A/N: And now you get to see what the rest of the Bat-family's been up to. Barbara and Alfred unfortunately get the short end of the screentime-stick, here, but they'll have their day. Also, Barbara hasn't become Oracle yet at this point in the timeline, though it'll come up later.

And as an aside, the title of this story is from "Blinding" by Florence and the Machine.

(2/5)

Recovery

Bruce had spent an hour on a wild goose chase. There had been indications that the Joker had set up a new base of operations in a toy factory in downtown Gotham, and that people had been disappearing after finding a Joker-themed calling card. He had broken up the hideout and given the Gotham police enough of an edge to arrest a majority of the Joker's gang, and that was when the biometric monitor in Jason's suit had started screaming into his ear.

Alfred called then, sounding strained in a way he hadn't since Killer Croc and saying, "Sir, Master Jason's vitals—"

Bruce ignored it and set the suit to scan for the signal, because he knew the situation was dire and if he let himself dwell on the exact diagnosis, he'd lose his edge. Someone was hurting Jason. He needed to keep together enough to hurt them back.

He hadn't seen the Joker at his alleged hideout.

The signal led him to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Gotham. He gunned the motorcycle's engine, speeding past motorists too occupied with their own lives to get out of his way, and felt the seconds tick down. Jason's heartbeat had become a dull throb in his cowl, alternately slowing and jolting faster when he was sure the blows were falling.

Then the monitors started screaming again, and Alfred called again, "Sir, Master Jason has a punctured lung."

"I know, Alfred." Bruce whispered, and the curve of the road finally brought him to the abandoned warehouse.

He ditched the motorcycle once it went up and over the embankment, and ran toward the front door. There had to be one—

BOOM.

The warehouse was engulfed by a fireball, and Bruce was blown backwards and into the snow. It was only years of training that had gotten him to raise his cape in time, trying to stave off the inevitable rush of pressurized air and heat, and he still landed badly. But that didn't matter, because every scanner he had said that Jason had been in there.

Jason!

It took a moment for his hearing to come back, but when it did, he was nearly brought to his knees by sheer relief. Jason's heart was still beating away, and only fractionally slower than before. If he'd caught the brunt of the explosion, there would have been nothing but static.

"Jason!" Bruce shouted, making his way to the wreckage. The first thing he touched—metal, of course it was metal—nearly burned his hand through the gloves, and he levered it aside with a piece of rebar. "Answer me!"

Then a chunk of rock shot upwards like some kind of missile and Bruce stopped on one of the few bare patches of ground. It looked like it had been the epicenter of the explosion, simply going by the scorch marks.

Then the ground bubbled. After a moment, it resolved itself into words that carved themselves an inch deep into the concrete.

Are you the Bat?

Immediately, he wracked his brain for anyone he knew that could do that. It was possible he was being led into yet another trap, that someone had scrambled the signal and that Jason was somehow being held somewhere else, but still stubbornly alive.

He pulled out a batarang and scratched his answer into the concrete, just in case there was any chance he was wrong.

He didn't want to think about the possibility of being right.

Yes

The words disappeared and reformed into another message.

Prove it. Place a throwing weapon [here].

He laid the batarang flat over the word "here."

The ground seemed to swallow it and Bruce pulled a canister of explosive gel from his belt, just in case, but a new message appeared with the sound of stone grinding on stone.

I have found your Robin.

Bruce felt his heart skip a beat. It was enough of a shock that he nearly didn't process the next message.

Take him.

Then the earth split open and then Jason was there, and alive, and the black-clad figure that must have saved him was walking away to look at the wreckage. Jason was badly injured—he could remember Alfred mentioning the punctured lung and his suit's biometrics were screaming still, but he was alive and that meant that everything was a long way closer to being okay.

He almost didn't remember what the woman said, but he now had a ring that was probably magic if she was so certain it would help.

Then it was time to go home.

Twelve hours later…

Miakûl was in Gotham city's central park, feeding pigeons. She had bought bread from the surplus bakery and, really, it wasn't as though she had anything better to do for a while. The Joker had likely gone to ground until nightfall, and she wasn't interested in stale bread. What she really wanted to eat was lobster, but that could wait until she had enough patience to go and find an actual restaurant.

