"You're sure this is going to work?"

Shazam's bright, cheery grin answered Jason before any of the other present magic users could reply. "Absolutely, kiddo. This'll be over in a pinch."

Zatanna frowned at his exuberant reply, giving Jason a more tempered answer. "If Zeus and his cronies used the same technique they did with Diana, this ritual will restore what they stole."

Jason nodded at her slowly, leaning his head back as he laid flat on the stone altar prepared for the purpose. All told, it had taken less than a week to summon the magic needed to enact the restoration ritual Diana had mentioned after he returned from Themyscira. That magic took the form of three people: Shazam, Zatanna, and Dr. Fate; who had in particular been unusually difficult to convince to help. When Jason asked his father about Fate's reasons, Bruce had frowned and told him the doctor had only said, "His fate is clouded enough without my interference."

All the same, he caved and agreed to perform the ritual, which Jason would have to be unconscious for. Fortunately, that would be achieved with magic, not anesthesia…not that it would matter without his powers. A week later and the injuries he sustained during his ill-fated blood duel hadn't fully healed, so his metabolism was the same as any other human—along with everything else in his body. Seemed his abilities had been less physiology and more magical inheritance.

"How are you feeling?"

Jason turned to Bruce and smiled a little. "Little cold from the stone, but I'm okay otherwise."

He returned a small smile. "They'll get started soon. By the time you wake up, this'll hopefully be over."

"Hopefully," Jason agreed, facing upward again.

His eyes traced the colored stones etched and fitted between the larger stones that made up the ceiling. The Tower of Fate had interesting architecture, that was for sure. The climb up the tower was an endless Penrose staircase—or at least could be if its mystic occupant decided there was a threat that merited such barriers. Of course, it wouldn't stop more powerful mystic entities from eventually breaking through to the inner sanctum at the top, but it would most certainly slow them down long enough to buy Kent and Nabu enough time to prepare themselves and more effective defenses.

For his fellow Leaguers and their son, however, the Tower was always open.

Quiet clicks on the stone floor alerted him to an incoming presence, and he leaned his head to the side to see his mother approaching with a reassuring smile. She stroked a hand through his hair as she met his eyes, warmth filling him as his own briefly flickered closed.

"What do you say we race back to Gotham after this?"

Jason opened his eyes and smiled up at her. "Deal." His smile turned wry. "Pity Dad won't be able to keep up," he added, intentionally raising his voice so Bruce could hear from the far side of the room.

Bruce arched an eyebrow at their shared grins, arms crossed as he shook his head with a smile.

Diana snorted a laugh. "Knowing him, he'll probably find a way to get there first anyway."

They shared a chuckle, their pleasant familial moment interrupted by Zatanna's return with Fate and Shazam close on her heels.

"All right, guys," she said. "We're ready to begin." Zee turned to Jason, gently moving herself between the boy and his mother to get his attention. "Now, I'd like you to count down from ten for me, nice and slow."

Jason nodded, well used to the procedure. "Ten, nine, eight…"

Zatanna straightened up and motioned over him, her voice taking on a mystical echo as she uttered a spell to kick things off. "Peels ekil eht daed," she cast, and immediately Jason's eyes slipped shut and voice fell silent.

Bruce frowned at Jason's unconscious form, straightening up from his leaning position against the far wall to join his wife with an arm around her.

"Let us begin," came Dr. Fate's echoing voice as he joined the other two in a triangular formation around the altar, same as they had with Diana just over a year previous.

Strange chants and utterings came from all three in languages Bruce barely recognized, though whether that was from the unnatural overlap of their words or the ancient dialects preferred by the three mystics, he couldn't tell. Gemstones around the circumference of the room and the base of the altar began to shimmer and glow in sequence. He remembered witnessing this process the first time; it unnerved him then too, though that might've been because of the dire circumstances serving as the backdrop for Diana's restoration. After all, the only members of the Justice League capable of matching Olympians in raw power were the people in this room and Kryptonians, and everyone (including Zeus and his lackeys) knew Superman and his family didn't fare well against magic.

That the current Superboy, Jonathan Kent, had been a mere twelve years old at the time hadn't spared him from their wrath in the least. In fact, after stripping Diana of her powers, they'd made a point of assaulting the Kent farm with their strongest fighters first. Their attempt to preempt Clark's resistance had been marginally successful due to the element of surprise, but once the League had caught on and sent reinforcements in the form of two Green Lanterns and Captain Atom (who had blasted all the Supers with an extended burst of yellow sun radiation), they quickly withdrew and moved onto phase two. All told, the conflict had lasted almost three full months, leaving behind devastation the world hadn't seen since the Sinestro Corps War.

It wasn't until Dr. Fate and Shazam dug up an ancient recipe to restore Diana's powers that the tide shifted, though it had certainly come to a standstill thanks to the timely intervention of one of Olympus' own. Past experiences and the various myths surrounding Olympus' celestial tenants had created a permanent first instinct of suspicion in Bruce's mind, something that had intensified exponentially after what they did to Diana. But historically, the one who'd come to them was among their most level-headed, if more than a bit vindictive. In this case, her vengeful nature had been directed at her own murderous family, and the Justice League—not to mention militaries around the world—had been on the ropes for a while. They hadn't exactly been in a position to refuse help.

And what able help she had been…

Mid-chant, Zatanna paused, her eyebrows crinkling as she frowned. "Something's…off."

Diana tuned in more closely. "How do you mean?"

"Yeah," Shazam agreed, "feels different from when we tried it on you." He smiled anyway. "Shouldn't be anything to worry about though. I mean, we only have one example for comparison, after all."

Despite his enthusiasm, Bruce couldn't help but frown along with Diana. In the week that Jason had been without his powers, they'd seen a sharp drop in his grades. Not because his intelligence had diminished (though the speed of his mind had decreased significantly), but, they suspected, because he was so distraught over losing such a huge a piece of himself. Or perhaps it was because he'd been banned from suiting up and going on patrol. Admittedly, he hadn't put up much of a fight, but Bruce knew firsthand what being forced out of the field could do when you enjoyed your work.

Jason had, however, insisted that he at least be allowed on comms. to back them up from an information perspective. Bruce said yes, despite the fact that Alfred and Oracle were much more experienced, mostly because locking him out of the family business completely would feel like a rejection and was just wrong, especially since with the exception of Diana, no one else in the "family" had powers to start with. He'd adapted to his new role fairly quickly, as they'd expected, but everyone could see how much he itched to be out there with them. Hopefully this would go off without a hitch and he would be by end of day.

Turning his eyes on his unconscious son, Bruce heard the chanting slowly but surely rising to a fever pitch, the glow of the magic gems strewn about intensifying to the point where it hurt his eyes. Suddenly, runes etched into the border of the altar glowed a fiery orange, briefly forming a luminescent aura around Jason's body. Bruce's frown deepened. Diana's aura had been gold, not the pale gray that surrounded Jason. Little by little, the light show faded, and the sorcerers' arms drifted back to their sides, save for Fate, whose hands clasped behind his back as he uttered three words with finality.

"It is done."

The moment his eyes had closed, Jason's mind drifted to a place he hadn't visited in months, specifically memories of his own time. He'd avoided reflecting on his past (or future, depending on one's perspective) at all costs for several reasons, not insignificantly the vast trauma and stress of that period in the timeline. However, in this case, he hardly had a choice. Recent memories weren't much better, and whatever spell Zatanna had used on him began shunting his mind in directions he didn't want to go as soon as he went under.

Dark blue eyes scanned over a flat screen, the only light in the otherwise pitch-black room. It had always been difficult for him to sleep in anything but pitch darkness, a fact his parents had accounted for when they hung up blackout curtains in his room. Strangely, he'd never been afraid of the dark, perhaps because his father was practically its living embodiment. The shadows were a bat's best friends, after all.

But they're gone now, he thought, jaw clenching in fury.

Yes, fury, for he couldn't allow himself to succumb to grief. The screen showed a recording from several days earlier, a gruesome scene in an all-too-familiar backdrop. He froze the playback on a still of his older brother's face, cold green eyes flanked by flecks of blood—not his ownthat peppered his face. Jaw clenching, he closed the feed and flipped his laptop shut, staring into the darkness for a good half-minute before opening the computer again and remotely tapping into the Batcomputer's database. He'd installed a backdoor into it after Damian had locked himself in there for the better part of a week, which was how he'd found that recording in the first place.

