Batman stood, rage in check, completely unmoving, shoulders tensed and squared. Alfred closed his eyes and prayed. Please, God, don't let it be too late. But, his mind also thought quietly, that it was too late for prayer. The fate of his artificial family rested on the shoulders of a man who knew how to fight for anything other than this.
"Jason," the Dark Knight said, voice just as gruff as if he had said the Joker's name. This was not lost on anyone in the room. "We should talk in private."
"No," Jason said, refraining from shaking his head and becoming even dizzier. "Everyone here is someone who has saved my life. If you want to say something, they are allowed to hear it."
The lenses on Batman's cowl narrowed. Kori tapped Damian's shoulder and switched places with him, Damian sagging under the new weight. "Arsenal," she said, her regal voice echoing in the cave, "this is a family affair, and we have an Untitled to track."
Roy nodded, serious for once, and also moved away, allowing Dick to take his place. Jason grunted from the shift, pain from the wound on that side and from the extended time spent standing up when he really should have been resting. Kori touched his face softly, and then turned towards Batman.
"If you hurt him any more than you already have, I'll be coming back for your head on a pike."
Dick couldn't help but smile as the two Outlaws left, silently thanking Kori for her protection of Jason. Not many had the stones to say that to Gotham's vigilante. After they exited the cave, Alfred pulled the chair from in front of the computer to Jason, who was deposited in it as gently as possible. The rest of the family stayed standing, Batman opposite the three boys, Alfred once again taking up his spot behind them all.
Damian pulled his domino mask off and spoke first. "This is ridiculous."
"Damian," Dick said, also pulling off his mask. "Don't you think we should be silent moral support?"
"I don't need any moral support," Jason said bitterly.
Dick smiled. "Oh, please. Everyone needs support. Even 'tough' guys like you."
"You've been hanging out with the toddler too long, you've got a child-like view of people."
"Hey!" Damian yelled, offended, while Jason and Dick smirked.
"My God," the boys heard, and everyone turned to see Alfred staring at them in disbelief. "They're acting like brothers. Finally, they act like family, and the one man that brought them together, that called them sons won't act like a father?"
There was silence for what seemed like hours as Bruce heard Alfred's words ring and echo in his mind. He turned back to his Robins, his children, and was ashamed. He had watched Jason sleep, had prayed and begged for his safety, but as soon as the boy had opened his eyes, he had panicked, had been more afraid of what would happen if he opened up than what would happen if he didn't. And look where it had gotten him, He finally pulled the cowl off his face, ice blue eyes meeting the gaze of all three of his children.
"I'm sorry," Bruce said, but, like he predicted, Jason just got angrier.
"Sorry isn't going to cut it, not after you branded me your failure. I don't give a damn about your apologies." Jason practically snarled at the older man.
"What do you want then, Jason. Do you want me to forget about the bomb, the beating? I can't. The father in me will never forget carrying your broken body out of the rubble. Why is it so terrible for me to do so?"
"I have nightmares that it's you!" Jason cried, and the outburst needed no more explanation. Everyone in the room understood and was silent. Tears formed in Jason's eyes, and Dick tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but it was shrugged off angrily. "That's the kind of relationship my subconscious thinks we have. So don't preach to me about being a father. You are not my father."
"You think," Bruce swallowed, shook the sound of his breaking heart out of his ears. "You have dreams that," another pause, "I killed you?"
Jason wouldn't meet his gaze. Dick successfully put a hand on his shoulder, and Damian shuffled closer to the chair. Alfred, relatively unnoticed, white-knuckled a tray.
"What can I do to fix this?" Bruce whispered.
"Stop thinking I'm your broken toy, for one!" Jason yelled, and even through tears his deep voice had power. "You think all I'm capable of being is an Arkham inmate or a rehabilitation project. I wear your symbol to prove you wrong. So, how do you 'fix this,' Bruce? How about letting me be Jason Todd, and not your dead failure of a Robin. Because he wanted to be your son, but I sure as Hell don't."
The tension in the room was palpable. The exhaustion, the pain, even the Cave had gotten to Jason and now, ironically, he had lied and yelled himself into a grave he couldn't dig back out of. It was over. The boy stealing tires in Crime Alley, the boy who became bigger than life in red and green and yellow, the boy that desired a family so much he was blown up for it, ceased to exist. Unlike what he expected, there was no relief. The weight he constantly felt on his shoulders only seemed to increase, the blood he constantly felt on his hands seemed only to get darker. He finally severed all ties, and it made him less than what he was before.
When Jason refocused his eyes and snapped out of his daze, Bruce's cowl was back on.
"Get out," Batman said, and walked off in the direction of the stairs into the manor. Jason watched him go.
"Would it kill you to love me while I'm breathing?" Jason whispered after the retreating form.
"Jason," Damian started, but Jason just held up his hand. He knew what was coming next.
"You have a sense of loyalty I admire, kid. Go."
Damian bounded after his father. Another connection lost, and he felt its absence in his heart, even if he only knew the boy a night.
Alfred cleared his throat, gave the boys what he hoped to be a reassuring smile, and followed Damian out. A connection not entirely lost, but strained almost beyond repair.
"Come on," Dick said. "Let's get you back to my friends."
Jason half-smiled. "They like me better."
"Whatever you say, little bro."
Richard Grayson. The golden child. The favorite. The one Jason hated because he loved. The only connection left.
The hand on his shoulder.
