A Family Matter

Robin unceremoniously threw a couple of shirts into the large duffle bag on his bed. Some boxers and sweatpants followed, adding to the crinkled mess of clothing now accumulating in the bag. The only thing he had bothered to fold at all was his uniform; the black, skin tight suit with the blue silhouette of a bird going across the chest.

"But you promised!" Beast Boy exclaimed from the doorway. A chorus of agreement erupted from the remaining Titans gathered around him, even from Raven. "We've been planning this trip for months! You can't just back out!"

Robin ignored them, focusing more on organizing his weapons into a large, combination locked case. How long had he been going by Nightwing, now? A year, maybe? No, he was certain it had been longer than a year. But the Titans still called him, Robin. They had never learned his real name, after all, and he would probably never tell them. It wasn't that he didn't trust them, but from the tender age of nine, Bruce Wayne had pounded rule number 1 into head: Never reveal your secret identity.

Robin had never broken that rule.

"This trip was planned to be a time of relaxation and friendship," Starfire said, stepping closer to the dark haired boy. Her eyebrows knitted closely together and her shoulders hunched together in frustration. "Backing out without any forewarning and without any explanation is unacceptable! You are not acting like a friend, at all, Robin!"

Robin gritted his teeth and pushed the large, black sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. He always wore them when he didn't have his mask on.

How could he possibly explain? He hadn't planned on missing their team trip, but this was absolutely more important. Robin would have cancelled much more in the wake of news like this.

He snapped the lid of the weapon's case shut and shoved it into the duffle, further wrinkling the clothing inside. Then, Robin zipped it up with a flourish and threw the bag over his shoulder.

"Dude!" Cyborg shouted, striding forward imposingly. "You better sit your scrawny butt down before I make you."

"Cyborg," Robin said, tone low but unthreatening. "Please step aside."

"No!"

So Robin sidestepped the large man, using years of training to quickly weave through his friends and get out the door, all the while ignoring the series of surprised grunts that followed him. He was in the living room quickly enough, but was forced to stop again when a hand grabbed his arm and yanked him backward.

Robin sighed shortly and tried to count to ten.

"Would you stop for just two seconds?" Cyborg exclaimed, his whole form shaking with annoyance and frustration.

"I have to get going if I want to make it to Gotham before sunrise," Robin said, trying his best to stay detached.

"So what happened in Gotham?" Raven asked, managing to sound aloof. But the small lines that pulled at the corners of her mouth and eyes showed exactly how angry she was with their leader. "Is it Slade or some other villain? Maybe we could help. We are your teammates, after all."

"No," Robin replied quickly, arm still trapped by Cyborg's large hand. "There isn't anything you can do. Just go on the trip without me-"

"Like hell we would," Beast Boy shouted, the most vocal of the bunch.

"Just leave it alone!" Robin practically growled, the dam of his control cracking. He really needed to get going.

"We will not leave it alone!" Starfire said, just as angry. Her green eyes seemed to glow a little more intently and her lips pursed together. "You are our friend, so whatever has occurred matters to us. And we are your friends, so we deserve an explanation at the minimum. Or has our friendship ended?"

Robin sucked in a huge breath of air and let it out with a flourish before he wretched his arm out of Cyborg's grasp and took two steps backward. His heart hammered in his chest and he wanted to hit something so badly his fists actually shook at his sides. They weren't going to let him leave, he realized abruptly.

He hated this! He couldn't deal with this! But he needed to leave; needed to be with Batman, so he clenched his teeth together and turned back to his team.

"Look, I-" he tried to say, but a thick lump formed so suddenly in the back of his throat that his voice cut off like the music on a scratched CD. When had talking become so difficult, he wondered, and swallowed several times. The lump effectively fell out of his throat and settled like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach. His fingers had gone numb, too.

"My…," Robin began again when he felt capable. "My little brother is dead."

There. It was out in the open, spoken for the first time since he had learned the news. Robin turned and took two steps to his right, about-faced, and took four to his left. He just had to move, had to do something. He ran a hand through his hair – it wasn't shaking, it just wasn't -, all the while ignoring the way his eyes stung ferociously.

He glanced up at his team and looked away again just as quickly. But the image had been burned into his eyes: Starfire with her hand clasped over her mouth, green eyes widened and already glossy, Cyborg and Beast Boy with their shoulders slumped and mouths slightly parted, and Raven, eyes widened tremendously and eyebrows clenched together.

Why couldn't they just leave it alone?

"I," Robin said, mouth spilling words like a cracked pitcher spilled water. "I have to get back to Gotham. Who knows what Batman's going to do? I have to be there for the funeral and to make sure he doesn't do anything he'll regret."

Yes, he was going to Gotham for Bruce's sake. It had nothing to do with the fact that he hadn't been able to breathe when Alfred told him the news. And it defiantly had nothing to do with his anger. It bubbled from someplace deep within him, right below Robin's heart, like some great foreboding tragedy waiting to happen. He got the same feeling when he was in Slade's presence for too long: a cold, red rage that might have actually pushed Robin across the line.

"Oh, Robin," Starfire said, voice quiet and tears already streaming down her face.

But before she could say anymore, Robin reached over and grabbed a barstool by the kitchen counter, feeling the muscles in his arms nearly tear as he threw it across the room. The innocent piece of furniture gave as soon as it hit the floor, snapping into several smaller pieces. Robin wasn't even sure why he had thrown it, but it felt good.