Instead of going back to that file, he accessed a list of dossiers on the various enemies and allies made by the Batman over the years and found one that had at one point or another fallen into both categories. A relatively current address and contact info were processed and memorized before he disconnected and flipped the computer shut before his brother detected his intrusion and shut him out permanently. He brandished his phone and sent a self-deleting worm into the manor's perimeter security system before slipping out his window and taking off into the night.

The dream-like memory faded to an indistinct gray blur for a moment before resolving into a sight that would become more welcoming than his own room in the days to come. A large, vertical neon sign saying "HOTEL" flickered with damage and disrepair owing to the fact that the building itself was abandoned. Jason knew better. The hood of his jacket was pulled up against the torrential rain that poured down, his body crouched on the edge of an adjacent rooftop as he scanned the dilapidated building for signs of life.

Once upon a time, this hotel had been a front and secret headquarters for the Outlaws, but now, years after they disbanded…it only housed one.

An ominous click sounded from behind him, but it made him smile all the same.

"Hello, Jason," he said, a teasing lilt to his voice as he turned to face down the barrel of a gun some eight feet off.

A pair of glowing white lenses stared back at him from a red backdrop, barely visible under a brown canvas hood. A huff came from its wearer as he lowered the .40 caliber pistol in his right hand. "Hello, Jason," he returned in the same tone, though more grating with the electronic filter on his mask.

Jason Wayne nodded to the Red Hood with a determined look in his eyes and a wave at the run-down hotel at his back. "Let's talk."

When Jason's eyes opened to see the mosaic-like ceiling above the altar, he immediately knew something was wrong. Several blinks later, he stretched his hands out to his sides, flexing his fingers a few times and stretching out to access his powers. A smile slowly spread over his lips, and he felt more than saw his approaching parents' elation. It faded when they heard the sardonic, bitter chuckles that bubbled from his throat.

"Well," he said, low and angry, "guess our little race will have to wait."

When his eyes turned to Bruce and Diana, he saw the same mix of disappointment, frustration, and anger he felt. But he also saw something else that set his teeth on edge, at least in his mother: pity. Jaw tightening, he swung his legs off the altar, catching a glimpse of Zatanna's concentrated frown in his peripheral vision as she read from an ancient-looking book.

"I don't understand," she said to no one in particular. "This should've worked. We performed the ritual perfectly."

Jason's upper lip twitched in annoyance. "Guess the mongrel doesn't play by the same rules."

Zee looked at him with wide eyes, surprised at the bitterness lacing his tone.

He cursed internally. None of this was her fault, was any of their fault. They didn't need to help him but they had tried anyway, and he was being a dick about it. A hard sigh left his chest as he grunted his way off the altar.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Zatanna's lips pursed as she slowly returned her eyes to the tome.

Jason began pacing across the room, tense as a high wire as the others watched him warily. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to scream, and he didn't even know why. Well, actually, he knew exactly why. He'd trusted his harpy of a grandmother to have his back by virtue of sharing his blood and been burned spectacularly. A small, empathic part of him tried to remind him that she'd been trapped in a gilded cage for centuries with only memories of the tyrannical rapists that had enslaved her people to keep her company. The enraged, vindictive part of him didn't care. Given the circumstances, rage won out.

"Well, thank you for trying," Jason said heatedly after about a minute of stewing and pacing.

He tried very hard to keep the frustration out of his voice and failed spectacularly, as evidenced by Shazam's dejected look his way. That in particular forced Jason to take a calming breath. In this time or any other, Billy's sunny disposition and enthusiasm had always made him a personal favorite of anyone who knew him. To see him so let down by his own performance made Jason want to sink into the ground. Another calming breath entered his lungs before he spoke again, his tone much more subdued.

"Really," he sighed, "thank you for trying. None of this is your fault."

Shazam gave him a small nod as Diana sidled up behind Jason and put an arm around his shoulders.

"We should head home."

Jason nodded silently.

Zatanna frowned and abandoned the tome to approach the Waynes. "I'll keep searching when I have the time, okay? The answer is out there somewhere."

"We appreciate it," Bruce replied. He turned and nodded to the other two. "Shazam, Doctor, always a pleasure."

"Back at ya, Bats," the former replied.

Dr. Fate said nothing as they turned for the exit, speaking only when Jason was halfway through the door. "A parting word, if I may?"

His deep, echoing voice stopped the boy in his tracks. Jason looked over his shoulder, a shiver of disquiet passing down his spine as he gazed into the infinite white of Nabu's eyes.

"Beware your anger, Jason Wayne."

The shiver intensified at his near-prophetic tone of voice.

"It will never give you what you truly desire."

Jason's lips pursed as he nodded absently, turning back around to keep walking. He knew better than to ask for an explanation, but the warning would plague him long after they left Salem behind.

The words of Fate were never clear, but rarely were they wrong.

When they got back to Wayne Manor, Jason's mood had soured considerably. Without the need to placate the hurt feelings and egos of the sorcerers that had attempted to restore his powers, his attitude and disposition quickly deteriorated. When Diana went to console him, Bruce knew it wasn't going to end well.

Jason shrugged her off immediately, his tone short and clipped as he made his stance clear. "I don't need your pity, Mom."

She stopped short and stared at him. "Pity? Is that what you think this is?"

He visibly held back a snarl. "Hardly a difficult deduction when it's written all over your face."

From a nearby room, Bruce caught a glimpse of Damian, who was watching the exchange with unveiled interest.

"I made you a promise," Diana reminded him.

"A promise you were unable to keep." He waved dismissively, turning for the stairs to his room. "Done. Let's move on now."

Her eyes narrowed. "We're not finished here."

"I am," he called back, not breaking his stride up the steps.

"Jason," Bruce said, his tone hard and commanding.

A visible flinch ran through his body at the word, stopping him in his tracks for just a moment before he resumed his climb.

Diana frowned. "I'm sorry."

Jason whirled toward him, eyes blazing with rage. "And just how does that help me now?!" He smiled sardonically, waving at both of them. "You're sorry, he's sorry, your mother's sorry." He stomped his way down the steps. "Everyone's sorry, but it doesn't change a damn thing, does it?!"

"Watch your tone," Bruce warned.

Jason snarled and crossed his arms. "Or what?" Another sardonic smile. "You'll ground me?" He shrugged, putting on a nonchalant air. "Thought you already did." He tapped his chin and looked up in mock contemplation. "Or do you consider that probation?"

"You're not prepared to be out in the field without your abilities," Bruce said. "You've built your entire MO around them."

"You've had a week to teach me how to adapt and done nothing."

"Because we thought you'd have them back by now," Diana reminded him. "We were wrong."

"Obviously," he hissed.

She took a deep breath to calm her own rising ire. "Jason, I understand your frustration. I share it, but taking it out on us is not going to help—"

"Right, because being calm and collected has done so much for us."

"Son—"

Jason snarled and took a step toward her, the movement alone cutting her off. "Let's stop mincing words, shall we? We both know you set all of this in motion when your bright idea sent me into the lion's den alone. So please, do us all a favor and stop trying to use me to salve your own guilt over letting that woman betray the son you never asked for."

Bruce's blood went ice-cold, as did his eyes when he saw the pain in Diana's. A mere glance at Jason's steadily reddening features showed the immense depths of shame and self-loathing he felt. Bruce didn't care.

He pointed at the steps and lowered his voice near a growl. "Room. Now."

Jason's eyes glanced between them rapidly, uncertainly, before his regretful eyes hardened once more, his reply coming out low and toneless. "Thought you'd never ask."

And with that, he stormed his way up the stairs and out of sight.

When Damian Wayne had first met Diana, his first impression was a naïve girl in a woman's body, so different and inferior to his own mother. When his father had deigned to let her further and further into his life, Damian thought it a grave error in judgment. And then Batman had been trapped under a collapsing building and his mask caved in so far it blocked his windpipe completely. She didn't hesitate to rip it off and push air into his lungs with her own, despite not knowing who he was underneath, despite knowing the anger she'd be on the receiving end of when he found out she exposed his identity without his permission. And she most certainly had been.

Bruce Wayne rarely let his ironclad composure slip, but when he'd opened his eyes to find hers staring back at him unimpeded by cowl or lenses, he had immediately, as the kids say, "freaked." What had followed was a half-panicked tirade of fear and anger, the latter of which served to mask the former as he summarily banished her from Gotham and his life. Diana had stared at him for a long moment after the particular declaration of, "We're done." And in that moment, Damian had seen something in her eyes he never anticipated.

