too late.

Jason had died.

Batman had failed.

He hadn't been fast enough.

To figure out what the Joker had planned.

To reach the warehouse.

To rescue-,

Bruce froze.

He didn't even breathe.

He was pretty sure his heart had also followed suit.

It had just been an instant, but he'd seen…

No.

No, it couldn't have been.

Because Jason was dead.

But he was so sure he'd seen a teenager.

Right in front of him in the hall.

Walking into Jason's bedroom.

"Jay..?" He stepped forward.

And then he was running.

He got to Jason's door and threw it open.

He heard a gasp and saw a small figure of a teen for barely even an instant before they blinked out of existence.

"Jay? Was… was that you? Please."

He walked further into the room, looking all around.

"Jason. Please?"

A tasseled bookmark stuck out from between the pages of Reckless, one of his favorite books.

"I have to see you. I need to see you."

The curtains to his window were tied back, showing off the yard.

And the tally marks.

Dozens of them, made with what appeared to be a knife, right where the curtain covered the wall.

Jason had mentioned it in passing a few years back, that he'd seen some of the other foster kids leave tally marks for each day their foster parent kept them, just so there would be some trace of them left behind.

He'd stopped counting a while ago, it looked like.

As if he'd finally felt that he really was home to stay.

Bruce reached out a finger and ran it over the small gouges in his wall.

"I'm so sorry. Jason, I'm so sorry I couldn't save you."

His legs buckled and he ended up in the window seat.

He looked around the room, desperately wishing that Jason would walk in at any moment, and starting to wonder if he'd really been seeing things.

Maybe he had.

Because he sat alone for hours.

Yyyyy

Damian felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and effortlessly flicked the knife out of his belt and whipped it around to point at the boy who had snuck up on him.

"Who are you?"

The boy's eyes were wide and stuck on the blade, and his hands were raised in defense.

He was also, surprisingly, a ghost.

"I- I'm Tim-,"

"I don't care. Why are you here?"

"I... I just-,"

"Does father know you're here?"

The ghost shook his head nervously.

"Then get out."

"What?"

Damian narrowed his eyes, taking a step forward. "Father doesn't know you're in the house. You're not one of the family. Therefore, you have no reason to be here. Get. Out."

"What? Wait, no. Please."

"Leave."

"No, no, no. Please. I don't want to be alone."

"That's not my problem, and this isn't your house."

"Please. Don't do this. Don't do this!"

"Get ou-," Damian was cut off as the ghost started panicking and hovering.

"I don't want to be alone." He cried, voice sounding like it had an echo to it.

"I don't want to be alone."

As Damian watched with wide eyes and bared teeth, not sure if this was about to turn into a fight, the ghost curled up into a ball in midair, clutching his hands over his ears.

"I don't want to be alone!"

The knife flew out of Damian's hand and embedded itself halfway to the hilt in the wall, while gale-force winds suddenly whipped around and around the room, shattering the windows, throwing pictures, books, furniture, and anything that wasn't fastened down around the room.

And then, to Damian's surprise, glowing symbols appeared on all the walls, causing the ghost to shriek in pain and fight to get away.

The wind stopped.

The ghostly wailing didn't.

And then, suddenly, Dick was there, scaling a bookshelf to reach and destroy one of the symbols.

The spell broke and the ghost vanished without a trace.

Bruce was in the room before Dick had even jumped down.

"What happened?"

"What was that?!" Dick shouted, looking furious.

"Security defense against poltergeist attacks. One already got in-,"

"He's been here! He's been here since before I moved in! What did you do?!"

"He's been here? What do you mean?"

"He's…" Dick forced himself to take a deep breath. "He's a kid. I don't know when or how he died, but he's… he's harmless. He helped me not feel so alone when I first moved in. The only time he ever freaked out like this was when he got really stressed and confused."

"Why didn't you ever tell me this?"

Dick shook his head. "He said he just wanted to pretend he wasn't alone. And… if you knew about him… you'd make him go away again."

"Again?" Bruce looked confused. "What do you mean again?"

"I don't know. He didn't like talking about when he was alive. He just said no one ever wanted him around. Not even you. He just wanted to pretend he had a family."

"I never… who is he? What's his name?"

"Tim Drake. Timmy."

Bruce felt cold.

Sick.

"Timmy? No. No, Tim's a grown man now. He's your age."

"Maybe he would have been."

"No, I- I remember him. He lived next door until his parents sent him to a private school."

He couldn't be dead.

Bruce would have noticed, right?

"I don't know what happened, but he didn't grow up. He never got the chance to."

Yyyyy

It had been nearly half a year.

And Bruce couldn't get the ghost out of his head.

He had looked his neighbors up, just to be sure.

And sure enough, unfortunately, all the information he found just told him that Dick had been right.

