Jason was dreaming. Dick had his fingers on his face, his nails digging into skin, pulling at Jason's mouth and nose. "I can see what you did, Jason. It's written all over your lying face. Maybe if I take your eyes next, it will make me feel better," Dick said.

Jason struggled; he had been sure this was a dream, but he should have been able to wake by now -the pain was mild, but getting stronger. Could you even feel pain while you slept?

"I'll spin you right round baby, right round," Dick sang at him in a strange voice.

He snapped into wakefulness. It was dark and music was playing in the background - hits of the 80's, Dick currant favorite torture device-but the pain was still there, pulling at Jason's nose and mouth. There was something on his face. Was he still asleep? Panicked, Jason swung his arm out wildly and scrabbled for the bedside lamp. He finally flicked it on, to reveal a close up of parrot. PB was staring disdainfully into his eyes, the bird was standing on his chin and mouth. Jason gawked at it, and PB hooked a claw into his nostril and casually resumed peering up his nose.

Jason wasn't even ashamed of the earsplitting shriek that exploded out of him.

"No parrots in my room!"

"But-"

"No! I don't want him anywhere unsupervised, Dick! He could have ripped my face off!"

Dick was giving him a surly, doubtful look. PB had left nothing more than a small red mark and a new bird-related phobia, but Jason was well aware that its razor sharp beak could have made mincemeat out of his face if it had wanted to.

"Sorry Jason," Dick said, insincerely.

Jason made an inarticulate noise of frustration and retreated back to his room - this time making sure the door was firmly shut. Things had to change.

Strangely, over the next week, they did. There was a subtle shift in Dick's behavior, barely noticeable at first. He stopped hitting the bars and he seemed to be seeking out Jason's company, and only occasionally verbally abused him.

Three mornings in a row Dick woke him up with a cup of tea - an addiction Jason had picked up from Alfred during his youth. Admittedly the quality of the tea varied, as did the time it was delivered. The first morning, Dick had forgotten to boil the kettle before pouring the water, the second time it was four fifteen in the morning and the last thing Jason wanted to see was Dick's grinning face and the stupid parrot on his shoulder.

Then there was the enthusiastic movie nights – some of which started at lunch time and extended well into the evening. They seemed to involve the eating of snack foods and an uncomfortable amount of snuggling.

If it hadn't been so weird, Jason would have felt like it was progress. Maybe he was being unfair; Dick not using him as a punching bag three times a day was definitely an improvement.

Of course Tim had to get involved and destroy all his hopeful illusions.

It started on a day that was already proving to be shitty. Jason had experienced a particularly painful and embarrassing night, and was feeling a bit low on the awesome scale. Dick was once again indulging in playing the same four songs on repeat and Jason had taken the opportunity to escape to his room for his Skype chess date.

Tim didn't look happy to see him, and Jason was momentarily offended until the prissy little Bat pointed at his new set of bruises.

"That mark on your forehead, did he hit you again?" Tim was starting to show signs of concern even through his carefully constructed casual demeanor. His face got more and more worried as Jason wrestled with whether Dick smacking him around was more or less shameful than the truth. He briefly considered lying, but that felt too wrong, like he was blaming Dick for something he hadn't done. This time at least.

"I fell over," he managed at last.

Tim didn't look convinced.

"I fucking fell over, ok?" Jason snapped. He could feel his face going red, the flush reaching down his neck. "I fell off the bed. Sometimes I wake up and I need a piss and I forget." God, he wished he hadn't said that. He wished he could pretend he was coping better than he was.

Tim's eyes widened and Jason severed the Skype connection. Forgetting he was missing a fucking leg and face planting on the floor was not an experience he had intended to share. The shame burned him.

He was struggling with how to deal with Tim next time they spoke; pretend Skype cut out accidentally? Pretend nothing had happened at all? Make a joke? Shoot Tim? Shoot himself?

Maybe he would take pity on Jason and not mention it at all. It could happen. Despite Tim's obvious concern and occasional Machiavellian manipulations, he was generally pretty respectful.

But Jason just wasn't that lucky. It was only an hour later when Tim turned up at the door - Damian in tow. Sometimes Jason's life was like living in the worst sitcom ever.

Dick was excited to see them. Tim hugged him back tightly and even Damian stood still and allowed himself to be squashed in a bear hug.

PB was not impressed with these strangers touching his people, and he stalked forward, scabby wings extended threateningly and hissing his displeasure.

Tim looked vaguely horrified to finally meet the bird in the underwhelming flesh, And Damian had a look of profound disgust on his face as he watched PB's territorial posturing. Jason instantly forgave the parrot for his resent sins - the comedy value alone made up for the trauma.

"Hey," Tim said in greeting, "I thought maybe we could try chess in person for once."