Understanding.

There was hurt there, yes, frustration absolutely, but unlike Selina Kyle and Silver St. Cloud and the numerous other trollops that had darkened his father's doorstep over the years…she understood. Perhaps it was her empathic abilities, or perhaps just the naïve perspective he'd been so disparaging of, a lack of jading and negative experiences that would've stoked the anger she no doubt felt in that moment. Whatever the case, Diana Prince had been the first woman—perhaps the first person—Damian had seen look at Bruce when he lashed out and saw it for the expression of terror and desperation that it was.

She had respected his wishes and left promptly after with a quiet word of goodbye he didn't return. But when barely a week later, three of his worst enemies descended on Gotham in a torrent of fire and blood, she showed up in the cave unannounced and unasked for, and refused to take no for an answer when she offered her assistance. Bruce vehemently refused her help. She refused to ignore the fear and guilt in his eyes. And for perhaps the first time in history, someone out-stubborned the Batman. Damian blessed whatever act of chance or providence that had allowed him to witness it, the moment his father let his emotional walls down and let her see the brutal truth about him—without even needing her lasso.

It was that very moment he had begun to respect her.

The days and months that followed, when she nursed him back to health after his near-death encounter with Bane that night, then when she confronted the woman who had utterly broken Bruce's spirit not long after handing him their secret child…

That was when he started to love her.

He hadn't meant to, told himself over and over that no one would ever hold a candle to his mother. And then he'd heard those words come from Talia's own mouth, words that would forever be etched into his memory.

"Not my mission, not my love, not even our son could bring you to my side!"

After everything, every agonizing minute of tests and training, Damian had been nothing more than a tool to her. Her and his grandfather. A small, vindictive—perhaps even matricidal—part of him was sorry Diana had only broken her arm before kicking her loose. Although Diana's threat of certain death should she ever darken Bruce's door again certainly salved it a bit. Ra's himself had been on the wrong end of an oil rig explosion courtesy of Tim Drake's psychotic cousin.

Despite Damian's standoffish, even disapproving attitude, she had never been anything less than compassionate and caring toward him. The day after they returned home following that debacle, he worked up every nerve he had and swallowed his monumental pride with an apology that she took in stride. She was far less physically affectionate with him than Jason or any of the others, but again, she just seemed to understand that he wouldn't appreciate it. This time, though, not even that had stopped her from embracing him. The comfort and understanding and respect he had felt in the warmth she exuded left him no choice but to hug her back.

So, to witness what had just transpired between her and the ungrateful meddler that had just stormed to his room…well, to say it set a fire in Damian's blood would be putting things mildly.

His rapid, angry steps from the study to the stairs caught their attention and a call stopped him mid-stride.

"Let him go," Diana said.

Damian looked at her over his shoulder like she'd grown a second head.

"I mean it," she said with a frown. "Don't."

"His disrespect—"

"Will be dealt with later," Bruce interrupted.

"Father," Damian protested, tone frustrated, "if I had mouthed off like that, being ordered to my room would be the least of my worries."

His lips pursed tightly, head shaking slightly. "It's not the same."

Damian's eyes narrowed. "Because I don't share both your blood?"

He regretted it as soon as it left his lips. That wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all, especially considering the menagerie of orphans and abandoned that they'd adopted over the years and treated as their own. But he was prideful and angry and any apology was strangled in the bottom of his throat.

"No," she replied evenly, taking it in stride. Her eyes showed that same understanding, and it shamed him even more. "He's just lost something invaluable and needs to vent his anger somehow. I'd rather it happen here than on some hapless person out there."

Damian's eyes widened slightly as he glanced between them. "That's why you banned him from entering the field."

"One of many reasons," Bruce admitted.

He frowned. "Regardless, he needs to learn respect. Anger is no excuse to act as he did."

"And we will deal with it; let it go, Damian," Bruce ordered, his tone brooking no room for discussion.

Barely restraining a snarl, he cast a baleful look up the steps and huffed off to the Batcave, where he took his anger out on practice dummies with a mixture of shuriken, sword-strokes, and bare-knuckled punishment. He pounded the durable plastic so hard his knuckles began to ache, then bruise, almost to the point of shredding his skin. A faint click of metal was heard somewhere behind him, catching his attention long enough to glance back and see Alfred dropping off a covered meal tray.

"Late lunch, Master Damian?"

Damian frowned and huffed, turning back to the dummy. "I'm not hungry."

"Be that as it may, it may behoove you to at least take a short break to hydrate."

He rolled his eyes and lowered his taped-up hands, mentally admitting the butler had a point as he wiped a heavy sheen of sweat off his brow. He grabbed a liter of water from the space next to the tray, finding it ice-cold. He ignored the brain-freeze that threatened to assault him as he guzzled it down, grudgingly grateful for the old man's incessant thoughtfulness.

"Thanks," he muttered through a cough as he polished off the bottle.

"Of course, sir."

Damian turned back to resume his assault on the dummy, a brief flash of Jason's face replacing the mannequin's head.

"If I may, I believe I can shed some light on the situation I believe is plaguing you."

His blows hesitated for a moment. "I'm not in the mood, Pennyworth."

"Perhaps not, yet I fear you may do something rash if one does not make the effort to help you understand."

Damian snorted and turned to him. "What's to understand? My brother from the future is an insufferable, entitled twit."

Alfred's answering tone was as neutral and unflappable as ever. "Perhaps, or perhaps you simply lack the perspective to understand the depths of his loss."

As much as he hated the impending lecture he knew was coming, Damian hated being in the dark more, so crossed his arms and gave Alfred his undivided attention. "You're certainly welcome to try explaining."

The butler hummed and nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. "I believe we both have firsthand experience of what betrayal feels like, how it warps emotions and thoughts."

Damian frowned. "Diana did not betray him. She repeatedly defended him."

"Be that as it may, she is the daughter of the person who did. In his subconscious, disillusioned mind, she represents all that has gone wrong in his life."

"That's unfair…and irrational."

Alfred smiled ruefully. "Our feelings are rarely rational, Master Damian. Remember, unlike many heroes in this world, Master Jason did not receive his abilities from an accident or other power later in life. He was born with them. He has no prior context for life without them."

"That hardly excuses why he's so upset about losing his powers." He shrugged. "Surely his training would have included means of overcoming that."

The butler frowned. "I'm afraid the wound runs much deeper than that." He sighed, looking up in thought for a while. An idea sparked in his eye. "Tell me, Master Damian, what do you believe to be your greatest strength?"

He barely had to think. "My intelligence, of course."

Alfred nodded sagely. "Now imagine if you woke up one day to find it gone."

Damian felt unease creep into his bones as he started to get where this was going.

"Your mind now moved at a fraction of the speed, your memory fractured and unstable. Your greatest asset, your birthright, taken from you. How would you react?"

Damian's only answer was a pregnant silence.

Alfred gave him a smile and a parting word. "Do not be so quick to mete out judgment of others in anger…without first attempting to understand theirs."

Damian stood deep in thought as Alfred turned toward the table and collected the empty bottle, reaching out to take the tray as well.

"You can leave it there," Damian said, catching his attention. He nodded at the dummy. "I'll get to it when I'm done here." A moment passed before he added, "Thank you."

Alfred smiled and bowed his head slightly. "You are most welcome, sir."

Damian knew he didn't just mean for the food.

Jason laid back on his bed, staring at the ceiling as thoughts ran through his head a million at a time, pestering, distracting him from what he was trying so desperately not to feel. He failed miserably, so instead he shunted those feelings aside to focus on his rage. A sardonic smile creased his lips as Fate's warning rang in his head once more. The longer he laid there, the more emotional conflict he felt. He knew he had to apologize, profusely, but in his current emotional state he didn't know how genuine it would come across. So instead he looked inward, to the memories brought forth by Zatanna's spell…

The run-down hotel room that served as the Red Hood's "living room" was telling enough of the older Jason's state of mind these days. The careless way he threw himself back-first on the couch was even more so. He leaned back on his hands, his helmet having taken its place on the coffee table between them as Jason stood in his dripping leather jacket.

The Hood looked up at him quizzically, his relaxed posture at odds with the tension in his voice. "What can I do for you, Jace?"

Jason's lips pursed tightly. "I need your help, Jay."