Ghosts couldn't travel far from where they'd died, and… Timmy had died at home.

More accurately, he had died in his backyard.

His parents had hired a nanny to watch him anytime they were out of the house.

Because Timmy was only six.

He had only ever gotten to be six.

One day, their nanny had been running late, but Janet and Jack, not wanting to miss their flight, decided to leave while Timmy was occupied playing in the backyard in hopes that the nanny would arrive before he even realized he'd been home alone.

What they hadn't known, however, was the nanny had been running late because she'd been badly injured in a car accident.

Timmy had ended up locked outside during one of the stormiest weeks of fall, and, by the time his parents returned home and found him, he'd already died of exposure to the elements.

All Bruce could think of was that day years ago.

He'd been seventeen.

Busy.

Studying.

But… had he really been too busy to spare any attention for the kid next door?

Even just a few minutes of throwing a ball back and forth?

Maybe then…

Maybe he would have seen that Timmy needed help?

Maybe Timmy wouldn't have died.

"U-um… Hi."

Bruce looked up from his laptop, shocked to see the ghost peeking around the corner of his office.

He was almost entirely hidden behind the wall, cautious.

He was also… older.

Bruce rose slowly, not wanting to scare him off, and stepped out from behind his desk.

"Hi, Timmy."

He looked nearly grown, standing as tall as Bruce's shoulder. His long, dark hair flopped almost over his eyes.

"Dick says I should talk to you." His eyes flickered to his feet as he spoke, like a little kid about to be scolded.

"He did?" Bruce asked gently, more to remind himself that he was speaking to a young child than anything.

Timmy nodded.

"Then do you think I can talk to the real you?"

Timmy clenched his jaw, eyes widening in fear slightly.

And then he closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Timmy, I know this isn't you."

Timmy took a step back, seeming smaller than before.

His hair was even darker now, wet and sticking to his forehead at all angles.

"I just want to talk to the real you-,"

"No." Timmy whimpered and shook his head, nearly crying. "No. You don't. No one does."

"I do, buddy. This isn't you. Please. I'd like to talk to the real you."

Tim backed up, shrinking and changing with every step, until he backed into the wall across from Bruce's home office.

He then sank down, face buried in his arms.

He was tiny.

He wore a puffy, gray jacket and bright red shoes, all of which was completely soaked.

Where Timmy sat, curled up against the wall, a puddle was starting to form.

Bruce slowly stepped closer and knelt down to his level.

"Why do you do that?" He asked softly. "Why do you change how old you look?"

Timmy sniffled and raised his head enough that Bruce was able to see the hollow look in his eyes, like he wasn't entirely there.

He'd have to be careful to not trigger the poltergeist in him again.

"Cause I can." He whispered. "I can. An- and I can be… whatever people want now." He shivered and wrapped his arms around his tiny frame, but it didn't seem to do any good. "I don't… I don't have to be me. Because… because nobody ever liked me. I think I was a bad kid."

Bruce's heart broke at the sight of the little ghost trying to justify the neglect that had taken his life.

"What did I do?" Timmy asked. "Why… why didn't anyone want me around?"

"Timmy… I'm so sorry."

"Was I really that bad?"

"No, buddy."

"... What did I do?"

A single, long, steady tone.

He blinked slowly at the ceiling, wondering sleepily why he was back in his bed at the manor.

The tone kept going.

He couldn't just ignore it and go back to sleep, so he pushed back his blankets and stood up, determined to find the source of the sound.

Not bothering to turn on any lights, he made his way to Jason's room, knocking on his door.

"Jay." He called. "Turn off your damn alarm."

The tone didn't stop.

Dick opened the door and walked in.

Jason lay on the bed, apparently not bothered by the sound.

"Jay." Dick tried again, louder.

Jason didn't respond.

The alarm didn't change.

"Jason-,"

Dick had reached out to shake Jason awake, only to freeze.

He was…

Cold.

Stiff.

And then he recognized the tone.

It was a flatline.

The shift in reality was so sudden and gut-wrenching that Dick did the only thing he could think to do.

He slowly backed out of the room.

"Bruce..?" He heard the scared whisper before he realized that the voice was his own.

Swallowing, he headed down the hall, knowing his way without lights.

The tone didn't change in volume one bit.

He couldn't even tell what direction it was coming from.

He cracked open Bruce's door.

The man was visible only as a lump under his blankets.

"B- Bruce?"

What was going on?

He entered the room and pulled back the blanket.

Just like Jason, Bruce was gone.

Dead.

Heart now racing, Dick ran out of the room and threw open Tim's door.

Except…

He didn't walk into Tim's room.

He walked into his own.

The one he'd had back on the train.

The train they'd used to travel around the country when he was with Haly's Circus.

He could smell the hay they used for the animals.

The popcorn.