Jason didn't believe it for a moment and raised one bruised eyebrow.

Tim turned to Damian, who was attempting to dislodge the parrot that had attached its self wrathfully to his boot. "Damian, why don't you let Dick give you a tour while we play."

Damian looked at the open doorway to Dick's room – there were piles of clothes and random debris visible from all the way across the hall. He shot a disbelieving, almost betrayed look at Tim, but by then Dick had latched onto both the idea, and Damian's arm. The boy was a goner.

Dick looked ecstatic, Tim looked smug – smug, with a dirty under layer of evil.

Damian just looked like a man condemned.

Ignoring the assumed ulterior motive, Jason pulled up a second chair next to his chess table. Although they could play with a virtual board, he had discovered that both he and Tim held a mutual affection for using real pieces. Tim had a beautifully carved, immaculate set (although he had also confessed to owning a Harry Potter one), whereas Jason's was a weathered second hand board, the pieces worn from use. Jason was very fond of it, although it had survived PB about as well as his headphones had. The white king had been gnawed on by a sharp parrot beak, and one of the pawns was MIA after PB's Godzilla impression across the board had ended in all out man vs. parrot warfare.

"So do you actually want to play? Or would you rather just skip to the real reason you're here?" Jason asked.

"That obvious?"

Jason gave him an unimpressed look. "Yeah. And we better hurry up before one of those two highly strung drama queens out there commits fratricide."

"I was just wondering how you were doing."

"You needed to come all the way over here for that?" Jason didn't bother to keep the contempt from his voice.

"No. But I was talking to Bruce-"

"-never a good way to start up a conversation with me, Tabitha."

Now it was Tim's turn to give him a look, but then he went back to his attempt at being completely blank faced - although tempered slightly with discomfort. "Yeah, I'm aware. He implied that you were allowing Dick to get away with behavior that you normally wouldn't."

Jason waved a hand angrily. "I know his stupid theory, BatBrat. Either you have something new to add, or you can just piss the hell off."

"I do have something to add, actually. Something I don't think Bruce knows."

That sounded ominous.

Tim looked very uncomfortable. "I'm sure its nothing, but I felt I should to talk to you in person. The phone didn't seem right." He shot Jason a look from under his lashes, and Jason was one hundred percent sure what he meant was 'I will read you better in person and then manipulate you more efficiently.'

Having said that, all traces of smugness were long gone, Tim looked like he wanted to crawl out of his skin with discomfort. Jason pounced on it like a terrier on a rat. "And you're hating every second of this conversation aren't you? What's got your panties in such a bunch?" When Jason was feeling uncomfortable, it was only fair everyone else was too.

"Yes," Tim admitted ruefully. "You have no idea how uncomfortable I am, on so many levels."

"So this big awkward issue is...?"

Tim shifted a bit and cast a quick glance towards the door. "I'm breaking a confidence talking to you about this. At least I think I am - I feel like I am."

"Whose?"

"Dick's. We talk on the phone a couple of times a week. When he remembers, and when he doesn't hang up on me, or leave the phone somewhere so I am talking to an empty room."

Jason chuckled. Dick absentmindedly put his phone down all over the place, even when he was still talking on it. Jason was forever insincerely apologizing to irate people still yelling down the line.

"So?" he prompted, when Tim didn't immediately continue.

"Dick has developed a crush on you," Tim blurted. "Like, a slightly obsessive fixation. I read that this can happen – I mean, you saved him, you except him, you're with him all the time."

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself of something." Jason said, he was impressed he sounded so calm, when in reality he was reeling.

"Yeah, ok, its weird and I could live my whole life without ever hearing him describe how sexy you are again. Ever again."

Jason opened his mouth but couldn't decide what to say. That was kind of a shock, and he was massively weirded out by the fact Dick had been waxing poetic over him to Tim of all people. But it did kind of explain Dick's change in behavior towards him.

"I'll spare you the details," Tim said, still not quite meeting his eyes. "But in light of my own and Bruce's observations, I just wanted to make sure he wasn't pushing you into doing something you didn't want to do."

"Are suggesting I would let that brain-damaged fuckwit molest me out of some misplaced need to self harm? Because you assholes need to get it through your tiny, stupid minds that I am not some damsel in distress! I'm not weak willed, I'm not broken or fucking damaged in the way you seem to think I fucking am!" Jason flung an arm at the chess set, scattering the pieces across the floor. He was breathing hard and his fists were clenched.

Tim sat and watched him, blank faced and unflinching. The bastard. Sometimes he was so like Bruce that Jason wanted to beat him to death. "Get out" he snarled, but Tim didn't even twitch.

"Do you know what I see when I look at you?" Tim asked after a long moment. "A man who's drowning." He still had that impassive expression on his face, like Jason's anger was just rolling off him. Hard to remember this was the dorky kid that nearly peed his pants over some stupid game mod Babs had created for him.