Jay blinked and snorted. "I'm not exactly the best shoulder to cry on, so if that's what you're after—"

"No."

Todd arched an eyebrow at the harshness in his tone.

Jason's hands clenched into fists. "I've done more than enough of that already."

"Kid, the only things I'm good for are shooting, stabbing, and breaking things."

"Exactly."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You can learn all of that from your brother, so why come to me?"

Jace measured his words. "You seen the new Batman's handiwork?"

Jay blinked slowly, his expression hard and tinged with madness for an instant. "Would've been hard not to. To be honest, I wish I'd come up with it first." He stared at the ceiling. "And had the stones to follow through."

"But that's not you anymore."

He snorted. "I have bad days."

"More importantly, it's not what the Batman should be."

Jay stared at him. "You want me to help you take him down."

Jace smirked and shrugged. "In a manner of speaking, though nothing quite so pedestrian."

"…I'm listening."

Jace took a seat opposite him and leaned on his knees. "Tell me…what do you know about time travel?"

Jason smiled at the memory.

His namesake's answer had sparked the mission that had brought him to 2017, fleshing out details he hadn't even considered and giving him exactly the skills he needed to get the job done. Skills that were now going to waste given his weakened state. Frowning, Jason slowly got up and made his way to the door, pausing when he heard animated voices on the other side and pressing his ear to the wood to listen in.

"I don't know how to reach him." Diana's voice sounded pained, desperate.

Jason felt his heart ache at the sound.

"I'm not sure we can right now," Bruce answered. "He's hurting, angry…I was the same way when I lost my parents, and in a way his world just collapsed almost as badly."

A sigh. "I know, but Damian had a point. We can't just let him run wild as he is; he'll hurt himself or someone else, and I'm not talking about feelings."

"If he does run off, we have ways to track him, but you can't afford to put monitor duty off any longer."

"I know," she replied softly. A soft smack indicated a brief kiss. "Will you keep an eye on him?"

"Of course. Two if I can spare them."

She chuckled softly. "I love you, Bruce."

"Love you too, princess."

Jason backed away from the door and frowned in thought as her soft steps led toward the Batcave elevator. Suddenly, his chest was too tight and the house was far too claustrophobic. His eyes narrowed as an idea occurred to him, his phone coming out and the time-capsule going in for a brief minute as he checked something. A minute later, the backdoor he'd reinstalled in the present showed him a live feed of the cave's security cameras. Once he verified that Damian was elsewhere and his mother was in the process of teleporting to the Watchtower, he set his plan in motion and climbed out his window to the ground floor. Jimmying the lock on a first-floor window, he vaulted inside and closed it behind him, making his way to the study.

He was little surprised to find that his biometrics had been locked out of the system when he tried to use the elevator, but the manual override codes still worked and permitted him entry. Three minutes later, he was suited up in an armor he never remembered being so heavy and appropriating a few things from various lockers around the cave. Once everything was set, he keyed Robin's motorcycle on and installed the same self-deleting worm into the cave's security feeds to wipe all traces of his actions, then sped out the exit hatch and toward a Gotham City that was just entering the darkness of night.

"All I'm saying is, there comes a point where understanding has to give way to discipline."

"And while I agree," Bruce countered, "I'm not sure what more we can do. Jason is in mourning, Damian; he's hurt and vulnerable and antagonizing him is not going to help."

Damian snorted as they stepped off the elevator together. "I'm not proposing we antagonize him, I'm just saying—"

Bruce's hand came up as he stopped short, silencing Damian. "Something's off."

Damian scanned the cave on high alert, eyes narrowing when he detected something out of place. "Father…" his eyes widened when he drew closer, "oh hell."

"What is it?"

Damian pointed at an empty armor chamber with a deadpan expression. "I think I found the problem."

Bruce cursed under his breath and dashed to the Batcomputer, pulling up Jason's trackers and cameras. Not one of them pinged back when accessed. Another curse spat from his mouth, louder this time.

"He disabled them."

Damian frowned. "How? Considering how creative you got about placement, I doubt he could've found them all." He blinked as something occurred to him. "Unless…" He moved to his own armor locker, specifically the belt pouch that housed his portable EMPs. "He took an EMP with him." He frowned deeper. "But how would that help? His suit is future tech, EMP-shielded."

"The suit is," Bruce agreed with a shake of the head, "the trackers aren't. All he'd have to do is place the device underneath the armor and set it off once they activate and he'd fry them all at once."

Then Damian swore. "And now the idiot's in the wind and we have no idea where he might've gone."

Bruce pulled up the last tracker data the cave had received. "He had just entered the city limits when he must've set it off."

"And he would've known enough to avoid a direct trajectory to wherever he was going until they were disabled."

"Dammit," Bruce sighed, wiping a hand over his face. Another moment passed before a steely look entered his eyes and he met Damian's gaze. "Suit up. Patrol's suspended until we find him."

Damian's lips pursed tightly. "Agreed. And when we do, I'm gonna kick the sh—" he hesitated at Bruce's rising eyebrow, "—enanigans out of him."

Bruce's only reply was an indistinct hum as he made his way to his armor chamber. Damian did likewise, frowning the whole time and promising himself that one way or another, he was going to have words with his brother by the end of the night.

Finding him wasn't the problem. The time-capsule had made that child's play. Approaching without getting shot, now there was the challenge. Especially since his armor now felt about six times heavier than it used to, which is to say barely there. The weight made his movements a little sluggish, though he could still get around okay. Having to travel at less than Mach speed was…unusual. He hadn't had to use a motor vehicle while armored up in years. Though the discomfort was offset somewhat by the fact that he'd jacked Damian's R-cycle. That made him smile.

He locked the vehicle down in a stealth mode that turned its traffic-light color scheme into a matte-black configuration that would keep it concealed in its dark alley. He reached down to his belt, brandishing his grapnel and hesitating for a moment before adjusting the miniaturized electromagnetic turbine in the barrel to forces that wouldn't dislocate his arm. A small sigh left his lips as he bemoaned his diminished strength for the infinite time since Olympus had cursed him, pointing the device at a nearby rooftop and pulling the trigger. A quiet puff of air signaled a successful fire, and a momentary shock of tension through the cable alerted him to a successful snag.

He hit the reel a moment later and felt his stomach lurch as he was pulled into the air, every so often scuffing his soles against the brick wall of the building to prevent from smashing into it face-first on the way up. Jason pulled himself onto the roof once the line stopped, climbing atop a nearby water tower and engaging his multispectral lenses to scan for the figure he knew was skulking around. He didn't have to wait long, but decided it would be better to greet him from afar.

Seconds after making positive ID, a faint whir cut through the howling wind of Gotham City, the man who heard it whirling around with dual .40 caliber pistols drawn and at the ready. He tensed for a split-second before ducking out of the way—unnecessarily, as he realized when the incoming object flew right past him and imbedded itself in the wall at his back. Slowly, the Red Hood turned to face the source, catching a glimpse of something glinting in the faint moonlight. Cautiously rounding a corner of AC units, he stopped dead in his tracks when he came face-to-face with an armored figure leaning back against one of those units with his arms crossed and a faint smirk visible behind his helmet.

That smirk turned into a full-blown grin a second later. "Hello Jason. "

The Hood stared at him for a full five seconds before apparently deciding the unexpected interloper wasn't about to cause trouble and holstered his weapons. "New kid," he grated through the armored mask.

The figure huffed and groaned. "No-no-no, you're supposed to say, 'hello Jason,' back."

Jason Todd gave him a flat look and crossed his arms. "Hello Jason back."

The other Jason rolled his eyes and huffed with a dismissive wave. "Eh, whatever." Jason approached the Hood with unguarded steps. "Heard you'd be out and about around here. We missed you at the wedding, so I was hoping I'd run into you."

Red looked over his shoulder as Jason strode past, keeping a weather eye on him at all times. "Strange to hear coming from one of Batman's lapdogs."

He cleared his throat. "One of his kids, you mean." A chuckle. "I'm surprised nobody's spilled the beans to you yet."

His eyes never left Jason's relaxed form. "I'm not exactly in the loop these days."

"I know," Jason sighed, propping himself up to sit on another AC. "But still. Thought we should get to know each other better. You know, hang out with the other side of the family." A sardonic laugh bubbled out of him. "Well, the other other side of the family, I guess."

The Red Hood kept staring at him, and Jason got the feeling there was a confused frown on the other side of that faceless mask.