She unwrapped the loaf and ripped a piece into fourths before tossing it to the birds. They proceeded to brawl over it before being beaten back by a crow.

Fifteen minutes later…

Jason Todd woke up for the first time since his rescue and immediately pulled the oxygen mask off his face and the heart monitoring lines out of his hands. Everything hurt and he was so tired—drugged—that he stumbled at first, then tried for the door.

Ten seconds later…

Bruce Wayne nearly had a heart attack when the EKG monitoring Jason reported a completely flat line, but then he rushed into the room and found his charge already trying to fight his way out of what he thought was an unfamiliar hospital room. He caught Jason when he stumbled, overcome by morphine and his injuries, and whispered assurances until the boy relaxed.

He couldn't help but think that the woman's ring had helped—mainly because Jason was breathing on his own after his lung and ribs knit themselves back together. Otherwise he wouldn't have even gotten that far.

Five minutes later…

Miakûl walked out of the park, sans bread, and walked to the corner. Waiting for the light, she shoved her hands into her coat pockets to conserve heat and cursed whoever had decided that Gotham needed to see three feet of snow per year. She was used to the idea of New York getting snow all winter, but that did not mean she had to like it.

And she still needed to get her ring back before she left, preferably before she lost a toe to frostbite.

But before then, she also needed to figure out where the Joker had slunk off to, and pull him out by the scruff of his neck. Until that moment, however, she still had time to think of an appropriate penance for his crimes.

All of the ones she had come up with so far involved feeding him to a crocodile feet-first, which was not terribly practical given the lack of such creatures in Gotham City.

Perhaps Killer Croc still lived…

Two hours later…

Jason has slept fitfully once Bruce got him back into bed, under morphine and exhaustion, and opened his eyes blearily to Gotham's early winter sunset, which turned the sky a brilliant red-gold. For a moment, he just stared, looking out past the mess of medical equipment Bruce and Alfred had set up in his room and watching a crow fly by.

Fourteen hours ago, he'd been sure he'd never see it again.

After a moment, he looked over at his other side and spotted an extra blanket and pillow, piled up next to his left arm. Someone—maybe Bruce, if he was feeling stupidly optimistic—had been waiting for him to wake up. And how hadn't he noticed those before, anyway? It didn't seem like he'd been out too long…

There were little wires stuck to his head. Jason blinked and tried to figure out which machine they went to—had to be for monitoring brain waves, right?—and winced. Not even morphine could dull everything. Still, he was feeling better than he had before, which didn't make sense.

After a moment, he lifted his right hand to see if he still could. While the requisite wires were running under the skin—of course they were, he'd seen people in hospitals before—he hadn't expected to find a ring on his index finger. It was sort of silvery, and heavily inscribed, but he couldn't make out exactly what it said.

He was saved from having to strain his eyes anymore by the sound of the door opening.

And somehow, the person he saw there wasn't either Bruce or Alfred. The person was significantly younger, with shoulder-length black hair and blue eyes. He took one look at Jason, who still had his hand in the air like a moron, and Jason saw his eyes go wide like golf balls. Then he stuck his head back out into the hallway and shouted for Bruce again.

Jason found himself wondering why the fuck Dick was suddenly back in the picture, since he had his own thing being Nightwing over in Blüdhaven. Shortly after, he wondered why Dick was hugging him, because seriously, he wasn't four or something and he still felt like some kind of giant bruise, and Dick needed to just get off.

He didn't actually say any of that, though, which was partially because he couldn't breathe and partially because he didn't mind that much. Better than being hit by a fucking crowbar for the thirtieth time.

"Jay, Jay, you're all right!" It wasn't the first time he'd been hugged by Dick, but it was the first time he felt like he was stuck in a vice.

"I'm alive." Jason said, and was shocked at how rough his voice sounded. "Not sure about 'all right,' but close enough?"

Dick really didn't know when to let go.

After a while, he sort of had to just give in, since he couldn't move his arms anyway. He let his chin drop over Dick's shoulder, a total surrender if he ever gave one, and Dick gave a weird little hiccup-like laugh.