The fresh paint in their cabin.

He could hear…

Nothing.

Nothing but that tone.

Now trying to get away from it more than find it's source, Dick strode across the room and opened the door of the cabin…

And walked out into the big tent.

As soon as he realized where he was, Dick squeezed his eyes shut.

He'd already had to live through it once.

He couldn't do it again.

He couldn't see them again.

He froze in place and was, for the first time since he'd woken up, suddenly able to hear something other than that tone.

He heard…

Voices.

People.

They were faint, but they were definitely there.

Like they had been that night.

He'd heard the crowds from far above.

Listened as the cheers and gasps of amazement he was so used to turned to horror.

That… that sounded like what he was hearing now.

He needed to find those voices.

He needed to get away from that noise.

He needed to not be alone.

He didn't want to be alone again.

He wanted his family.

The tone stuttered.

The dull hum of voices, all overlapping and faint, suddenly became louder.

He wanted Bruce.

The tone grew from a single, steady annoyance, to a series of beeps.

Someone yelled his name, breaking through the rest of the noise.

The noise…

The closer he got to the voices, the more suffocating and overwhelming the noise became.

It was everywhere.

Almost tangible.

He felt his heart beat faster and faster, until all he felt was adrenaline, pulsing through his veins like he was fighting against some invisible foe.

But he didn't stop.

He wanted his brothers.

His family.

He wanted to not be alone-,

"Stay down! Don't try to move!"

Dick wasn't sure he could if he wanted to.

He felt straps on his arms and legs, securing him to a gurney.

At least, that's what it felt like he was on.

He couldn't exactly see thanks to the penlight being shined in his eyes.

"Can you hear me? Blink once for yes and twice for no."

"Y-yea." He croaked out, throat suddenly killing him.

"Blink, okay? There's a reason I said blink." Bruce gently admonished, setting the penlight aside and carefully undoing his restraints.

Dick waited for his first hand to be freed and then slowly brought it up to tap his throat, raising an eyebrow.

'What happened?' He asked silently.

"You got trapped by Scarecrow. We're not sure how much of his toxin you breathed in, but it was enough to… stop your heart for a while."

Dick had known Bruce long enough to recognize the expression he wore, though he tried to hide it by turning to work on the rest of the straps.

He'd been scared.

Probably as scared as Dick himself had been.

And then he felt a hand on his arm, giving him a light squeeze, and looked over at the other side of his bed.

Alfred, Jason, Tim, Damian, and Cass were all seated or standing right beside him.

Swallowing painfully, he pointed to the closest monitor and managed to ask, "Turn off… th' alarm please?"

Tim, seated beside him, took his hand.

"That's your heart monitor-,"

"Off, please."

"We can turn the volume down." Jason relented, moving over to the machine.

Jason clasped his hands over his ears harder, so hard they hurt. But he could still hear Crane's voice. He was already on his knees, mentally begging for this nightmare to be over, but it wasn't.

Because the voice wasn't coming from Crane.

At least, not directly.

No.

It was inside him.

The voice, that horrible, mocking tone…

The distant, echoing laughter…

It was in his own head.

He gasped and opened his eyes, rage filling him when he saw that… that monster, walking towards him. He moved slowly, but didn't even try to hide the fact that he was heading right for Jas- no.

No, he wasn't Jason right now.

He… he could feel the domino mask on his face. The heavy weight of his jacket. The familiar secureness of his holsters. He was Red Hood.

Scarecrow thought he'd won.

But he obviously didn't know who he was going up against.

With an enraged shout, Red Hood rose to his feet and lunged with all his might at the crook.

Jason wasn't one to down without a fight.

Jason didn't go down without fighting tooth, nail, and bloody fucking bone.

And even when he did go down?

Not even the afterlife had managed to contain him.

"You want to see a monster?!" He roared.

His fist hit air, and he stumbled.

Scarecrow had sidestepped.

But Jason apparently recovered faster than the villain had anticipated, as all he had to do was pivot and swing again.

He made contact.

Crane hit the ground, and Jason was on him in a second. He straddled him, pinning his arms to the concrete floor with his legs, and raised a fist, preparing to make Crane wish he'd never tried to go after him.

"You want to call me a monster? Huh? I'll-,"

"Hood!"

Jason stilled.

That voice…

He knew that voice.

He had come here with that voice.

"Red Robin." He whispered, looking around. Where was he? When had he disappeared?

Jason blinked hard, suddenly starting to wonder why his memories were so… fuzzy.

He didn't get the chance to wonder for long, because Scarecrow had decided to take his distraction as an opportunity to wrench one of his hands free.

He was too fast for Jason, successfully… hitting his own chest?

"Batman's on his way."

Jason didn't like the confidence that those words had been said with. He didn't know what Scarecrow was playing at, but he didn't like it.