He huffed and pushed himself off the rooftop unit. "Look, I didn't feel like sticking around the manor tonight, and I could do with blowing off some steam. Mind if I hang with you?"

He almost laughed. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope," he replied flippantly.

Todd eyed him suspiciously. "Now why would one of Bruce's loyal spawn want to be around the degenerate prodigal?"

Something entered Jason's just-visible eyes that caught the older man's attention, his voice lowering dangerously. "Let's just say I have some anger to burn…and I don't think Batman would appreciate how I'd like to."

"I don't know a damn thing about you, kid. Why would I take you with me? Especially if I know you'll hesitate."

"Because I won't hesitate." He drew close, almost close enough for his breath to fog Red's lenses. "And because you understand what betrayal feels like…and the rage that follows."

For a long moment, they stared each other down, and then Todd snorted and shrugged as he turned away.

"Your funeral," he muttered. He stopped short when Jason didn't seem to follow, waving at him. "You comin' or what?"

"If you're gonna hang with me, I have two rules. First and foremost: never hesitate. Always commit to whatever you start. Hesitation costs you your life. Second: you follow my lead. Fall behind, argue with me, and you're out. Clear?"

The Knight nodded, his helmet glinting with the reflection of the city lights. "Clear." He nodded at the Hood. "Do I get a piece?"

Red stared at him for a moment in surprise before humming and reaching to the back of his belt, pulling out one of his .40 caliber pistols. "Here, take my backup."

Jason nodded and ejected the magazine, stripping it and snapping the round out of the gun's chamber. He opened a large pouch at the back of his belt and began feeding his own bullets into the mag, noting absently that Red was staring at him the whole time.

"Rubber bullets? Seriously?"

Jason smirked behind his helmet. "I said I'd play by your rules. I never specified which ones."

He could hear the frown in Red's reply. "The guys we're going after tonight have military-grade equipment, which means automatics, high-impact, explosives, maybe even high-grade body armor." He nodded at the rounds still being loaded. "Those dum-dums aren't gonna do shit against a vest."

His smirk widened as he snapped the mag into the empty weapon. "Then I guess I'll just have to aim for the head." Jason racked the slide back and appropriated three more empty magazines from his new partner before loading them up as well. "Who are we going after tonight?"

The Red Hood was silent for a second before replying. "Gun runners out of Star City, trying to expand their operations into Gotham."

"Are we stealing or destroying?"

"Destroying," he said. "I have more than enough kit where I hang my head."

The Knight nodded and turned his gaze to the empty skies. His gaze snapped back to Red. "What's the location like?"

Red pulled out a phone and pulled up images of an open-topped skyscraper still under construction. "Open air, with several buildings around that overlook it. For the most part, it's a shooting gallery, except for the room with the guns. That's the only finished section on the top floor, and reinforced from what I can tell, otherwise I would've RPGed it and been done already."

"So we have to get inside and bomb it ourselves."

"Pretty much, yeah." He hesitated. "Although…" he glanced Jason's way, "now that you're here…" His head shook.

Jason blinked. "What?"

"Too dangerous."

He arched an eyebrow. "What's the idea?"

Red sighed hard and waved at the rooftop. "Having us both down there would limit our range of movement, leave us more susceptible to counterattack if they call for backup."

A frown. "What'd you have in mind?"

"I go in up close while you provide overwatch."

The Knight snorted. "Nope. Not a chance." He waved dismissively. "I was never the greatest sniper."

The Hood stared at him. "I'm not going to pull my punches, or my shots. If I pull the trigger, they die."

Jason blinked and stared back. "Did I ever demand otherwise?"

After a long pause, he huffed and nodded. "I'm on overwatch then." He pocketed the phone and stood up. "Just hope you can pull your weight on the ground."

He didn't reply, only followed the Red Hood to the roof where he'd set up his weapon of choice, a compact bolt-action rifle. The Knight recognized it from the Hood's collection in 2033. With a thermal scope, a straight-pull bolt, and reinforced parts, the weapon could fire ammunition of all types and grain. If he remembered correctly, Red preferred tungsten-tipped .338 Lapua Magnum rounds as his mainstay, loaded with enough powder to send it shearing through almost six inches of solid steel. For more…exotic enemies, he had a host of other ammo types, though against run-of-the-mill arms dealers, Jason didn't expect they'd be coming out to play.

As he lay prone and set up a bipod mounted to the rifle's barrel, the Red Hood glanced Jason's way. "So what do they call you in the field?"

He blinked at the question, taking a moment to double-check his own firearm and his ready stock of gadgets. "Knight."

Red paused his prep for a moment. "Seriously? Little unoriginal, don't you think?"

He sighed and crouched by the Hood's side. "It's a work in progress. I never planned on sticking around long enough to get a codename."

Another pause. "So you're another one of Bruce's dirty little secrets."

His head shook. "No, though if you start digging into my past, it'll certainly look that way."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Jason sighed hard. "My name is Jason Thomas Wayne."

Jason could feel Todd stiffen at his side.

"I came here from 2033 a little over a month ago."

"…damn."

"Yeah." He checked the barrel of his borrowed gun to ensure a round was chambered. "That's about the size of it."

"Why?"

"Kill someone before they became a threat."

Red looked up at him for a couple heartbeats before nodding once and turning back to look through the scope. "I'm seeing a lot of movement on the roof and the floors below. Looks like it's shipping day."

Jason frowned. "Sending or receiving?"

"Little of both, looks like, though I get the feeling they're taking in money, not guns."

"So they've already started selling here."

"That'd be my guess."

The Knight rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath. "Then I better get down there and take a closer look."

"Roger." Red pulled his phone out and tapped a few keys to show him the frequency his helmet comm. was tuned to. "Link up and stay in contact."

Jason used a holographic panel on his left gauntlet to make the appropriate adjustments to his own link, then took another breath and planned his incursion. Seconds later, he swan-dived off the Red Hood's perch and spread his arms for extra air resistance before deploying his sword and stabbing it into the wall behind him. The sudden jolt of the razor-sharp metal entering concrete shook him, but his arms remained strong. Hardly surprising given what the weapon was composed of…

"So, the sword…tribute to your mother?"

Jason frowned at his elder namesake. "She trained me to use one, yeah, and with my powers it makes sense once I close the distance. Plus, there's nothing better for disabling enemy weapons than something that can cleave right through 'em."

Jay hummed and nodded as he gave the aforementioned weapon a few tentative swings. "It feels…weirdly weighted. Almost like it's not there at all." He frowned at the blade, turning to stare at Jace, who was field stripping one of his carbines for practice. "What the hell is this thing made of?"

"Nth-metal," he replied almost instantly, a deep frown creasing his features. "Cheetah had some insane magical abilities when she murdered Mom and Dad. When I go after her, I might run afoul of whoever or whatever gave them to her. So…" he waved vaguely in Jay's direction, not taking his eyes off the gun, "I had Mr. Fox make that. Figured I'd hedge my bets with every advantage money can buy."

"Huh…and Damian doesn't know a thing about this?"

Jace's face turned stony. "I can't trust him. Even if I could, I know how unyielding he can be." He finished reassembling the firearm, loading the mag and snapping a round into its chamber as he aimed down the sights. "And I can't have him getting in my way."

"Fair enough," Jay said with a shrug.

He flicked the switch on the side of the weapon's hilt, returning the blade back to its concealed form and laying it down as he inspected Jace's work with the rifle. He glanced at a watch on his wrist, making a mental note before voicing it. "Fifty seconds, perfect assembly. Not bad." He stopped and reset the timer. "Now do it faster."

The boy immediately began tearing it apart in rapid, precise movements as his teacher looked on.

Slowly but surely, the Knight's falling body ground to a halt some ten stories below the target location on the opposite building. With one hand wrapped around the sword-hilt that served as his anchor, Jason braced himself against the wall and used his other hand to draw his grapnel. He aimed carefully and fired at the top of the target building, the winch reeling him up with a faint electromagnetic whir. Gripping the edge with both hands, he slowly pulled himself up to glance over the side, scanning for movement. A half-built concrete wall sat between him and the open air of the elliptical rooftop, but his eyes detected no motion.

"Five bodies on the roof with you," came Red's voice in his ear, "but none within line of sight. Move."