Well, if Dick was crying, it wasn't like Jason had anything to hide either.

After a second or two, Alfred walked in, followed by Barbara in her wheelchair, and even Bruce. There wasn't really a group hug—Dick wouldn't let go long enough, and he was taking up all the room anyway—but between Alfred, Barbara, and Bruce, they gave it a pretty good shot. It only ended when Jason winced, since he was still sore, and everyone ended up being shoved out of the room.

Well, except Dick and Bruce. They were the ones doing the shoving.

And, all right, so maybe Alfred sort of just steered Barbara away and Dick clung like some kind of burr when Bruce gave him a Look, but that was all technicalities.

"I'm sorry." Jason said immediately, even though Bruce hadn't turned the Look on him yet. Dick was immune, probably because he'd been on the receiving end way too many times, but Jason still felt like curling up in a corner sometimes when Bruce used it. Though maybe not as much, anymore. "I should have waited for—for some kind of backup."

Bruce stopped trying to stare Dick into submission and turned his attention to Jason. Dick, for his part, just sort of sat on the edge of the bed, but he squeezed Jason's left hand reassuringly.

"What you did was reckless," Bruce began, not slipping into his Batman voice just yet, "but I'm just glad you're still with us."

And he ruffled Jason's hair fondly. Jason winced and Bruce stopped, concerned, and Jason reached up with his free hand to touch his scalp. There was another twinge of pain. Another thing he'd have to thank the Joker for. With his fist.

"That's…probably not going to grow back normal." Dick said, pulling Jason's hand back to take a look at the split. He tilted his head. "If it grows back, it's probably going to be white."

"I can deal with a little hair dye." Jason said, looking back at Bruce.

"For now, all you're going to be dealing with is getting better." Bruce said seriously.

"And stitches." Dick added.

Jason considered that. "Fine."

Dick laughed a bit, squeezing his shoulder, and left not long after to do something. He wasn't all that sure. Alfred hovered, like always, and Barbara seemed to be setting up for all of her Oracle work in the lounge or something. But Bruce didn't leave.

"You're going on patrol later, right?" Jason asked Bruce after a while, even though what he really wanted to say was something more like, "Please stay."

Bruce seemed to have gotten the subtext, though. "Dick agreed to take over until midnight. He's also going to be keeping an eye out for the Joker and the woman who rescued you. We'll track them down."

Jason relaxed minutely. But just to be sure, he asked, "What are you going to do?"

"I'm staying, Jason. Don't worry about it." Bruce said. Jason blinked. "And Dick will be back soon."

Jason thought that the criminals of Gotham would be facing every bit of rage Nightwing and Batman could muster, in a single night. They deserved it.

Jason fell asleep again, only this time he knew it was Bruce who'd been watching over him. Oddly, it made him feel safer to realize that, with or without Batman.

Not long afterward, the Batsignal was broken by a throwing knife with a note attached.

Batman,

Please return my ring at your earliest convenience.

M.

P.S.: Follow the birds.

Three minutes.

"Speak up, Bird-Boy, it's awful hard to hear you scream."

Fifty-four seconds.

"No one's coming for the replacement."

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

No one did.

He was trapped and staring down a set of red numbers and God, everything hurt so badly and he still didn't want to die. He slumped against the door—locked, of course it was fucking locked, no loose ends for the Joker—and let out a slow breath.

One.

He closed his eyes.

White. Then nothing.

Jason woke in a cold sweat. The steady beep had carried over from his dream—only now, he could see the heart monitor thing going at it, and it was telling him he was panicking. He was pretty sure 120/80 was supposed to be the normal number. Maybe. He wasn't a morning person anyway.

Still, he took a deep breath and wiped his forehead off on his sleeve. Then he just draped that arm over his eyes, since the damn sun was coming up just on the other side of the house, and that meant it was going to be daytime soon enough. He hated mornings just as much as every other member of his family.

He took another deep breath, trying to marshal his thoughts into some kind of working order.

Well, it looked like he was afraid of that fucking clown. It wasn't like before, where he'd just get the normal pre-fight jitters and then he'd be all right with just getting on with things. He didn't have nightmares about normal fights, anyway, and he was pretty sure if he did they'd be a lot less realistic. Like…like if the Scarecrow suddenly decided to actually learn how to fight and took out Bruce first with an army of rats wielding switchblades. Something stupid like that.

