"If you don't ever do anything for me, just do this for me brother, and come on home, boy."

'Homeboy' Eric Church

You Do Good, You Find Good

By: The BatThing

Chapter Twenty Five:

Jason Todd knew what to expect the moment those large tile doors were to open. He had been told two days prior, and thus had some time to prepare for the occasion.

In his months traveling the world with Ra's, he had learned many things. He had heard numerous stories, watched magic displayed before his very eyes, seen the largest of men fall before the smallest. There was no doubt he would go home more learned. So, maybe that was why he dreaded the moment those doors contained.

He wasn't ready, and maybe he'd never be.

There was a part of him that wished he could go back to his 'mindless' state. At least then he wouldn't have to deal with all the troubles that lay ahead, all the awkward fumbling and attempts at conversations. He wouldn't have to look at Bruce Wayne and know that this was the man who he had considered his rock, his savior, his second chance.

In the past, Jason had seen things in a very different light a light that was covered, as not to be waivered, or put out. Bruce had sheltered him, and given him everything he needed to thrive in the World that was the 'wealthy', the 'sane'. The billionaire had plucked up a dirty child, with roots in the darkest corners of Gotham, and replanted him in a fairy tale.

And, just like a transplanted tree, Jason Todd had struggled at first. He almost rejected his new life, unable to see the benefits. But, as always, Bruce had been persistent, refusing to give up. So, in the end, Jason had taken to his new home … more than taken, he had accepted his new home and the inhabitants, and he had loved everything about it. So there he stayed, buried by time, and concealed by ignorance.

Yet, just like before, he was dug out of his secure ground, and thrown into a completely different environment. This time, he awoke to find himself floundering, and unable to have enough time to figure out how to swim before being pushed before of these huge tile doors.

He hated the idea of them opening.

Yet, more than that, he hated the idea of finding himself surrounded by the present, when he was still struggling to catch up.

So, when those doors began to give their heavy sigh, and tremble at the process of moving, Jason couldn't help but reflect their behavior. He felt light headed and lost, and the words Ra's had told him just moments ago seemed to fade into the backdrop of time.

Meaningless words.

Jim Gordon felt the hand in his dream. It was the touch that woke him, as real as his dream, as real as his nightmare. It didn't take but a second for everything to rush into perspective. He could hear jeering all around him; profanities, laughter, people proclaiming their desire for him to burn in hell.

Arkham Asylum.

His blood turned cold at the thought of where he was. The cruelest, most thoughtless of murders were screaming how they would tear his skin and eat him raw, held no bearing whatsoever. He paid those words no mind, because, right now, they didn't matter.

"Where's Barbara?" Gordon turned to see who had touched him for the first time, and saw Harvey Bullock. "Harvey?"

"Ain't lookin' too good Commish, guess we're lucky ta' be alive. Remember that." The manner in which the detective spoke was the same as when they had to deal with telling loved ones that someone close had passed. There was no mistaking the eyes.

"Where is she, Bullock?" Jim shoved his old friend away and drew himself up, feeling the throbbing in his head from where Jack Naiper had hit him with the butt of a gun. It could be a serious wound, probably something he should find help for, but right now, it held no significance. The adrenaline that coursed through his veins seared, it made his body numb, and turned his surroundings into a haze.

There was a woman sobbing on the floor, greeting Jim as soon as he found his exit to the next hall. She was missing her heel, and there was blood across her face and on her hands. Gordon didn't offer a word. He made his way onward, swiping his card, climbing onto the elevator, and riding up three stories to the ground level. There, he would normally have to pass security clearance, but nobody was there. In fact, it seemed there was enough noise coming from behind the next door.

Sirens.

Shouting.

A high pitched voice, asking what to do.

When Jim pushed open that door, he didn't dare brace himself for the worst. His mind couldn't have handled that. Rather, he stuck with the determination that he was going to kill and person who stood between him and Barbara's safety.

"Oh!" A gasp came from the officer who had been there when he left Barbara alone. "Jim!"

Jim pushed past her, as if she didn't exist, because just past her, was his little girl.

"Keep him away, he'll interfere!"

All at once strong arms were holding him back, keeping him away from his daughter.

"Barbara?"

"Calm down Jim, we're helping her."

Helping? Barbara lay in a pool of her own blood, looking about as lifeless as the countless victims Jim dealt with on a daily basis. The only sign of life was that they weren't letting him anywhere near her.