With that, he pulled himself up the rest of the way, retrieving his grapnel and grimacing at the unfamiliar burn of his muscles. He shuffled up to the wall and engaged the lenses of his cowl to see the same heat signatures Red told him about. He took away the thermal filter and sent a sonar pulse out, picking up the storage room they were after on the other side of the building. At present, it was guarded by two men armed with automatic rifles, reminding him of the door that had led to Lindsey and her family. Only this time, he didn't have the superhuman speed and strength to take on an army if they sounded the alarm.

Only his wits, his weapons, and a mildly sociopathic sniper on overwatch.

But the Knight knew from experience that Red's gun was loud. The moment he took a shot with that weapon, all bets were off and all hell would break loose. That thought prompted him to look up and spot a T-segment of steel girders riveted together some thirty feet up and halfway to his objective. If he could get up there, it would give him the perfect vantage point. He slowly made his way around the left side of his cover, narrowly dodging a pair of guards that chatted as they walked past a crude doorway between him and them. The moment they were out of sight, the Knight lunged across the gap and kept moving, his stance low and steps as silent as he could make them.

With the way the wind was howling, he doubted anyone would be able to hear anything quieter than a gunshot. Around the corner, he saw one of the guards on the door pull his jacket tighter around him after a particularly cold gust of wind. Pulling back, Jason aimed his grapnel at the highest beam and fired, the head digging into the metal with a faint click. Verifying that no one was looking at the wall he used for cover, he reeled himself up and crouched on the intersection of girders, taking a deep breath and surveying the enemy and terrain below.

Various crates and walls crisscrossed the mostly empty space, providing limited concealment and very little cover that would stop the veritable onslaught of gunfire sure to break out if he was caught. Not to mention that there were two doors leading downstairs to the small army of thugs on the floors below. Since there were two guards on the door to the guns, three more were roaming about the roof, checking the perimeter. The two he'd seen walk by earlier stood watching the direction he'd entered from, and he realized he'd picked the exact right moment to make his insertion. However, the roamers remained a problem. At any given point, one of the three would always be within line of sight of the door and two guards. Even if they turned away, he doubted he could subdue both in the time needed to avoid detection, not to mention he'd have to take care of the bodies and hack the electronic keypad…

Now more than ever, he wished so badly that he still had his powers. His strength and flight would've made this so much easier.

Gritting his teeth, he thumbed his utility belt and looked to the lone guard at the far end of the roof. A predatory smile creased his lips when he realized the man was out of everyone's line of sight. Seconds later, Knight landed feet-first on the man's shoulders, his right hand plowing his head into the concrete floor. He dragged him behind a nearby wall that would keep him out of sight long enough to accomplish the mission. Jason glanced around the corner, confirming that his assault had gone unnoticed. The roving pair was his next target.

A faint but sharp clang drew their attention to their right, their weapons coming to bear as they moved to investigate, unknowingly breaking line of sight with the two on the door. Rapid steps from behind reached the ears of one, prompting him to whirl around. His gun didn't make it halfway up before it was slashed in two, the pommel of Jason's sword nailing him in the jaw. A side-kick sent the other one's weapon flying off the roof as the Knight grappled with the first. The second guard lunged at him in a shoulder charge, finding himself sprawled out face-first into the concrete when Jason crouched and held his leg out, tripping him. Rising, Jason put his right bracer between him and an incoming haymaker, breaking the man's hand on impact at the same time his left palm slammed the thug's windpipe, stopping his scream.

The Knight rose with an uppercut that sent his attacker's teeth clicking together and eyes rolling back up into his head. The one on the ground scrambled to get to his feet and failed following a curb-stomp that resulted in a crack that was more than face on concrete. The two on the door were the last step before he could hack his way into the room. Planting the charges to destroy the guns would be the fastest part of the whole ordeal. Another grapnel shot brought him back up to his perch, and his right hand stowed his retracted sword while his left clicked a release opening a cylindrical container on his belt.

Moments later, one of the door guards frowned and scanned the rooftop for any signs of movement, having caught on that the others had stopped patrolling. He opened his mouth to point it out to his partner but let out coughs instead when a cloud of smoke erupted from between them. Knight dropped down a second later, again landing on one feet-first and pounding his head with several rapid straights before lunging for the other and ripping his gun from limp fingers. His arms went around the man's neck as he kicked his supporting leg out, gravity doing the rest as he choked out the last guard.

Jason took a moment to catch his breath before his earpiece clicked on again.

"Not bad, kid."

The words forced a smile onto his face as he gave the sniper a thumbs-up and turned to the keypad. Frowning, he snapped his lenses down and activated their mobile analysis mode.

Four-digit keypad…only three digits have marks. His eyes narrowed. One has more prints than the others. First key. One of these is used twice…the one with the second most prints. He smirked. And I doubt they'd be back to back…

His gloved index rose to the keypad and entered 3-6-9-6. A reassuring beep and green light answered him. Jason pulled the door open and sighed in relief as he smiled again, tapping the side of his helmet.

"I'm in. Setting the charges now."

Barely thirty seconds later, when Jason had emptied his belt of its high explosives, the Red Hood's voice interrupted him in an alarmed tone.

"I don't know how, but they got wind you're in there. Dozen of 'em are forming up outside the storage room, with more on the way."

Jason shivered and froze, eyes roving over the walls as he activated his cowl's thermal vision. His jaw clenched when he spotted the faint heat of a minicam built into one of the walls and the men stationed outside. His hand dipped to the gun in his belt, eyes scanning the walls for any other exits than the front door. He'd just laid down the last of his charges, and couldn't afford to spare any to make another exit. Besides that, there was so much explosive material in the room so tightly packed that if even one went off, it risked blowing the whole enclosure sky-high, himself included. Gritting his teeth, he palmed a smoke pellet and flipped the pistol safety off.

"Stand by," came Red's voice before he could do something stupid. "When I say, pop smoke and run for cover."

"Roger," he answered, voice shaking with adrenaline.

For the first time since he left home, he worried that he'd bit off more than he could chew.

His fear-induced musings were interrupted by a supersonic crack that sent shouts of alarm through the men outside as half of them whirled toward the new threat. Well, the half that were left. One was on the ground spilling heat around his body while another checked on him and the rest ran for concealment from the new angle. Another shot rang out, another body hit the deck, and the other half of the group spun to face Red's perch as they all opened fire.

"Now!"

The Knight kicked the metal door open and tossed the pellet down between him and the enemy. His lenses kept the smoke out of his eyes and clear line of sight through a sonar pulse. He raised his pistol with smooth, familiar movements, the sight picture resolving over the center of a pulsing white shape. Jason's first two shots struck dead center. Panic struck the group as they registered a new source of fire. Pained cries cracked the air as one after another was pelted with hot rubber moving at near-Mach speeds, a few firing blind shots in his general direction.

None of them came close.

After every successful takedown, Jason moved on, closing in on the edge of the group and the best cover on the roof as the smoke began to dissipate. One of them spotted him and brought his carbine to bear. The sides of his head exploded before he got halfway when the Hood took another shot.

"Move!" Red screamed into his comm.

Jason didn't have to be told twice. He vaulted over the low wall the dead man had been using for cover, crouching down and popping out periodically to take shots at the thugs still moving. The doors leading downstairs burst open, and a fresh wave of gangsters joined the fight, all armed to the teeth and most of them sending suppressing fire in Red's direction, having pinned down his location. The rest advanced on Jason's cover, their guns sending high-powered automatic fire streaking through the weakest points of the wall. Jason flattened himself and crawled away from the focal point of their fire, all the way to the corner of the wall, where it would cover him even standing.

He rose to his feet and loaded a fresh mag, lunging around the corner when he heard the gunfire get within around eight feet of his wall. Six rounds spat from the pistol in rapid succession as he charged a group of four. Two went down screaming, the other two spinning to face him and opening fire as he plowed into one barrel-first. The one he tackled screamed in pain, first at having the pistol's steel barrel rammed into his shoulder, then at the searing heat that followed when Jason pulled the trigger and sent hot rubber into his body. He purposely oriented the screaming gunman between his body and the last one standing, lunging toward and shoving his comrade into him.

Trapped under the weight of the screaming thug, the last guard scrambled for his gun and failed when Jason plugged him in the chest with three shots in quick succession. A hard impact slapped the edge of the plates on his left forearm as a bullet grazed him. He rolled sideways without looking, getting within diving distance of a thick plywood crate. He slid into cover before a hailstorm of gunfire crisscrossed his location. Two more loud shots rang in quick succession, followed by the thump of corresponding bodies hitting the ground. Jason huffed labored breaths, feeling his energy dropping by startling margins the longer this went on.