That damn nightmare had been just a little too close for comfort. If it hadn't been for that fucking crazy woman in that warehouse, he'd be dead. Maybe even unrecognizably dead, like in little chunks of Boy Wonder all over the damn snow, no matter what the Kevlar in his suit said. Or maybe the explosion could have killed Bruce, too, since he'd gotten to the site so soon after the bombs went off that he had to be in the area.

Or maybe it might have killed Bruce, and just Bruce, because hadn't that crazy woman gotten him like ten feet under the explosion anyway? If Bruce was running in like an idiot—like Jason did all the fucking time, wow, was he stupid—then it was a close call all around. And without Batman, that would have been the end of it. Maybe Dick would step up or something, and get his ass killed just like his old man and his brother.

Maybe that would just be it for Gotham, because Batman was the only thing that had ever held the Joker back.

Sometimes, Jason hated having an active imagination.

Sure, the Joker had gotten pretty close to killing him—closer than anyone not in Croc or Ivy's bracket, anyway—and since waking up afterward he was pretty shaken up, but he'd also been pretty sure he would get over it. He would stop looking around for Dick and his random hug attacks, or Bruce being there when he woke up. Things would get back to normal eventually.

No such luck. Once the nightmares started, he'd known it wasn't going to be that easy.

Fucking hell.

As though on cue, Dick opened the door and poked his head in. The former Boy Wonder rubbed at his left eye and whispered, "Jay? You up again?" Jason remembered belatedly that Dick's room—well, Robin's room, back when he'd actually been a permanent resident of the manor—was right next to his.

That did not explain his freakish ability to sense when Jason's thoughts were going in circles that looped around his neck like a noose. But Jason decided he didn't really care.

"Yeah, I'm awake." Jason grumbled, forcing himself to sit up. He was still sore, but not much worse than if he'd been training with Bruce like normal. It made absolutely no fucking sense no matter which way he turned that thought—(he'd been beaten mostly to death less than a week ago, that was not how it fucking worked)—but he let it go.

Well, granted, his ribs still felt about as bad as they had yesterday, but he figured that even miraculous healing had its limits. Somehow.

Dick sat on the bed next to him. "You all right?"

"I'm just gonna pretend you didn't seriously ask that." Jason muttered. Dick looked hurt for maybe about a second, so Jason added, "I'm fine."

Dick gave him a skeptical look.

"I'm not dead." Jason clarified. The light was bad enough that he might have thought Dick would have missed the way his whole frame shook, but Dick wasn't stupid and he'd been practically nocturnal for most of his life at this point. "And besides not being dead—which is great, by the way—I think I might actually be able to walk tomorrow. I'm calling it good."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't really asking about that." Dick said, and pulled Jason into another one of his signature crushing bear hugs just before he went to pieces.

It was kind of funny, really, that Dick was playing the big brother after being in Blüdhaven for most of Jason's career as Robin, and that he was pretty good at it despite not really getting any practice. Jason thought distantly that maybe Dick was just built for it or something, complete with a psychic link to tell when Jason was freaking out.

"You have no idea how close we were to panicking when we thought we lost you." Dick whispered fiercely. Jason blinked, trying to process that thought and avoid getting squashed like a bug at the same time. After a while, it usually just got easier to let Dick do whatever the hell he wanted—mostly when it came to hugs, considering that Bruce and Alfred weren't exactly much for physical contact—and being hugged didn't actually hurt. "We were terrified."

And anyway, that had a lot of weight in it.

"I wasn't." Jason said quietly.

Dick let go, staring at him.

Jason shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his arm to get the feeling back into it.

Jesus, sometimes he forgot Dick was a lifelong acrobat. He wasn't as big as Bruce—Bruce was like thirty-something, so it kind of made sense—but he had a grip like a trash compactor. And he also sometimes forgot that Dick was actually capable of human emotion other than constant, idiotic cheerfulness (which might have been because he almost never acted like Bruce).