Had Batman fallen to his toxin?

"Just hang on."

Hang on?

The hell kind of mind games was he…

"You're just trying to confuse me." He growled.

"N- Augh!" The protest was cut off with a shout of pain as Red Hood landed a solid blow to the side of his face.

Scarecrow was curled as much into the fetal position as he could get with the weight of a furious vigilante on top of him, holding his face with his one free hand. Just as Jason pulled back his arm to hit him again, a metal pole shot up from seemingly nowhere, catching him right in the chest.

He fell backwards, winded, while Scarecrow wrenched himself free and scrambled to his feet.

"Where the hell is Red? What are you doing with his staff?" His fists were raised and clenched, waiting for the attack.

Scarecrow kept his distance, staff at his side, ready to be put to use at a moment's notice. "Your helmet! You- you lost your helmet!"

Red Hood felt his lip curl up in a snarl. He didn't remember getting here, didn't remember much of anything, currently, but he knew when someone was trying to keep him distracted.

And if he was distracted, he was off guard.

"One last chance, and then I'll kill you." He dropped as much malice into his voice as he could. "Where. The FUCK. Is Red Robin?"

"Right here, Hood."

Jason blinked, head still feeling too fuzzy to think right. He… he heard his brother's voice again, but it was Scarecrow whose mouth was moving.

That bastard was using a voice modulator. He was disguising his voice to sound like Red's. But… Jason knew he had arrived with Red Robin. He was here somewhere.

"Oh, you're going to regret messing with him."

Scarecrow took half a step back. He raised a hand to his ear and spoke, keeping a close eye on Jason. "Hurry. Please- gah!"

Hood, realizing he was calling his minions for backup, had rushed him. He didn't have much time now. He had to beat Crane, find Red, and get the hell out before they were ambushed.

Red hit the ground and rolled- wait.

No, that was wrong.

He was fighting Scarecrow.

Blinking and rubbing his eyes, Jason looked again.

Sure enough, Scarecrow pushed himself back to his feet. He looked unsteady, swaying a bit, but he still held Red's staff in his hands.

Jason grit his teeth and snarled again.

That was Tim's weapon, and this second-rate freak was waving it around like he owned it.

"Hood, please! We- we already beat Scarecrow! He's outside!"

"Stop it! Stop using his voice!" He huffed, reaching for… anything that made sense. This… this wasn't how Crane's attacks usually went.

No.

Crane tended to rely more on his toxin-

For the first time, Jason looked down at his hands. Th- they were shaking. Why were his hands shaking-

His hands had felt his domino mask.

If his hands felt his mask… that meant he wasn't wearing his helmet.

"Hood?"

His helmet had his respirator.

"Hood? Please… s-snap out of it."

If…

If he hadn't been wearing his respirator-

"We… we took out Crane." He whispered, still staring at his hands. They wouldn't stop shaking.

"Yeah. Yeah, we did."

"We took him and his goons out. Outside. An- and then we… what did we do? Why are we in here-," He gasped as the fog lifted, bit by bit. "We were doing a sweep of the warehouse. There was a… a trap. Tripwire. Some… some kinda gas. It hit me right in the face."

This time, he didn't hear a response. Slowly, he looked up, hoping with all he had that Scarecrow wasn't still standing in front of him.

Unfortunately, he hadn't been entirely a hallucination.

"Red?"

Red Robin was breathing heavily, leaning against his staff. His head was bent, so Jason couldn't see his face, but he could see the wet patch of hair, dripping red, that had plastered itself to the side of his face.

"Red!"

Jason was running as soon as he saw the state his brother was in, but he was too far away. Red Robin swayed, tried to take a step, and crumpled to the ground. He was out before Jason reached him.

Yyyyy

Jason didn't know how long he had been sitting on the roof for, but he could tell by the light that it was now morning.

He hadn't seen the sunrise.

His forehead rested on his knees, while his fingers were laced together around his ankles. He didn't deserve to see the sunrise. Not… not after what he had done.

"Little wing?"

"Go away, Dick." He muttered. He didn't know if he had been loud enough for his brother to hear, but he didn't care.

"Jay, he's awake." Dick's words were soft, but Jason still felt like they were constricting his lungs.

He'd already given his report of the events. Already turned in the footage from both his damaged helmet outside, and his and Tim's dominos, but…

He had tried to kill him.

He had tried to kill Tim.

Again.

He knew that all the kid would have to say was that he didn't feel safe around Jason anymore.

They'd kick him out.

And he couldn't argue, because he really was dangerous. He knew that.

He wouldn't argue, because he knew they were right. It had been a bad move, putting him back on the team. Back into the family.

Bruce might be sad to see him go. He might try to arrange some sort of weekly lunch meet up, just the two of them. Away from the others. He might agree.

Probably not, though.