"They're taking her to the hospital, but you need to stay back." One of his own men, Sanchez, was holding him tight, pushing to keep him back. "Napier got away, shot her in the spine, and got away, Jim. Let the doctor's help now."

Jack Napier.

Jack Napier, in prison because he killed a child, and escaped to kill another, this time, Jim's.

Bruce Wayne's face flooded into his mind, a scene played out years ago between the two. Jim was saying how sorry he was, and Bruce was telling him 'thank you for coming.'

'So,' Jim thought, taking a step back, feeling Sanchez relax a bit, 'this is how it feels.'

Time seemed to inch by for Timothy Drake. It was hard to find something to occupy his thoughts, because he couldn't stop thinking about Stephanie Brown.

'I'm an idiot. How could I have been so stupidnot to see?' He chided himself again and again, as if that might help the situation at all. Naturally, it did no such thing. Rather, it made matters worse. So, deciding that sitting in his bedroom, staring at the wall wasn't going to help, he tried his hand at the Xbox.

He never played so horribly in his life. Usually he was decent, not near as good as Dick, but better than Bruce by a long shot. Now, he spaced out in the middle of fiery shoot-outs, earning him the title of dead. So, abandoning the controller, he made his way down the hall, wandering into Bruce's bedroom and flopping down on the overly-sized bed.

The remote lay on nightstand to his left. He grabbed it and began flipping through channels, finally settling on Piggley Winks.

"Fuck me!" Tim buried his head in the comforter and stifled a childish scream. It was stupid, but he couldn't help it – like there was so much hurt that it had to come out anyway possible. Screaming might not be the preferred method by society, but it did a decent job of making Tim feel less lonely. "What was I thinking? Of course she didn't like me. Duh. Just friends, Tim Drake, you moron! Everybody knew it but you."

Ugh!

Stephanie and he had been friends for a few years now, and while neither had ever said anything about being more than friends, or even hinted at it, Tim had always felt that she liked him the way he liked her, and that they were both too awkward to say anything. Why else would she have gone on all 'outings', or called him when she was bored? Why would she have talked for hours online? Why? Why?

"I can't believe how stupid I am." He felt heat rising to his cheeks, embarrassed by the whole ordeal. "Why would she do this to me? Why didn't she just tell me she never liked me?"

"Master Tim?" There was a soft knock on the door, and Alfred let himself in without waiting for an answer, something that the butler never did. "I thought I heard talking. I was worried there were ghosts about." His humor fell on deaf ears.

"Hi Alfred. Just watching some TV." Please God, don't have let him heard.

There was a quiet that fell, but it was short lived. Alfred came to sit beside Tim, a kind smile. "Young sir, pardon my saying so but …" he spared a glance at the show playing. "It seems transparently obvious that you are doing anything but watching."

"Well, I am."

"I received a phone call, moments ago, from a very concerned young lady. She insisted that I come make sure you are doing alright. It appears that she worries you will, and I quote, 'forever hate' her."

"Steph called?" That was strange. Though, as soon as the words came from Tim's mouth he regretted saying them. He gave far too much away with just that simple question.

"Indeed she did."

"Well … ok." Lame. "You can tell her I'm fine."

Alfred gave a look.

"What?"

"Perhaps it would be best if you were to call and tell her yourself, seeing as I hardly know the young woman. I'm certain she would love to hear from you, even for a short while."

Tim slowly sat up, feeling the anger start to whelm up. "Trust me, Alfred, she doesn't want to hear from me. She's just calling to be nice, which is fine, good for her, she's a thoughtful person." No she's not. "And, besides, even if she did want me to call, it would just be so she'd feel better, and I don't feel up to helping her out."

They were bitter words, and hung in the air, filling the space between the two. Alfred was now looking thoughtfully at the television, as if finding it of some interest, but Tim knew better than that. Alfred never watched TV, always having considered it a waste of time.

"You know, I recognize this show very well." The butler's voice was softer than before, and he returned his gaze to Tim. "Master Jason would always wake up before school and watch it. Do you remember?"

No, he hadn't really remembered. "I guess."

"This girl, Stephanie, it is clear that you both have feelings for each other, and for whatever reason, you have been hurt."

"She doesn't like me, Alfred, not like that." Tim admitted it sadly, hating the way the truth sounded. "I thought she did, but I guess I was stupid."

