Robin was relieved, when he got back in, to find Beast Boy and Cyborg absorbed in Zombie Shootout 3000 and Raven buried in her book—all too preoccupied to notice his flustered entrance.

He needed suspects.

Who'd want to threaten a Teen Titan? Or try to ruin his reputation? Robin snorted, leaning against the back of the sofa and watching the flashing guns on the TV screen. OK, well, maybe every villain in Jump City. And pretty much the world in general. And every hero would want to do the same for Slade.

But both of them?

Besides, killing a kid and branding him? That wasn't just a threat; it was psychotic. Who would do that?

Robin froze.

He could think of one person.

He was a long way away. Five hours on a commercial airliner – but the T Jet could cut that in half.

He took a moment to stand back, breathing slowly, and waited for the zombie hordes to drag Cyborg and Beast Boy into a Game Over.

'Cy, do you think you can hold the fort for a while?' Robin said, over Beast Boy's squawks of fury. 'I've got to go to Gotham City.'

He expected some resistance, but Cyborg and Beast Boy shared one short glance, and Cyborg nodded.

'Sure, man. Stay as long as you need.'

Robin scratched the hair at the back of his neck. It was growing long; if he didn't cut it soon he wouldn't be able to gel it. 'Thanks.'

'Wait.' Over at the kitchen counter, Raven rose smoothly to her feet. Laying her book down, she crossed the room, holding out something for him to take.

It was a smooth ruby in a gold clasp, similar to the one she wore on her cape. Robin took it and lowered his hand a little, surprised at its weight. Raven watched him, tense, as if expecting something to happen.

Robin glanced up.

Raven's expression changed. 'It's for Jason,' she said softly. 'To watch over him. Just … set it over his grave.'

He could've done with this when he was alive. Robin bit down on the words. 'Raven, thanks, but this thing won't last five minutes in Gotham. Someone'll take it.'

She shook her head. 'It can't be broken or stolen. I made sure of it.' Her expression wavered from pitying to pleading, and Robin closed his fist around the stone.

'Okay. Thanks.'

'Something else,' Raven murmured, stepping sideways to subtly block Cyborg and Beast Boy out. 'Some of my candles are still missing …'

Robin shrank. 'There's still one in my room. Maybe a few. I don't know.'

'You haven't used them?'

Robin frowned. 'I learned my lesson the first time.' But she didn't quite look like she believed him. He glanced back at Cyborg and Beast Boy. 'I'll be back tomorrow.'

'Don't rush, man,' Cyborg said. 'We got it.'

Giving him a thin smile, Robin headed for the elevator, and the T Jet. Time for a conversation with his first suspect: the man who murdered Jason.

There was a particular smell in Arkham Asylum. A combination of stale sweat, rotten food and bleach.

It was worse when Robin first visited, eight years old, the top of his head barely brushing Bruce's chest. Sometimes he still had nightmares about the dark cells, the way the damp seemed to creep into your skin and settle on your bones. Now, near-blinding lights mimicked sunshine, and the walls were scrubbed clean and white.

The guard looked over his shoulder as he led Robin to the elevator. 'So where's the big man?'

Robin frowned. Gotham wasn't like Jump. People here weren't used to Robin without Batman. 'He's nocturnal.'

Chuckling, the guard hit the button for the lowest floor. They sailed down in silence, Robin tapping his heel.

He hadn't been here since Jason died.

The doors opened on a darker floor. Robin stiffened, fighting to keep his eyes forward as they passed bulletproof glass cells. Familiar shapes moved behind them: the slinking green of Poison Ivy, the hulking mass of Killer Croc. Through the thick glass he heard muffled chatter—insults, taunts.

'We keep him separate,' the guard said. 'Out of their sight, you know?'

They reached a door at the far end of the hallway. The guard drew the bolt, and led Robin through two more doors—each individually guarded. Robin's heart rose into his throat and throbbed.

'Last door,' the guard said. It was black, a small window at the top showing a sliver of white light. 'He's chained up in there, but keep your back against the door. Ready kid?'

Blowing out a slow breath, Robin nodded. 'Let me in.'

The guard reached for the bolt. 'Cell thirteen open!'

A series of calls sounded back—confirmation the guards heard him, that they were ready for the worst. He drew back the bolt, and the door scraped open. Robin steeled himself. He stepped inside.

The door closed immediately. The slam echoed in the room, shaking through Robin.

Jason's killer sat on a bench at the far end of the cell, green dye growing out of his hair, mouth too thin without the drawn-on red lips. His eyes were like black holes. His hands were cuffed to his belt.

The Joker looked up and grinned a wide, yellow-toothed grin. 'Well hello, Birdie.'

Robin pushed his back against the door. He killed Jason, he killed Jason, he killed Jason. His hands closed into fists. Shaking.

The Joker tried to get up, stumbled, and dropped back on the bench. His belt was chained to the wall behind him. He couldn't touch Robin. Couldn't even stand.

But Robin could touch him. Could stride forward and strike that smirk off his face: beat that pale face into the edge of the bench until the skin split, and the bones broke, and those yellow teeth scattered across the floor.

You murdered my little brother.