He'd probably just try to avoid the man on his way out. That would be easiest for everyone. It wouldn't be hard. He'd been sneaking in and out of the manor for years, after all. And besides, he was already packed.

"Yeah. How is he?"

He heard footsteps.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

He felt Dick sit next to him and wrap his arms around him. "He's dizzy, Alfred says he's pretty sure he's got a concussion. But he's asking about you. He wants to know you're alright."

Jason sucked in a breath. "I- I'm fine. He's the one who-,"

"He says you were fighting it. You were trying to find him. You were trying to save him, even while under the effects of whatever Crane set out for you."

Jason felt the iron grip on his lungs dissipate, just a little. "H- he wants to see me? Even after… what I did?"

Dick shifted to rest his head against Jason's shoulder. "Jay, that wasn't you. He knows that."

"He… he didn't fight me. He just tried to avoid me. I… I just kept-,"

"Jay-bird, just come talk to him. He wants to see you. And, I think it'll help him. He keeps trying to get out of bed to track you down."

Jason lifted his head. "What?"

"He's worried about you. He wants to see for himself that you're safe."

Jason bit his lip. "He wants to… see me?"

He wasn't getting kicked out? And Tim wanted to see him? He actually wanted to see…

"Can… can I ask you something, Dick? And I want you to be… I need you to be completely honest. No fake reassurances or telling me what I want to hear. I need you to be dead serious."

Dick lifted his head. They made eye contact. "Jay?"

"Dick."

Dick sighed and moved back enough that they could talk.

"When you look at me… what do you see? Do you see… do you see the kid I used to be? Or," Jason sighed. "Do you just see some stranger, walking around wearing your dead brother's face?"

Dick looked almost horrified. "Jay, where is this-,"

"Dick. I'm serious. I… I need to know. I need to hear it."

Dick scooted a little closer and took Jason's hands in his own. "Jason, you never stopped being my little brother. You… you always will be. And, yeah sure. You might be different than you used to be, but you were a kid then. I've changed, too. But I look at you, I see how you interact with people, I see how you move and talk and act. How you react. You're still Jason. Dying and being brought back? I… Jay, I can't pretend to know how traumatic that was, but I look at you, and I still see family. I still see my little brother. Yeah, you've changed. But we all have. That's… that's life. You are not a stranger to me. And you're not a stranger to Tim. If you were, he wouldn't be asking about you now."

Jason didn't know how to respond. He… he had been so prepared to leave. To be told that he was no longer welcome at the manor. "He… he really wants to see me?"

Dick's lips curled upwards slightly. He stood with the ease and grace of an acrobat tugging Jason with him. "Let's go. Maybe you can talk him into staying in bed. When I left, Damien was already offering to tie him up."

They climbed back in through the window, and made it all of three feet before Jason stopped and wrapped his arms around Dick, pulling the smaller man tightly to his chest.

"Jay?"

"Shut the fuck up, Dickface." He whispered into Dick's shoulder. "If you tell anyone I hugged you, I'll tell Al what you really think of his waffles."

Dick smiled and held still, letting Jason just cling to him until he was ready to head down to the med bay. He knew the rest of the family could handle Tim. And he could handle Jay.

He could handle his Little wing.

Bruce couldn't stop thinking about the social worker's parting words as they had left the courthouse. And then for a while after they'd returned to the manor. Alfred was slicing assorted fruit in the kitchen in a bid to get their new charge to eat something, and Dick was up in his new room unpacking his bags, but Bruce was mentally going over and over those words.

Father? Did that word apply to him now? Did… did he even want to be called that? He was sure he wanted to take in and raise Dick, but he'd never considered what Dick would call him.

Bruce? Maybe? He guessed it would be up to Dick.

He knew that after his own parents had passed, he'd never called another adult 'mom' or 'dad', but that was because he'd been raised by Alfred.

Speaking of which…

"Hey, Alfred?"

The butler didn't look away from the bowl he was arranging for Dick. "Yes, Master Bruce? Something on your mind?"

"I was just wondering… did it ever bother you? That you raised a kid who never ended up referring to you as their father?"

Alfred stilled. He blinked and pushed the bowl aside so he could lean against the counter. "Master Bruce," he thought for a second, wanting to pick his words carefully. "In short, no. It never bothered me. Because I wasn't your father. But that didn't mean we weren't, if I may be so bold, family. I knew that you saw me as a parental figure, someone you could trust if you needed help or advice, and I knew that it didn't matter to me what you called me. It wouldn't change a thing. I wasn't going to let how you, a child, saw me dictate how I viewed our relationship."

Yyyyy

Bruce never forced, encouraged, or even suggested that Dick call him by anything other than Bruce. In fact, he'd forgotten all about the conversation pretty quickly as parenting, running a multi-billion dollar business, and vigilantism tended to take up a lot of his time. It wasn't until one night, a few years after he'd adopted his son that he even recalled it.