"I don't drown, I'm a strong fucking swimmer," Jason snapped. It was supposed to be a powerful statement, but he just sounded like a moron, even to himself.

Drowning. Yeah, that hit the nail on the head.

"You're drowning in guilt, Jason."

That made Jason's breath catch and a chill run down his spine. He had worried about Bruce discovering the truth, but he had foolishly discounted Tim, with his brutally sharp mind and sneaky, strategizing chess skills.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jason managed, hoping his face was as blank as his voice.

"Survivors guilt. That's what Bruce thinks it is. You feel you need to be punished for not saving Dick in one piece." Tim's expression was carefully neutral.

Was he subtly telling Jason he knew? What was he going to do with that information if he did? Or was Jason being paranoid and Tim was saying exactly what he meant?

Jason could feel adrenaline suddenly flood his body, the tension building. And for one ridiculous moment he thought he was going to pass out. Jason Todd did not faint when stressed. He could look down the barrel of a gun, come face to face with his own murderer- and yet, here he was, dizzy and panicked because of words that might mean something.

He was saved from embarrassment when his bedroom door flew open and Damian marched in.

"It's not Grayson," he said. "It's not him!" His back was ramrod straight and his chin was tilted so high he was practically looking down his own nose - a classic Damian sign of distress.

"It's still Dick," Jason told him.

Damian shock his head, mouth pulled tight.

"It is," Jason insisted. "Yesterday he ate a peanut-butter, ham, cornflake and ketchup sandwich, and he danced round the house whilst listening to the world's most obnoxious pop music." Jason didn't mention that he had listened to the same song 37 times, until Jason was driven out of his mind and had been forced to murder the CD with extreme prejudice. "Then he cried over 'Animal Rescue Cops' and spent an hour phoning in tips to 'Americas Most Wanted' until I had to take the phone away. He's sill Dick. But you need to be more careful how you deal with him."

"How'd you mean?" Damian asked, he looked pissy, but his eyes were desperate and hopeful, and Jason really felt for the kid. This must be devastating for him.

"He can't control his emotional reactions to things - so you have to change the way you act. You have to be calm and understanding. If he says shitty things, ignore it, or let him know carefully and gently why what he said was inappropriate."

"And that's what you do?" Damian asked skeptically.

"I try."

"He's still not the same."

Jason rubbed at his bruised forehead. He was so used to Dick now, and he was comfortable with the changes, despite his guilt, but it must be very difficult for the rest of them to understand. Especially, it seemed, for Damian and Bruce. Dick was more than just a friend or a part of the family, he had represented something to them; the very essence of family, of being steadfast and there for them no matter what. It must be an incredibly hard thing to lose and let go of. But they did have to let go, they had to build something new.

"He's never going to be the same, Damian. He's changed. If you want a relationship with him, then you have to accept that, and you have to change with him. He needs you and he loves you in the same soppy way he did before, but if you can't hack it – you need to back the hell off before you hurt him further."

Damian looked momentarily stricken, but then he appeared thoughtful. He was at least as stubborn as his dad, but Jason felt he had gotten though to him on some level.

"So," Jason changed the subject, "how'd you get away from him?"

"I distracted him, obviously." Damian's voice had lost the tense edge and returned to its normal annoying tones. The kid was strong enough to deal with this, Jason was sure of it. He just needed some time.

As if on cue the sudden frantic cry of: "Motherfucker! Goddamn peace of shit! Motherfucker!" Started bellowing from the living room, liberally sprinkled by enraged parrot shrieking.

"What the hell did you do?" Jason asked, without ire. Damian looked smug and Jason ushered him towards the door, already resigned to sorting out whatever drama Dick and his stupid bird where causing. He glanced at Tim as he passed; his pale blue eyes were narrowed as he watched them, a thoughtful but otherwise inscrutable expression on his face. Creepy bastard.

Dick was in the middle of the living room holding PB upside-down and inspecting his feathery backside.

"Motherfucker!" PB yelled as he caught sight of Jason. "Clunk fizz, clunk fizz!"

Jason couldn't help feeling like the bird was using the beer opening noise to personally beg him for help.

"Dick?" Jason asked mildly, "what are you doing?"

"Checking to see if PB is a boy or a girl. Damian said that it's really hard to tell with parrots."

"It is," Tim interjected smoothly. "You can't tell externally, you have to do a DNA test. We can arrange one if you want?"

Dick looked at him and grinned, upside down parrot momentarily forgotten in his hand.

"You always have an answer for everything, don't you, little brother?"

"Naturally." Tim smiled back.

Dick reached to pull him into a hug and Jason skillfully took possession of the parrot while he was distracted. PB clung angrily to Jason's sleeve, still making the clunk fizz noise he seemed to associate with Jason. He petted its grizzled head and the bird made a pleased whistle.