He checked his ammo, verifying he was down to one spare mag and what was left in his gun. Then the stairwell to the right burst open and three figures emerged. The first was a shotgunner who pelted Jason's cover with repeated bursts of buckshot, wearing it down bit by bit. The second was a scarred, olive-skinned man in a black trenchcoat with a crew cut and dark eyes, who swaggered out into the open with an air of nonchalance. As if the utter chaos around him meant nothing. The third was a woman in a ballistic mask toting an RPG, who knelt behind the other gunmen suppressing the Hood.

Jason screamed into his earpiece, "Red!"

"I see it!"

Another sniper shot nailed the demolitionist in the mask, her body laying atop the resulting blood spatter as her weapon fell to the side. With a final twitch of her finger, the RPG went off and exploded against a nearby wall, disintegrating it and sending shrapnel of metal and wood spearing through most of the supporting squad. The man in the trenchcoat flicked a drop of blood off his face as the shotgunner took a moment to reload. Jason took the opportunity to pelt him with fire, emptying half the mag before he realized his target was wearing body armor. Then he sent two shots at his head, one grazing the side of his skull, the other nailing him in the lower forehead. The impact sent him reeling and screaming, clutching his head.

When Jason turned the weapon on the man in the trenchcoat, he felt his heart drop when a click answered him.

The man smirked, a cruel glint in his eyes as he opened his mouth. "Don't you just hate it when the damndest bad luck ruins the moment?" He reached into his coat. "Mine, on the other hand…"

The glint of steel was Jason's only warning before he was fired upon, diving for cover that wasn't already shredded and finding a wall of chalk and wood that splintered and spat shredded pieces as the gunman pelted it with pistol fire. Jason ejected the spent mag and loaded his last one as he heard the fire approach. Crawling away from the concentration of shots, Jason braced himself and snapped around the corner as their guns faced each other.

They fired simultaneously.

Two shots slammed Jason's torso, his body armor stopping them in their tracks and the anti-ballistic gel underneath mitigating most of the impact. He still felt it. Jason's shots, on the other hand, sent puffs of dust flying from his target's chest but did little else. He rolled backward with the impact of the incoming fire, realigning his sight picture in an attempt to nail him in the head. Another two bullets hit him, this time in the shoulder and arm. The shoulder was a graze, the arm a solid hit that sent his aim completely off and his shot into the concrete. A click sounded from the advancing gunman's direction, and Jason's heart lurched in triumph as he tried to realign his weapon.

He didn't anticipate his enemy charging in knife-first.

The first swing knocked the gun from his hand, the second pinged off his helmet, and the third was blocked with his left gauntlet as he lunged away. Mister trenchcoat spun the karambit in his right hand, smiling malevolently as he advanced with confident steps. Jason reached for his sword but immediately decided against it when his enemy closed to arm's distance. The attacks came in rapid fire, the ping of metal on metal filling the air as Jason kept up a desperate defense with his bracers. He gasped when a shallow nick sprouted on his left arm when he misjudged the angle of attack, and screamed outright when a shin-kick slammed him in the ribs.

Jason lashed out with a right cross, his fist caught and used to pull him into a knee that sent his feet off the ground. A knife-hand to his attacker's grasping wrist freed his right hand, his left arm coming up to cover his face when the karambit came back in for another swing. His right hand dipped to his belt, a click sounding as a batarang sprang open in his grip. His right lunged in an upward stab, slapped aside with little effort and countered with a hook to the ribs with the same hand. Jason sent a push-kick at his opponent to give himself some room, but found his boot caught and used to expose him to a stab that nearly severed his femoral artery. Fortunately, his armor deflected the blade away from the weak point.

It didn't stop him from screaming in pain.

The karambit was whipped loose, sending searing pain shooting up his leg and nearly putting him on his knees. He stumbled backward, swinging his batarang to ward off his opponent. A cruel chuckle came his way before he was nailed in the hand with a roundhouse-kick, knocking the weapon from his grasp, then in the chest with a returning hook-kick. Jason lunged at him in desperation with a weight-driven top-down punch. His eyes widened and throat sputtered when white-hot pain took his breath away, his gaze drifting down from the cruel smile of his enemy to the curved knife buried in his gut to the hilt.

As the Knight collapsed to the ground in agony, the karambit was torn loose and wiped on the sleeve of its owner's trenchcoat. He gasped for breath, clutching the seeping hole in his gut with both hands and absently noting the relative lack of gunfire, and in particular the loud cracks of the Red Hood's rifle. The man in the trenchcoat stood over him, looking down on him arrogantly.

"Gotta admit," he drawled, "you lasted longer than most." He knelt at Jason's side. "Knight, wasn't it?"

Jason coughed wetly, blood staining his lips and the inside of his helmet.

He drew closer and narrowed his eyes in mock confusion. "I thought you were supposed to be strong. Guess I was wrong."

He raised the knife but stopped when another gunman approached him from behind.

"Mr. Diaz, I think we scared off his backup."

Jason's eyes widened as far as they could go, fear as cold as the howling wind creeping into his bones.

Diaz, he thought, the pieces quickly falling in place. Ricardo Diaz, Jr., AKA—

"Richard Dragon," Jason gasped.

Diaz's attention shifted from the man at his back to the prone hero at his feet. He smirked. "So you know me too. I'm glad." He rose to his feet, sheathed the knife, and reloaded his pistol. "Nothing worse than dying without knowing why."

He didn't say anything else before raising the gun to Jason's head.

He never noticed the bloodied finger that hit a control on the Knight's left gauntlet.

A deafening explosion sent the rooftop's remaining occupants flying or stumbling to the ground. Diaz only staggered a bit and looked back at the remains of his weapons stockpile, his jaw dropping in shock for a moment before it turned to rage. He turned that rage toward Jason, his voice growling to match.

"That was not a smart move."

Jason released a ragged, pained chuckle. "But it was fun."

Richard Dragon's upper lip twitched with anger as he raised his pistol.

An ear-splitting crack rang out.

Blood spattered the concrete.

And the Dragon dove for cover as his now-headless underling slumped to the ground.

"Shit!"

Jason's heart leapt when the Red Hood's voice entered his ear.

"I had to relocate, and this damn graze is throwing my aim off. Kid, you gotta get up and outta there, now!"

The Knight's jaw clenched as he fought the agony threatening to take what remained of his reason.

"Get to the west side! I got you covered, but not for long—move!"

The urgency in his voice and Jason's own fear forced his fading limbs to move. A slow blink passed as he managed to get his feet under him. The next seconds passed in a blur of black spots and red haze, every step a fight, every breath a struggle. His right hand dipped to his belt on instinct, his left holding his injury as he half-limped half-ran toward the western edge of the rooftop. Gunfire at his back lent more urgency to his steps, his eyes flying open and staying open as he leapt off the side and fired his grapnel at the adjacent building. His body swung in a wide arc, his thumb activating the winch and sending him rocketing up the line mid-swing.

Panic struck him when he barely controlled his angle of swing and flew just past the corner of the building. His heart stopped when he felt the concrete his cable was anchored to give way and his line come loose at the peak of his swing, just above a lip on the side of the building. His left hand lashed out for it, trying to find purchase. He knew he was too far. He reached for it anyway, expecting to feel empty air.

His hand met Kevlar gloves and an iron-hard grip instead.

His eyes snapped up as his body hung limply, the staccato of automatic gunfire in the distance answered by the Red Hood's pistol fire as he curled the Knight's entire body weight with one arm. The pistol returned to its holster as he pulled the injured boy the rest of the way up and half-carried him across the narrow walkway away from the fighting. The following minutes passed in a dark blur of motion that sent Jason's stomach twisting and turning until they finally settled. Steady hands patted him down and lens-covered eyes examined his injuries.

"Shit," Red hissed. "You're bleeding internally. I gotta plug this hole."

He answered with a drowsy grunt.

"It's gonna suck."

"Eh, that's nothin' new," Jason drawled, delirious from blood loss.

His eyes sharpened when he heard a spark and hiss and looked to see a lit flare in the other man's hand. He blinked twice in disbelief before meeting Jay's eyes through the helmet.