"Dad?"

Bruce looked up from his paperwork at the sound of the hoarse, quiet voice. Dick was standing in his home office doorway, drowsy, wrapped in a blanket, and pale.

"You don't look so good, bud." He put his pen down and hurried over to the twelve year old and felt his forehead.

"Can we not go out tonight? Please?"

"Yeah, no worries there. You're going back to bed. Let's go."

"Okay." Dick allowed himself to be guided back to his room, where he crawled back in bed and closed his eyes tight.

"I'll be back with some water, alright? And I'll have Alfred make you soup. It looks like you've caught that bug that's been going around. Barry says it knocked Wally out for a full day, but with that boy's metabolism, I really don't know how long this will take to run its course."

"Mn, soup sounds good." Dick mumbled into his pillow.

Bruce smiled softly as he was able to watch Dick actually fall asleep mid-conversation. He pulled another blanket up over the sleeping mound of child on the bed and tucked him in.

Down in the kitchen, he found Alfred just getting out the dishes he would need to prepare dinner.

"Hey, Alfred. You haven't gotten started yet, I hope?"

The butler shook his head. "Not yet. I was just about to make spaghetti, unless you wanted something else?"

Bruce nodded, walking past to grab one of the colorful, plastic cups they had gotten Dick to help him feel more at home. "Dick caught Wally's cold. He's asleep now, but I told him you'd make him… um,"

Something clicked.

He was replaying the conversation mentally so he could relay anything important to the one who had more experience dealing with sick kids, and something Dick had said…

"He… he called me 'Dad'."

The cup overflowed and his wet hand snapped him back to the present. Quickly, he dumped some of the water out and grabbed a dishrag to dry off the outside of the cup.

"Master Bruce?"

Bruce didn't know what the right reaction was, but he found himself staring incredulously at the water. He'd always told himself that being Dick's guardian was enough. He'd had a father, and that father wasn't Bruce.

He'd known that. He'd never considered…

His chest swelled as he tried to wrap his head around the overwhelming feelings that had just hit him like a truck.

"He called me 'Dad.'" Bruce whispered again.

He smiled, only just realizing that the cup in his hands was blurry.

"Tim? Are you with me?"

Tim blinked, still not able to see anything. He wasn't sure who had spoken. He wasn't sure where he was.

He felt a hand on his back.

"Tim. Talk to me."

Tim's head swam, hearing becoming muffled momentarily. When it cleared again, he heard someone moving near him. He was able to tell that he was laying face down on… some kind of concrete floor?

"Timmy, please. Wake up."

"J-Jason?" He ground out.

He heard a sigh and felt his brother's hands on his shoulders before they carefully patted him down, checking for injuries.

"Stay with me, okay buddy?"

"Where are we?" Tim coughed again. He then winced and brought up a hand to clutch his head.

Something felt wet.

That wasn't good.

"The basement of Andre's Jewelers. Two-Face blew it up before we could get out. Does anything hurt?"

"Head. Think I'm bleeding."

Jason cursed and found his way to Tim's head. It only took a second for him to locate where the blood was coming from.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're bleeding. Just hang on. The others will be here soon."

Tim felt the weight of gauze pads being pressed to his scalp, and a large hand rubbing circles on his back.

"You okay?"

Jason breathed out a laugh. "Timmy, we've been buried alive. My comms aren't working so I don't know when help will be here, and you're…" he trailed off, the hand on Tim's back falling away. "You're… gonna be okay. I'm sorry for getting all 'Debbie Downer'. I just… I don't want to be here. I'm just trying to stay out of my own head."

"They'll be here soon." Tim felt around until his hand found his brother's. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

"Is your comm working?"

"No. 's quiet."

"Shit."

"Y'know…" Tim sighed and felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. When it cleared, Jason's hand had released his and was on his neck, checking his pulse.

"Do I know what?"

"Just… kinda weird. You're here now. Telling me I'll be okay."

"Where else would I be?" Jason sounded distracted, like he was just trying to keep the conversation going. Or maybe he just wanted to keep Tim talking.

"'Mn. Don' know. Somewhere else."

"Tim?"

"You… used to hate me. Tried to kill me."

This time, both of Jason's hands vanished.

Tim felt the fresh, hot blood well up and ooze down his scalp again. He whimpered, feeling lightheaded.

"Sorry. Sorry." Jason reapplied pressure to Tim's head. He then took it away again. "Come here." He slipped his hands under Tim's arms and carefully pulled him into his lap.

Tim felt himself be gathered close to Jason's chest and, once again, the gauze was reapplied to his head.

"Tim… what happened back then… I wasn't…" He sighed and hugged Tim closer. "I never hated you." He finally whispered.