"I wasn't thinking about how scared I was or wasn't." Jason said after a moment. "Mostly, I remember being angry."

Sure, he was afraid of the clown now, but at the time he'd been busy thinking of ways to pay him back for the beating. And it was easy to shove fear aside for anger—he'd been doing it pretty much his whole life, anyway, and being pissed off was more likely to actually get him out of a fight alive.

A little, anyway.

"I kept thinking, 'I can get out of this,'" he explained in a low voice, staring down at where his hands had curled into fists against the sheets. "Even if that woman hadn't showed up when she did, I would have tried to get out. And get him back for everything.

"Only I guess if she hadn't, Bruce'd be burying me about now." Funny, his hands hadn't been shaking a moment ago. Being squished by Dick ought to have fixed that. "So…so I dreamed nobody got there in time to help. That…that Bruce forgot or, or something fucking stupid like that. And then I guess I died."

"Jay, look at me." Dick said, and Jason kept his gaze fixed firmly downward.

"And the worst part…the worst part was waking up, and thinking, 'What if he got there when the blast went off?'" Jason went on stubbornly. "And then thinking, since I was all safe and sound under fifteen feet of rock, that'd mean he'd die because I was enough of a fucking idiot to get caught by the fucking clown!"

"Jay, please, just listen for a minute." Dick insisted, and again Jason was being pulled against Dick's chest and crushed. One of these days, he was going to come up with a palm-sized spray-bottle for these occasions. He wasn't a teddy bear, dammit. "No one—absolutely no one—blames you for what happened. The Joker is a monster. If you think anyone here would want to…to trade your life for theirs, we all need to talk. As a family. Because we've let you down just by letting you think that."

Jason gave a harsh bark of a laugh. "Hate to break it to you, Dick, but I can kinda think whatever I want."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Dick said.

Jason stopped laughing. It was hollow anyway. "Yeah, I know."

"Then just shut up and get used to being cared about." Dick said.

"Maybe it'd be easier if you weren't trying to squeeze me in half." Jason grumbled, but he didn't fight it.

Still, eventually it was apparently either get a cramp or let go. But Dick kept his hands on Jason's shoulders, even though he let his successor breathe again. He was giving Jason Nightwing's very own version of the Batman-Trademark-I-Don't-Believe-A-Single-Word-You're-Saying look, combined with one of concern. "Do you want me to get Bruce?"

Ouch, bringing out the big guns already? Dick had the older brother thing down pat. Or mama bird, whichever worked.

Actually, Jason was leaning toward the latter.

Still, if he kept having mini-breakdowns over a fucking nightmare, maybe that was okay. Not great, but then there wasn't a whole lot that was. Actually taking down bad guys? Great. Getting talked through a nightmare by his adopted dad at age sixteen? Not so much. But probably necessary, if his two freak-out sessions since Dick had decided to stop by were any indication.

Jason put up a token resistance anyway. "Will you stop hovering? I don't remember calling for Mama Nightwing."

Dick stuck his tongue out at him—which confirmed Jason's theory that the man wasn't going to grow up, ever—and beat a hasty retreat.

Jason gave an exasperated sort of laugh and shook his head.

Really, this place, these people…sometimes he was sure there wasn't enough good in the world to fill a thimble, and then he came home.

Miakûl had spent the week poking around what she viewed as the traditional haunts of the Gotham City villains. From the Iceberg Lounge to every abandoned toy or candy factory in the city, from the sewer system's main junctions to Wayne Aerospace, she found neither hide nor hair of the Joker, which struck her as very strange indeed. The Joker was not terribly subtle when he has just had a grand success, and the alleged murder of the younger Robin ought to have had the clown and his gang out in force.

Then again, given that she had seen the Blüdhaven-based Nightwing patrol every night, often in concert with the Bat, the Joker may have seen the writing on the wall. The pair had sent most of the smaller-time criminals to ground, leaving, at most, the Arkham-worthy repeat offenders. But even among them, the more white-collar among their ranks had nonetheless been on relatively good behavior.

