Jason doesn't come down for lunch. He's not sure he can face Dick at the moment, and he especially doesn't want to risk running into this Tim Drake. After all, he knows nothing about him…except that apparently he's a genius, he lives at the Manor, and he's Robin now and Jason's not. Dick's words about Tim's position being only temporary rattle in Jason's head, but he doesn't quite believe them. He knows from personal experience that once you become Robin, there's no going back. It invigorates you, consumes you, molds you. It is you. Robin is more than just a mask and a cape – it's a part of whoever wears the costume. Jason knows that Tim won't ever be able to truly let that go, even if he is currently spouting all this righteous talk about wanting to give it back to Jason.

Jason grits his teeth; he doesn't want to think about Tim Drake anymore. Instead he focuses on the studying the portraits decorating the walls of the hallway he is currently going down. For the past hour now Jason has been exploring the familiar corridors and wings of the manor that he had once been so proud to live in. Everything looks the same for the most part, but as Jason takes the elevator down to the floor his old room had been on he can't ignore the sickening feeling forming in his gut.

I don't belong here. The thought burns in his mind as he makes his way out of the elevator. He never has. Not when Bruce first brought him here, a reckless, dirty, foul-mouthed kid plucked from the street for some reason Jason still doesn't understand. Not as the Robin who could never live up to Dick's potential and, apparently, Tim's as well. And definitely not now, a broken shell of the already mediocre person he had been before. Ruined in both body and spirit, he knows he has no place at Wayne Manor. This is a place for the strong, the righteous, and the do-gooders. He knows he is none of those.

Jason's hands tighten on the wheelchair's armrests as he nears the door to his old bedroom. He stops in front of the closed door, anxiety tightening his chest. Don't bother, a part of him says. But he knows he has to see it. He wants to know what had become of the place where a long-dead robin had once lived.

He pushes the door wide open, edging inside, and his eyes widen in disbelief.

It's exactly the same. His bed is still neatly made, as he had always made sure it was, the yellow blanket and green pillows perfectly arranged. The same chandelier hangs above the bed, looking just as ridiculously over extravagant as it did to Jason when he was fifteen. Behind the bed is the full-wall bookshelf that Alfred had personally built for Jason from old barn wood he and Bruce had collected. It's still stocked with the hundreds of books Bruce had bought for him, not a single volume looking to be out of place.

Jason wheels over to the bookshelf, wondering. He reaches up tentatively, placing his fingers on the spine of Arthur Conan Doyle's The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes. He takes a deep breath. Then he tips the book backwards.

To his right, a section of the bookshelf moves forward and to the left, revealing the opening to an old-fashioned looking elevator. The elevator doors open and a small ceiling light inside of the elevator blinks on, waiting for Jason to enter it.

Tears well up in Jason's eyes as he thinks of how many times he had gone down that elevator, dressed in his Robin uniform and nearly bouncing in his excitement to go on patrol with Bruce. He had been such a child back then. So naïve and filled with ideas of being exactly the son and partner Bruce wanted him to be. Then he got himself captured and it all went to hell.

He isn't exactly sure he's not still there.

"Jason?"

Jason jumps at the sudden voice and snaps his head towards the door. Damn. I never got spooked this easily before. He scowls in embarrassment at how easily he was startled, trying to tell himself that his heart isn't racing as much as it is. Then he sees who is standing in the doorway and his frown only deepens.

Jason can't quite place the expression with which Bruce is watching him. Weariness? Sadness? Uncertainty? Whatever it is, it doesn't deter Bruce from stepping into the room. He stops a good distance from Jason though, as though sensing Jason's hostility.

"It's still the same," says Jason quietly.

"Of course it is."

"Why?"

Bruce's brow furrows. "It's your room, Jason. It always will be."

Jason glances about them. "I thought you had given it to Tim."

Bruce frowns. "Why would you think that?"