The Joker tilted his head. 'What's the matter, Birdie? Cat got your tongue?' He straightened, leaning back and kicking his feet out. 'For a moment there, I thought I was seeing a ghost. It's hard to tell you birdies apart.'

Robin's vision blazed red. 'Don't you dare talk about him.'

'He didn't put up much of a fight.' The Joker shrugged. 'Not after I broke his legs with a crowbar.'

Robin didn't even remember crossing the room. He drove his fist into the Joker's face, a punch hard enough to knock a man out cold. The Joker slumped back into the wall, cracking his skull on the plaster, and then Robin hit him again, and felt bone crunch under his knuckles. Robin's chest was a ball of fire, and he couldn't speak, couldn't even scream. It was anger beyond anger. It was all the pain he'd felt since Jason died, pummelled out through his fists. Face. Throat. Ribs. Anything, everything he could hit.

The Joker let out little wheezing, stuttering cries of pain. And then Robin realised they weren't cries of pain. He was laughing.

He lashed out, and his hand closed around the Joker's throat.

'How poetic.' The Joker's voice was barely more than a creak. 'I kill a birdie, and a birdie kills me.' Blotchy redness spread over his chalk-white face. 'Maybe they'll even let you have my cell when you're done.'

Robin's eyes widened. Cold rushed over him like he'd dropped into ice water, and he was back in that alley, his hands around that man's throat, and he wasn't going to die like Jason—

Robin leaped back, snatching his hands away. The Joker doubled over, spluttering for breath between laughter. Blood splattered from his mouth onto the clean white tiles. Robin's back hit the door.

I nearly killed him. He gasped, as out of breath as the Joker. I wanted to kill him.

The Joker drew himself up, shoulders shaking. 'That all you've got? I guess birdies don't hit as hard as bats.'

'Tell me about the boy in Jump,' Robin spat. 'Why'd you kill him?'

For a moment, the Joker was silent, staring up at Robin with wide eyes. Then he let out a snort, which turned into a chuckle, and slowly grew into long, shrieking laughter. 'Oh man!' he wheezed. 'Jump City? I've been sitting cosy here for six weeks. You're a riot, kid.'

Robin thumped his fist on the door, because it was that or the Joker's face. 'Let me out. I'm done.'

The door opened, knocking forward him a step, and he darted through it with a sigh of relief. The guards slammed and locked that door, and Robin stumbled through two more doors before the guard asked,

'So?'

'He doesn't know,' Robin said. 'He'd gloat, or drop hints, or make a joke out of it. He just wanted to talk about—' He stopped, his throat swelling. Jason.

The guard didn't respond, didn't say he was sorry or that Jason deserved better, and Robin was kind of grateful. He knew. Everyone was sorry. Everyone knew Jason didn't deserve to die. And no one could bring him back.

Reaching into his pocket, he ran a thumb over Raven's gemstone.

'Hey Jason.'

The grave was well-kept, swept clean, the marble polished and shining. A vase of fresh flowers with big white petals sat by the stone. Robin pulled a glove off to trace his fingers over the silk. Starfire would want to know what they were: what species, what they meant.

Jason would sniff and scorn, because why the hell would he want flowers? Robin could almost imagine him, leaning on his own gravestone, lip curled in a half smirk.

'Hope you're okay,' Robin murmured.

'I'm dead, moron.'

Robin snorted. 'Here, Raven got you a present.' He drew out the gemstone and set it down. For a moment, it flared with light, brighter than the evening sun in the grey Gotham graveyard. Then Robin blinked, and it was a normal stone again.

'Pretty. Can I have earrings to match?'

'You're a brat.'

'Better a brat than boring.' In Robin's mind, Jason grinned smugly. 'Let me guess how your day's been. You got up. Ate pancakes. Fought crime. Went home a hero.'

'Met with Slade,' Robin murmured, then cast a glance over his shoulder, heat flooding into his face. The graveyard was empty, leaves rippling in a nippy breeze. Shivering, Robin turned back to the grave. To Jason.

Jason arched one black eyebrow, the way he always did when he was alive. 'Get a load of you, rebel.'

Robin sighed. If anyone wouldn't judge him for working with Slade, it would be Jason. If anyone wouldn't blame him for wanting to choke the laughter out of the Joker's throat, it would be Jason.

'I miss you, brat,' Robin mumbled.

But Jason wasn't there.

'Evening, Robin.'

Robin spun with a yelp, almost kicking over Jason's flowers.

Bruce Wayne smiled, hands in his suit pockets, face grey with stubble. 'Thought you could fly into Gotham without me knowing?'

'What did you hear?' Robin's heart raced, faster than when he faced the Joker. I said Slade's name out loud. Why did I say it out loud? Stupid, stupid!

Bruce's smile remained, but his eyes creased. Not mocking. Sad. 'I wasn't listening.' He lowered his voice. 'You shouldn't be here in that uniform.'

Robin plucked at his shirt guiltily. 'I didn't bring a change of clothes.'

'You can change at home—' Bruce stopped as his watch beeped. He glanced at it, grimaced, and looked back up. 'On second thought, you might want to keep that uniform on.'