"Now let's think about this for a mi—"

Without warning or ceremony, the Hood pushed the lit end of the flare into Jason's injury, the initial pain of the wound nothing compared to the agony he felt as his torn flesh was cauterized. The blood rushed from his head so fast he lost vision and hearing long enough not to hear his own scream. Miraculously, he didn't pass out from the pain, and when he was slightly more coherent, he could hear Jay's voice ordering him to wake up. Jace blinked and shook his head, slowly making out Jay's words.

"You need a doctor, kid, and Thompkins answers your calls, not mine."

He blinked slowly, shaky hands dipping to his belt to pull out his PDA. A few keystrokes later and his emergency beacon went live, the only means of locating him that couldn't be remotely activated from the Batcave.

"D-Dad is on his way," Jace gasped.

The Hood nodded stiffly and slowly rose to his feet. "Then my work is done." He hesitated before taking a tentative step away.

Suddenly, Jace felt his eyes begin to drift closed and felt panic seize him when he shook himself back to consciousness. "Wait—stay—please?"

Jay hesitated again, taking a moment to look him over, then sighing as he sat down next to him. "Fine. Just until he gets close."

Jace nodded stiffly and pulled his helmet off, absently noting that they were sitting on the same rooftop where they'd run into each other. Remembering something he'd forgotten in his haze of pain and desperation, he reached to his belt and retrieved Red's borrowed gun, lifting it into his line of sight. He stared at the weapon before cautiously taking it back, taking care to keep it angled away from his head. Then his vision turned to Jace and fixed him with a piercing stare.

"Where the hell did you learn to fight like that?" he grated.

Jace gave him a sideways look.

He huffed. "Not hand-to-hand, that one's obvious." He hefted the pistol. "I meant with this, 'cause I know Bruce sure as hell didn't teach you."

The boy smiled and shook his head slightly, even that small action making him lightheaded. "No." He met the lenses of the red mask. "You did."

The Hood had no reply.

Jace coughed clotted blood out of his throat and stared into the distance. "When I decided I needed to go back and fix things…I knew I'd need help. Mom and Dad…they never trained me to kill. And Dami…" his eyes darkened, "Dami couldn't be trusted. The only other person I could think of willing to cross the lines I'd need to cross…" his gaze shifted back to Jay, "was you." He gulped hard, willing his voice to work. "So you taught me everything you know." A shrug. "Everything that could be learned in the course of a year, anyway."

Jay was silent a long while as he processed that information. "So we knew each other pretty well where you come from."

A smile tugged at his lips, his eyes staring into infinity. "Like brothers." Jace felt himself drifting away again and forced himself to remain conscious. "Jay…don't be a stranger."

"What?" he asked, confusion lacing his distorted voice.

"Dad…he wants to trust you." He looked up at his would-be mentor, the red mask giving nothing away. "He just doesn't know if he can." He reached up with his left hand and weakly gripped Jay's arm. "You're part of the family…whether you like it or not."

The silence that followed was only interrupted by the hum of the AC units, and later the roar of a familiar engine.

"That's my cue," the Hood grated as he stood. He took a few steps before stopping to look at Jace over his shoulder. "Get some rest, kid."

He shook his head with a half-delirious smile. "Jace."

Jay stared.

"You always called me Jace."

He waited another second or two before nodding silently and grappling up to another roof mere seconds before Jace felt a shadow fall over him. When he looked up, it wasn't who he expected, and he would've let out a groan if he didn't know how much it would hurt.

"Ugh, did it have to be you?"

"Yes, idiot," Robin hissed as he hoisted his younger brother to his feet. "That's what you get when you run off alone."

They said nothing more as Batman joined them and helped Robin get him to ground level. A minute later, Jason was packed in the back with Damian, who had his mask off and was examining his brother's injuries.

"I'm fine," he griped, annoyed at how much pain the prodding caused.

"Shut the hell up," Damian growled, meeting his eyes with furious green. "You don't get a say in that now, not after whatever nonsense you just pulled."

From the front, Batman tilted his head but said nothing.

"Now listen and listen well," Dami continued, getting right up in Jason's face. "I can't pretend to know what you're feeling or why you're feeling it, but getting yourself killed to prove a point is not the answer."

"That's not—"

Damian's answering glare shut him up. "I don't care. Your behavior today—all week—has been uncouth and uncalled for. I've done as Pennyworth asked and tried to understand your point of view." His furious eyes narrowed. "Now understand mine. If you ever pull a stunt like this again, I will drug, shackle, and hog-tie you to your own bed for a month." A malevolent smile took over his face. "And then read the Journal of Psychology to you ad nauseum during your waking hours."

Jason's wide eyes indicated he got the message, and he shut up for the rest of the trip to Dr. Thompkins' clinic.

When Diana returned from monitor duty on the Watchtower, it was to a flood of unanswered texts and voicemails from Bruce. The moment she saw the first ones, fear gripped her by the heart. The further down she went, the more panicked she became, until she called him and found out Jason was just getting out of his second surgery within the space of a month. She showed up at his door in the middle of a conversation between Bruce and their son, having passed a silent, stone-faced Damian in the hall.

"Jason?" she asked, knocking on the doorframe.

He looked terrible. Far paler than he should've been and covered in bruises—at least what she could see of him. And the look on his face was…fragile at best. A thousand emotions ran across his face as his mouth opened and closed without a sound. The first words out of his mouth were about what she'd expected.

"I'm sorry."

It was barely a whisper—and a broken, ragged whisper at that—but her ever-sensitive ears picked it up.

"I lashed out at the last person I'd ever want to hurt. And…" he flinched, "I made all of you worry."

She turned her eyes to Bruce's stern expression for a moment, fully exposed by the cowl he'd left on the bedside table, before returning her focus to Jason. Her lips pursed with her answer. "Yes. You did. And that's unacceptable."

Jason frowned but nodded.

Diana's tone was firm yet soft as she sat at his bedside. "I made you a promise, Jason, and I will keep it." Her eyes searched his for a few heartbeats as she let her words sink in. "But as we now know, it may take some time."

"Which you will have plenty of," Bruce added, arms crossed. "I think it goes without saying, but you're grounded for the next two weeks." He huffed. "It'll take at least one just for you to recover enough to move." His gaze softened slightly when Diana gave him a small nod. "After that, if you behave, we can talk about getting you back in the field. But this?" He motioned to Jason's crippled form. "This can never happen again, understand?"

He gulped and nodded, eyes slipping shut with exhaustion and painkillers.

"Jason," Diana said softly, gently gripping his hand when his eyes snapped open. "Son…"

His eyes widened slightly, lips parting.

She took a deep breath, heart thudding hard against her rib cage. "I love you."

The words rolled off her tongue like water. Strange, barely a month since they'd first met, and it didn't surprise her how right it felt to say.

"We love you," Bruce added gently, a hand on his shoulder. "Whatever comes next, we'll figure it out." His voice went firm in emphasis. "Together."

Jason met his gaze, looking between them as his features trembled haphazardly and eyes flickered with everything from love to panic. Finally, he gulped hard and opened his mouth, his voice a small, scared whisper. "Okay."

Diana leaned in as she watched him fall apart, gingerly holding his head and stroking his hair as he shook with violent weeping, every erg of grief and pain he'd hidden upon his return from Themyscira pouring out unfiltered. Bruce knelt on his other side and squeezed his hand in assurance, an ever-unshakable rock in his emotional storm. And at the edge of her vision, just outside the door, she glimpsed a dark-haired figure half-hidden by the frame, silently supporting his brother from afar.

Her gaze turned toward him, just enough of him visible to meet his eyes as she mouthed, "Thank you."

Damian blinked, nodding in reply as his lips twitched with just the faintest hint of a smile.


AN: Yay! Another one for you. Ugh, this was such a pain to get through. Literally, this was physically painful. Might not be able to write much for a day or two so my wrists and fingers can recover.

Which is a shame because the next chapter is going to be hilariously fun to write. How does Jason intend on spending his grounding? Well, accompanying his father on a business trip to Metropolis, for one. Take that as you will.

Drake out.

Musical Inspirations:

Daredevil (Season 2) - The Punisher: start-1:06—setting the bombs/stacking up/smoke bomb, 1:06-2:56—shootout/RPG/crossfire with Richard Dragon, 2:56-3:18—knife-fight/gut stab, 3:18-3:42—verbal exchange/explosion/saving headshot, 3:42-end—Red's cover fire/grapple jump/midair catch