That was basically only Two-Face and the Penguin, though. Mr. Freeze had never cared enough to cause trouble unless a cure for his wife was in the balance. Poison Ivy was probably hibernating, given the weather. The Black Mask was likely focusing on illegal kryptonite shipments or something similar, where Hush was probably cooling his heels in Arkham (if he even existed here), and she distinctly remembered seeing the Riddler in a police vehicle. The Scarecrow was probably slinking away unnoticed, where Bane was likely in Arkham or Blackgate, depending on what they had sentenced him for most recently (unless he was not yet a criminal, which was also possible). Clayface was missing, but she was not terribly worried about him, and Killer Croc was apparently under heavy guard at Arkham, which was a situation she did not expect to last.

Miakûl wondered where Ra's al Ghul had gone, however. While she knew that he was the leader of the League of Assassins and his daughter was probably in the country somewhere, she was also finding odd hints that the Assassins were in town.

Mostly ninjas, granted, but they were hints nonetheless.

But, having exhausted what passed for contacts and sources of information, she supposed that it was probably time to both leave Gotham and head to Metropolis, or time to face the Bat. So she sent her message, bought more bread, and found a convenient rooftop. After that, it was a waiting game, and she had plenty of crows eager to keep her entertained.

She had to wonder, though, if Robin would be able to attend the meeting. The ring of regeneration worked more efficiently the more skilled its wearer was, using old healing as a guideline and speeding human recovery to a rate comparable to that of a proper monster. He was likely capable of independent movement, if not already back to his peak, after a week's time. Though perhaps that was her internal optimist, and he was too badly hurt even for such a powerful item.

She scoffed to herself. Unlikely. If he did not show, either he would be waiting in the wings and observing, or Batman would have forbidden it to spare his charge any more danger. She did not intend to cause the boy any harm, and Batman likely knew that, but he would not be the Bat if he did not take precautions. And if he did not, well, then she had a problem. Possibly many problems.

But if what she had observed of the second Robin was true in this world as well, then he would likely try to attend regardless of whether his mentor approved or not.

Oh, to be young and convinced of your own invulnerability. Perhaps not so much anymore, though. Near-death experiences tended to do that to a person's mind. And while she did not plan to be around for the inevitable explosion that would be building for the next few months until they got that boy a mind-healer, there was still a possibility that she would see the changes even so soon after his encounter with the Joker.

She needed her ring back first, as much for her peace of mind as for its practical value. All else would follow. And if Batman did not return it immediately, there were still options available.

She was not like her brother. If necessary, she could muster the patience for a very long game indeed.

"You're not going, Jason, and that's final." Bruce said, pulling the cowl up over his head and slipping into Batman's voice. They—meaning Bruce and Dick—were already halfway suited up by the time Jason made it to the cave, having not been told beforehand that they were actually going to meet the woman who rescued him and broke the Batsignal. Considering that he felt more or less back to normal, with minimal lingering soreness and the kind of stiffness that happened because he'd been stuck in his room for a week, it struck him as pointlessly unfair.

Was he seriously being punished for nearly dying? "Why not?" Jason demanded, nonetheless heading for the locker where he'd left his Robin uniform. It wasn't like he was still limping or anything.

He knew he was recovering way faster than anyone not named Superman should have been able to, and he figured Bruce knew at least a bit about why, but damned if he was going to ask that.

Bruce's hand clamped onto Jason's shoulder and nearly knocked him over. Great. "You nearly died a week ago, and you can't tell me you're already back to normal."

Well, no, but that wasn't the point. So what if he wanted to kill the Joker, so what if he was still pretty sure he'd flinch if he saw the clown in person? Bruce and Dick weren't even really going on patrol so much as they were meeting someone who probably saved his life. And if she'd wanted to hurt him, she'd sure passed up the opportunity of a lifetime.

"I'm fine, Bruce." Jason insisted. And he was. He didn't need a pair of crutches or any kind of brace or anything. He felt fine.

"No, Jason, you aren't." Bruce said, with a voice like steel.

God damn it. "I'm benched?" Jason's voice nearly shook with anger. Everything else seemed to—why the hell was this so hard for Bruce to get into his head? He needed to be out there, to show someone that the Joker hadn't been the end of him.

Dick neatly cut across the budding argument before Jason could start shouting. It must have been an I-Was-Raised-By-Batman thing.