"Damn it!" He screamed. And that felt good too, the pressure in his chest cavity loosening slightly. "He was fourteen years old! Fourteen! And the goddamn Joker…"

The Joker had beaten Jason Todd with a crow bar until a broken rib had actually punctured his lung. Then the madman had just left him there to suffer and hope for Batman's rescue. But the warehouse had been rigged with explosives and there was no way Batman could have been fast enough.

Jason Todd, the second Robin, his little brother, was dead. Cold and gone.

Robin hadn't been as close to Jason as Bruce had been, but he still remembered the day he met the kid, decked out in a new Robin suit while Dick moved to Jump City to be with the Titans. The auburn-haired child had been enthusiastic and hopeful. And in the several visits Robin had made to Gotham after that first meeting, he and Jason had grown closer, bonding over birthdays and Christmases, all the while under Bruce's proud watch.

They were two orphans, taken in by the same father: a crazy, protective billionaire who liked to dress up like a bat and beat up criminals in his spare time.

"If he hadn't been so reckless!" Robin screamed, not really talking to the team anymore. "He was rash and impulsive and he never listened. I told Batman that he needed to be more careful. Hell, I told the kid myself that he couldn't just run into fights without a plan! But he did and now he's d-"

The lump abruptly reappeared in Robin's throat and one thick, searing hot tear slipped down his cheek.

"Damn it!" he screamed again, hitting the countertop so hard that his fist left a dent in the metal and the shock reverberated up to his elbow.

"Robin," Cyborg said quietly, using more care than Robin thought the bulky man had ever used in his life. "We're so sorry. We had no id-. We hadn't even considered."

No, Robin realized, feeling numb with grief and anger. They hadn't considered.

How many times had Starfire talked about Tamaran? Sure, it took a few visits to find out she had a sister and was a princess, but everyone still knew her. Just the same, everybody knew about Beast Boy's history with the Doom Patrol and Raven's familial issues and Cyborg's accident.

But the team didn't know about Robin. They didn't know he grew up in the circus or that his parents had been murdered. They didn't know about Bruce Wayne and they had never even met Batman. How could they have considered that he had a family when he never talked about it?

Hell, the implication that Batman was his real father probably made a lot of sense to them, and so did the knowledge that the second Robin was his younger sibling. He didn't have to tell his team he and Batman and Jason weren't blood related. It hardly mattered.

They were still family.

And now Jason was dead.

Robin leaned heavily against the dented countertop, covering his face with his hands. He wasn't crying, but his eyes burned and his breathing came out in short gasps. He hadn't felt this way since he had watched his mom and dad fall to their deaths when he was eight years old. No, that had been shock and denial. Robin had already moved passed those emotions. What he felt now was more like what he felt watching his parent's coffins sink beneath the ground, into the black pit of forever-sleep.

Grief was a sickness. It pulled at your insides and forced your heart into sudden bursts of speed and bouts of startled stillness. It choked the breath in your lungs and blinded you with tears and tied the speech from your lips. Robin hated grief, but he needed it just as much as he resented it.

And he also needed Bruce, like a child needed his parent to keep the demons away at night. He longed for the absolute security of Bruce's mere presence, the understanding intensity of his eyes, and the soothing comfort of his deep voice. Robin needed his father.

And Robin knew, with a child's clarity, that Bruce needed him, too. Batman had to see that one son was still alive. Robin had to go home.

A gentle hand rested on his back and started turning with slow, small circles. It was comforting and Robin wasn't even aware when he leaned into the touch. He focused on his breathing, instead, letting its erratic rhythm continue until it softened by itself. When his shoulders had finally stopped shaking, Robin lifted his head to the silent room.

Raven stood next to him, hand on his back. Her eyes were soft and they searched his face worriedly, as if trying to find some physical damage done there. Cyborg stood in front of him, eyes pinned the floor and features overwhelmed with guilt while Beast Boy shifted from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say. Starfire was still crying, trails of tears streaming down her cheeks in empathy, as if she could cry all the tears that he and Batman couldn't.

"We'll cancel the trip," Raven stated softly. "Go be with Batman."

Robin didn't trust himself to speak without having another breakdown, so he settled for nodding instead. Then he adjusted the duffle on his shoulder again and headed for the garage, the rest of the Titans following closely behind.

His civilian motorcycle was waiting for him, filled up and ready to take him across the miles of road between Jump City and Gotham. Normally, such a trip would take ten hours. Robin was betting he could make it in five.

Within a minute, the duffle bag was secured to the back of the bike and Robin eased the helmet over his head. Kicking up the bike's stand, Robin twisted the key a listened with satisfaction as the engine purred to life.

"I'll be back in a couple weeks," Robin said over his shoulder, not bothering to watch his team nod in agreement.

And then he was off, wind whistling passed his helmet as Robin pushed the motorcycle to its top speed after a mere ten seconds. The lump hadn't quite dissolved in his throat and the rage hadn't bled away from that place under his heart, but Robin knew there would be time to deal with that.

He knew that when he arrived in Gotham, there would be a time for grief.

And he knew there would be a time for rage as well.

A madman had killed a son and a brother, after all.

And there would be hell to pay.