Tim was giving him that look again.

Six hours - three broken cups, several squabbles, a large quantity of ice cream, a game of Mario kart that almost ended in violence and a forgiving snuggling session between Dick and PB- later, and the bat brats took their leave.

It had, despite Jason's anxiety, been a successful afternoon. Dick had been happy for the most part, and Damian had seemed less devastated when they finally left, promising to come back at the weekend to help Dick with reorganizing his room (an area Jason privately referred to as the pit of despair.)

Jason was exhausted, from both stress and with the effort of keeping his temper with everyone. Why was he suddenly the sensible level-headed member of the family? Since when did he start considering himself a member of the family at all?

"Jay?" Dick asked, from where he was curled on the couch like an overgrown cat.

"Hmm" Jason grunted. He was working up the energy to get up and wash the dishes before bed.

"Can I sleep in with you again?"

"No, Dick."

"Please? I slept so much better with you."

"No."

Jason was still awake at two am and Dick's miserable face was haunting him. He just seemed so lonely and defeated. Although that could have just been Jason projecting - Dick's moods changed faster than lighting.

Eventually he couldn't take it anymore and he hauled himself out of bed, put his stupid leg on, and stumbled into the living room. Dick was still on the sofa, still despondent and blankly watching a late night talk show.

"Shove up, Dick."

Dick shifted until Jason could sit beside him comfortably. "You ok?"

Dick shrugged. "Can't sleep."

"I don't think you've tried."

"Don't want to. I don't want to dream. And I don't want to wake and have that moment before I realize everything is wrong. The person I was is gone, my family is grieving for him, and I can't help. Everything I do just makes it worse."

It just broke Jason's heart. He reached out and drew Dick into a hug, and his idiot pseudo brother leaned into him, suddenly boneless, and achingly sad.

"I see you, Dickie."

"I know. That means everything to me right now."

"Does it?" Jason dithered back and forth for a moment before opting for bluntness – it's what Dick gave him, and he appreciated it - it was only fair to offer the same in return. "Do you have a thing for me? A crush?" The word sounded stupid and Jason felt himself flush. Although thankfully, Dick was welded to his bicep and couldn't see.

"I… Yeah." Dick said. "You're all I have. You're my rock, my center, you accept me for who I am. You don't look at me like I'm some sort of walking eulogy for the man I used to be. You see me. Of course I love you." Dick shrugged and kissed Jason's shoulder. "You're super hot too, that also helps. All big and broad." He ran an approving finger across the top of Jason's chest.

Jason had known he would tell the truth, but still Dick's words sent such conflicting feelings through him – he was flattered, disbelieving, doubtful, guilty, needy - almost dizzy with feeling. But he didn't know what to say, or what to do, so he hugged Dick a little tighter and changed the subject.

"We're both in limbo here. People in stupid situations like ours can get carried away. But I think if we want to make shit better for ourselves, then we got to make a change. A real one, not just talk."

"Like what?" Dick's breath was warm against his skin, and Jason had to swallow hard.

"Structure, a routine for you, so you can relearn remembering shit – like not leaving the taps or the gas on."

"I have the great big note you stuck on the oven."

"Yeah, but you need more – it has to be automatic like any routine is."

"Ok, we can try. I want to try."

"Also, if you're not willing to see a therapist, can we attempt to work through your self help recovery books together?" Who the fuck would have guessed the Red fucking Hood would suggest something so ridiculous? So sentimental, so sensible, and sappy?

"Ok," Dick nodded, "If you help."

"I will."

"What about you?" Dick was giving him a big eyed look from under his lashes, but the grip he had on Jason's hand was firm to the point of painful – his intensity was punishing.

"Me?" Jason collected his thoughts – during the points he had been wallowing in his own misery, he had also been thinking about his words to Damian, about change, and about how those words had shaped him, even before he had shared them.

He had to accept what had happened, he couldn't change it.

But he could change himself, he could adapt. He could survive. And Jason had always been a survivor, and so had Dick.

He thought about what he needed, what he felt about himself, his doubt, his guilt, and his hatred for his stump and the uncomfortable prosthetic. "I'm going to read up on prostheses. I'm never going to be how I was, but if I'm going to have to have a false leg, then it's going to be a goddamn part of me. I'm going to design it, I'm going to own it."

Dick grinned like the devil. It was clear he was thrilled by Jason's decision - and his zeal. This was a good idea, Jason was sick of feeling like a victim – no matter what other people thought, he had never been a fucking victim. He was a survivor.

Dick poked him in the shoulder. "So, will your new leg have little flip out machine guns to blow peoples knee-caps off?

Jason grinned. "Well, now it will."

Now was the time things were going to change.