"Funny way of… showin' it." He was cold. He'd been cold before, but hadn't exactly noticed it until he'd been moved.

"I… I wanted to protect you. I wanted to make you quit. Bruce… I never thought he'd let me die. Being Robin, it was like a dream. I thought I was invincible most days. I thought he'd always be there to save me. But then I was killed, and he wasn't there."

Tim coughed and leaned closer to his brother's warmth.

"I thought he'd have at least learned his lesson. Kids don't belong in the field. But I came back and… there you were. In my suit. With my name. Like he just buried me and moved on. So I decided that, if he was okay with throwing another kid to the wolves, I'd remind him what had happened to his last one. And I'd show you in the process what being Robin actually meant. I'd show you… that Batman… wouldn't always save you."

"... He's comin' now, though. Don't worry."

"Thanks, kiddo."

"You were wrong."

"About what?" He asked almost absently, pulling the gauze away again.

Tim heard a wet splat as it was thrown to the side.

That… probably wasn't good.

He then felt as Jason shifted him and started searching his tool belt, trying to find where Tim kept his medical supplies.

"About what, Tim?" He found them and pressed the new pads against his cut.

"He did learn his lesson. He didn't want another Robin. He already tried to make me quit."

Jason stilled. "What?"

"He didn't want me. But Batman without Robin… he wasn't okay. He was losing it. I made him take me on as his new partner. He… he sent me away to be trained by assassins. I think he was hoping that would scare me off."

"He didn't recruit you? Didn't train you?"

Tim shook his head. "Didn't want me. He wanted you. You were his kid. I was just… there."

"You… you're wrong." Jason mumbled. He held Tim closer. "He loves you. He adopted you-,"

"He used to think I was you on bad nights. He'd get hurt, or overwork himself, and… if he wasn't thinking clearly…" Tim exhaled tiredly. He wasn't sure when he'd closed his eyes, but he was too exhausted to open them again.

"Tim!" Jason shook him.

"Yea. 'm up."

"Just… just keep talking. Okay kid?"

"... 'kay…"

Yyyyy

Tim was warm when he woke up.

And, whatever he was laying on was moving.

Like it was… breathing..?

"Mmn." He grunted and forced his eyes open.

"He's awake." Someone said.

"Shh. Easy, kid." Jason whispered, adjusting his hold on him.

They were in the backseat of the Batmobile. Jason was still holding him tight, while Nightwing was working on wrapping his head, and Batman and Robin were up front.

"Hey, buddy. We'll be home soon. Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?" Nightwing spoke softly.

"Three..?" Tim tried. He closed his eyes and sank back into Jason's shoulder.

"Hey, hey. No sleeping."

"J'son..?" He breathed, eyes already slipping shut.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"... Told you so."

"Told me what?"

"Bats. He came. Saved you."

And sometimes… they kept those blindfolds on because they themselves didn't want to see.

Alfred knew this well. From his military past. From his life with Batman and the rest of his heroes. This wasn't new information to the butler.

What was new, however, was the desire to keep his on. To just pretend that the day was normal. So, maybe, he wouldn't have to see what had become of his family.

"'Mornin'." Tim grunted as he staggered into the kitchen. He wore a thick bathrobe over his sweatpants and an old, faded t-shirt that used to belong to Duke.

"Hey. Did you get any sleep last night?" Jason asked, scrambling eggs. He was still one of the only members of the family allowed in Alfred's kitchen.

Tim, baby stubble showing on his cheeks and chin, chose to respond by making his way to the coffee maker.

As Alfred watched, Jason huffed and removed the half-cooked eggs from the heat and grabbed Tim's coffee cup out of his hand.

"Go sit." He pointed at the table.

Tim glared at him.

"Go sit. You'll have food in a second."

Tim rubbed his eye with the palm of his hand. "Not hungry."

"Did I fucking ask?" Jason grabbed him by his upper arm and dragged him over to a chair. "Sit. Food will be done soon."

"It's alright to take a break, lad." Alfred knew his words were falling on deaf ears, as Tim laid his arms on the table and rested his head on them, eyes already slipping shut. "It's alright to take care of yourself."

Tim's breathing evened out and he was softly snoring in seconds.

Alfred patted his shoulder sadly and straightened up.

Jason had already returned to the pan of eggs.

Cass slipped into the room next, silent as a shadow, and grabbed an apple out of the fruit basket. She had wrapped herself up in her favorite one of Bruce's housecoats, but had had to roll up the sleeves several times.

She pulled out the chair next to Tim and sat down in it. She then carefully slipped her arm out of one of the sleeves and laid half the coat over her little brother's sleeping form, curling up around him almost protectively.

The apple ended up sitting on the table in front of them, untouched.

Dick was next to enter the kitchen, dragging his feet and looking haggard.