Jason shrugs. "I've been stuck in one of the upstairs guestrooms ever since I got back here. If my room was still my room, I would've thought you would've put me here." Jason pauses, thinking. "No. That's not it at all. Tim – his room is on this floor too, isn't it?"

Bruce doesn't respond, but that's good enough of an answer for Jason. "Of course," he says. "Wouldn't want both Robins on the same floor, right? In case we somehow stumble into each other while I'm recovering. That would've been awkward, wouldn't it?" There's a touch of humor in the question, but it's more of a sinister kind.

Bruce shifts. If Jason had to peg an emotion on him, it might've been something close to discomfort. "Jason," Bruce finally says. "I didn't want –"

"Dick already did the defend-Bruce's-actions speech this morning," Jason interrupts. "I don't need to hear a watered down version from you." Jason reaches up, shoving The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes back in its place. The elevator door shuts, followed by the bookshelf. "You know Bruce, even though I want to punch Dick in the face every time I lay eyes on him, I do get the sense that he's trying. He's fucking annoying and sometimes I suspect not as genuine as he wants everyone to think he is, but he's trying. Why can't you?" Jason gestures to the entirety of the room. "Not once during my time here, before and after what happened to me, have I ever felt as though you truly cared for me. Dick says that you searched far and wide for me when I was gone, but it's really hard to swallow that and not call bullshit."

"Did I not come for you?" Bruce asks. His tone throws Jason off; it's rather subdued, almost mournful. "Did I not pull you off of the floor stained with your blood, blood that is on my hands because I could not protect you?" Bruce clenches his hands. "I'm sorry that I could not save you sooner, Jason. I'm sorry I wasn't by your side the day Joker took you. And I'm sorry that you were brought back to a home with a new Robin. You are right to be upset with me. But you are wrong to assume that I do not care for you."

Jason stares at Bruce, unable to find a response for that.

Bruce holds Jason's gaze, his eyes hiding an emotion Jason desperately wishes he could understand. "I'll have Alfred put fresh sheets on your bed in here. You're welcome to come back to this room, Jason…if that's what you want." Then he's gone, leaving Jason to his thoughts.

/

Jason hates this part of the day.

He flinches as Alfred peels back the bandage covering his left cheek, hissing slightly as cool air brushes against the seared skin. Alfred says nothing; he merely places a gentle hand on Jason's shoulder, silently reassuring him as he prepares the burn ointment Dr. Leslie had left.

Jason has not looked at his wound. He hasn't been able to, as it's constantly under a bandage. But even if he were able, he's not sure that he would be brave enough to do it. He has a good idea of what the burn looks like – Joker had waved the branding iron in front of his face clearly enough. But the thought of seeing the actual burn on his face, permanently marring his skin…he can't do it.

He won't let anyone else see it either. Alfred is the only person he'll allow to change the bandages on it; he's even wary of having Dr. Leslie look at it when she comes to check on him every once in a while. All he can feel when the bandage comes off is utter shame. It's a symbol of how he had failed. He had screwed up and paid for it dearly. And now the mark of his mistake is forever imprinted on him. The idea of having anyone else see it is horrifying.

Jason's grip on his wheelchair tightens as Alfred gently applies the burn ointment to his cheek. The wound stings, but Jason doesn't care about that. He just wants the damn thing covered back up as quickly as possible.

When Alfred finally finishes putting the new bandage in place, Jason cannot help the sigh of relief that escapes him. Alfred casts Jason a sympathetic look and gathers up the medical supplies without comment.

"I'll be back with supper momentarily, Master Jason," Alfred says as he heads towards the door. "Unless you'd like to join Master Bruce, Master Dick, and Master Tim downstairs…?"

"No, Alfred," Jason says quietly. "Here is fine."

Alfred sadly nods and leaves the room. Propping his elbows on his knees, Jason leans forward and presses his face into his upturned hands, reminding himself to breathe.

In…out…in…out….

We don't want him to end up back here, do we?

In…out…in…out…

No we don't, daddy. I want to keep him forever!

In…out…in…out….