"Bruce, he's coming." Dick said, putting his mask on. Jason and Bruce both looked at him. He sighed. "You take him with you or I do. He's not staying at home when you and I both know that the second we're gone, he'll follow."

Bruce gave Dick the Look again, which he ignored. "I don't know about you, but I know how I was at his age."

That wasn't fair, since Dick was only six years older than Jason was. But despite feeling slightly insulted, at least Dick's argument seemed to be swaying Bruce. It was the absolute worst one Jason thought he could make, but that didn't really stop it from being true. Jason had been planning to do exactly that, after all.

Still, Bruce seemed to agree.

He walked to the computer and brought up a scanned image of the note. The handwriting slanted to the left, and the way the letters dragged together suggested that the writer was more used to calligraphy or something similar. Given the way Jason had heard her speak, she wasn't used to speaking English to someone who spoke it normally.

Jason rubbed the ring absently, rereading her message and committing it to memory.

P.S.: Follow the birds.

Bruce said, "She said she's going to be around the Iceberg Lounge."

Jason decided that if that was the signature logical leap Batman was famous for, he never wanted to think like that.

"You think?" Dick said, shaking his head. "She's not exactly the Riddler."

Jason chose that moment to take his repaired uniform out of his locker. There were replacement boots and gloves, and somehow Alfred had managed to get the blood out. Well, Dick probably knew the trick too, since he'd been on his own for a while, but Jason decided not to ask just yet.

Well, time to get changed. There was a locker room nearby for a reason.

"And are you going to be all right?" Dick asked, once Jason was out of sight but not out of earshot.

"I'm fine." Bruce said shortly.

"See, that doesn't work on me." Dick retorted, and Jason could just imagine the second round of arguments. He tried to focus on just getting changed as quickly as possible, but Dick had a weird way of making himself heard everywhere without actually shouting. "We'll get the Joker. He's not getting anywhere near Jason again as long as I'm still around, and that goes the same for you. So what's the real problem?"

"He'll try again." Bruce said, nearly growling even though it wasn't directed at Dick. "And when he does, I'll need someone to hold me back."

Dick said nothing for a moment; a rarity. Then, "Can do."

Jason finished suiting up and joined them a moment later, holding out the white gold ring in his gloved right hand. He asked, as though he had not heard their conversation, "So this is what's been keeping me alive?"

"Not exactly." Bruce said, and he clicked something on the computer to bring up an image of the ring. There was some kind of bar graph blinking on the side of the image, but the thing on the screen was definitely a ring. "I had Zatanna take a look at the ring when you were recovering. It's definitely magic," and as usual Bruce said this with mild distaste, "but not any kind she's familiar with."

That was probably going into the "Suspicious" part of Bruce's mental filing cabinet.

"Regardless, it wouldn't have actually kept you alive if your injuries were fatal." Bruce said gravely. "But since you were in critical condition, it accelerated the natural healing process."

"Oh." Jason said, holding the ring between his thumb and forefinger. "I guess if she's an independent heroine, it'd make sense to cut down on time spent in the hospital. Or just stay out of it entirely."

"But we're not sure if she is." Dick pointed out. "We haven't heard anything from the Titans—and yes, Raven has similar powers, but she would have just told me she was in town afterwards—or the Justice League about any new heroines moving in on Gotham. If Bruce would even let them." That last part was accompanied by a shrug.

"So, we don't actually know what she wants. Aside from this." Jason concluded.

Bruce nodded. "You see why I was worried."

"Yeah, but I'm going with you." Jason said, as though it was obvious.

It wasn't quite accurate to say that there was no way a Robin could get hurt while working side-by-side with Batman, as Dick would be the first to point out (mainly because he had such a record with kidnappings), but so far it sure seemed to work out a lot better for everyone. Except the criminals.

That seemed to be the end of it.

Bruce turned to the elevator where the Batmobile was waiting and said, "Let's move out. Dick, your motorcycle—"

"I know where it is, Bruce." Dick said, and immediately ran off to find his helmet.

"Guess I don't have to call shotgun, huh?" Jason asked no one at all, and followed Bruce to the car.