"Hey, guys."

"Hey, Dick." Jason turned to greet him solemnly, already preparing a plate of eggs and toast and handing it to his older brother. "How's he doing?"

Dick sighed and closed his eyes, shaking his head. "He hasn't changed since the funeral."

"Do you need any help? One of us could sit with him for a while." Jason offered.

"Listen to him. Please, lad. You don't have to handle this alone. It's alright to accept help." Alfred tried, but Dick shook his head.

"Thanks, Jay, but I've got a handle on him. Besides, it isn't the first time I've seen him like this."

Alfred and Jason sighed, both feeling slightly helpless as they watched Dick leave the room with the plate of food.

Alfred then heard the tap running and frowned as he watched Jason start cleaning the dishes he had used to make the eggs.

"You didn't set any aside for yourself." The butler observed.

Jason ran the sponge over a cutting board, lathering it with soap.

"Lad…" Alfred started, but stopped.

He watched as Jason worked.

How his eyes glazed over until he blinked rapidly, forcing the memories away.

How he kept moving from task to task to keep busy, finishing with the dishes and setting plates quietly in front of Cass and Tim.

How he then removed his own jacket and draped it over Tim's sleeping form so that Cass could eat.

"Jason."

He opened his mouth to say more, but then closed it and sighed.

"I'm sorry." He whispered.

Jason returned to the sink and started drying and putting the dishes away silently.

"I'm sorry you've lost yet another person who loved you."

Jason finished with the dishes and, using the damp rag he'd dried the dishes with, started wiping down the counters.

"I'm sorry you feel the need to hold your family together."

Jason stepped closer, and then through Alfred, stopping briefly to shiver at the sudden chill.

"I'm so sorry I left."

And, if they had been in any other situation, Bruce would have been over the moon.

But they weren't.

Jay was clinging to him for one reason only; desperation.

The two of them had teamed up for what should have been a relatively easy mission, but one lucky goon getting off one lucky shot was all it had taken to knock Red Hood out of the fight.

Batman had dispatched the rest of the goons and was on his knees beside Red Hood in seconds, pressing his hands over the hole in his son's side.

"You're okay. Lie still. Lie still. Nightwing's on his way."

"Sh-shit." Red Hood croaked. "Hurts."

"I know. I know. Just hang on."

Red Hood coughed, lips stained red. His hand felt around shakily until it found his father's hand. "I… I need you to do somethin' for me."

"Don't try to talk. Save your breath."

"No! No, I have to say it!"

"Alright. Calm down."

"Don't bury me."

Batman stilled, words dying in his throat.

"Don't. Please."

"Hood. Stop."

"No. I'm serious."

"You're fine! You're going to be fine!"

Red Hood gripped Batman's hand tighter. "Listen to me!"

Batman stayed silent, holding pressure to the wound and wishing Nightwing would hurry.

"Promise me."

"No. You're going to-,"

Red Hood coughed out a low laugh, almost more of a huff. "Bats, I am so not kidding right now."

"You need to stop talking."

"I'll stop talking when you listen to me." His voice was lacking some of the edge he'd had only a second ago.

"Jay-,"

"Don't bury me. Please."

His hand lost its grip and fell.

He tried to lift it again, but all he could reach was Batman's cape. He held onto it.

"Don't put me back in that box. I don't want to wake up down there again."

"You're not dying-,"

"You're not listening." He coughed again.

"Jay, stop talking. You need to save your energy."

"Bruce." He ground out. "Listen to me, for fucks sake." He coughed and wheezed, trying to catch his breath. "Don't… I don't care if I die right now or ten years from now. I don't want to be buried."

Batman bowed his head, making sure to maintain pressure onto the gunshot wound.

"I don't care what you do with me, just don't put me in another box. Please."

His.

His blinds.

Hanging over his windows.

In his bedroom.

In his house.

Because he was home.

He was *home*.

Of course, he'd officially returned from time the day before, but there had been so many tests and exams and debriefs that he'd just been left exhausted.

Now, though?

He was home.

He wanted to see his family.

He wanted to eat Alfred's cooking, hug his kids, play with his dog.

Call his cat and let her know he was alive.

Heart pounding in excitement for the day ahead, he climbed out of bed, got dressed, and headed down for breakfast.

"Morning, Dick. Jason." He greeted, walking into the kitchen.

Jason nodded, mouth full of toast, while Dick stood and hugged him.

"Where are Damian and Tim?" Bruce asked when they parted.

"Damian's in the shower, and I haven't seen Tim yet. I think he's still asleep." Dick replied, returning to his cereal bowl. "Oh, and Alfred's at the store."

Bruce nodded and grabbed out a pan. "Let's let Tim sleep for a bit longer. He looked pretty tired last night. Do either of you want scrambled eggs?"