"The way the young miss spoke on the telephone certainly sounded like someone who cared. It might not be the same as you feel, but she is hurting for you."

"She's pregnant, Alfred. She slept around, the whole while pretending to like me. I don't care if she wanted to be my friend, because if she was my friend, she would have told me something like that. She wouldn't have done it behind my back. So, the only explanation I can come up with is that she knew how I felt and was selfish, she wanted to keep me around."

This came as a surprise, and the butler couldn't help but show it on his face. A girl so young, already doing something so adult? Where were her parents? How could they not know? "Pregnant?"

"Pregnant."

"Master Timothy … you know that intercourse is not something you should-."

"Aw! Alfred, I know. Eck! Don't worry, and please, don't try to talk about it. That's just … weird. Trust me, you don't have to worry." Tim was bright red, feeling about as awkward as humanly possible. The only way it could have been worse were if Bruce had given him that talk. "I'm only twelve."

"And Miss. Stephanie, how old is she?"

"Thirteen, she's in the same grade as me – different school though." Tim was starting to feel better about talking to Alfred. It didn't make things heal, but it certainly helped to clear his head. "Her dad's a crook, and doing time for stolen goods. Her mom's not really around. Not really in the best of conditions either, from what I can tell."

Alfred broached the matter as carefully as he could; unable to stop himself from saying what he knew needed to be said. "Master Timothy, I know you don't like to hear this but … being twelve is no excuse, it doesn't matter how old a person is. When you truly love someone, then that is the point where you should even consider the idea of something so important."

"I know, I know…" God, stop talking about this!

"I certainly hope you do. Love like that, won't just come to you either, it's an adult decision. Miss Stephanie may have thought she was in love, but in reality, she is nowhere near old enough to comprehend such an emotion."

"Ok."

"I daresay, even Master Richard is far too young-."

"Alfred!" Enough was enough, Tim had held out for the lecture, but god-forbid they start discussing the intimate relationships that Dick or Bruce may or may not have had. The twelve-year-old caught himself though, upon seeing Alfred's expression. "Listen, don't worry. I'm pretty sure Dick never even ever got close. He's way too hung up on Barbara Gordon to even think about other girls, and we all know that she's not letting him that close."

To this, all the butler could offer was a smile. "Yes, and Master Richard has always handled his disappointment very well."

"I know what you're getting at Al, but I've never been a hopeless romantic. Dick also believed that Jason was alive, even after all these years."

"For all we know, young sir, he very well may be."

"Then you're just as bad as he is." He cleared his throat and gave his head a small shake. "I was there, remember?" The subject was painful, and Tim hardly ever brought up this part of his past. It was hard. He had never been able to get past that night.

Even if no one pointed the finger, or blamed him, he was more than hard enough on himself to make up for the lack of accusations. It didn't matter that he had only been nine-years-old, and it didn't matter that he had been scared, and confused. None of that was an excuse, yet everyone seemed to think it was.

Nobody blamed Tim Drake for Jason's death. Well, nobody save Tim.

Alfred could see that the twelve-year-old was upset. There was no doubt that tonight had been hard on the child. "Perhaps, you would like to assist me in making some miraculous mud pudding?"

"You mean dirt pudding, Alfred?" Tim offered a sad smile, knowing he was being babied.

"I acquired some colored gummies, just for such an occasion."

"Yeah?"

"Indeed."

Well, what the hell. It wasn't like talking was making Tim feel any better. He gave his head a nod, and then followed Alfred to the kitchen, trying to make his night just a little bit better.

Bruce felt his heart stop, literally stop for a split second, when he saw the figure behind the doors. It seemed impossible. It had been so long, and he had given up on many different times till finally he rested on the fact that he was never going to see Jason Todd again.

Thanks God he had been wrong.

To his left, Dick made some sort of noise, between a gasp and a yell. Then, without bothering to wait for anyone to make introductions, or say a simple hello, he took out in a spring, basically tackling his brother, unable to hold back his tears. "JASON!"

Jason stumbled back against the unexpected weight. Even though he was bigger than the gypsy boy, he hadn't been prepared for the force, and went crashing to the ground. Instantly he felt embarrassed and angry, but the sound of Dick laughing turned his emotions around on him. He was curious now. "Get offa' me, Dick."

"Yeah." A rough, bristly voice came from above, as Bruce came over to the two. "We just got him back."

Jason stared up at the man, surprised at the billionaire's obvious happiness. He had on a huge smile, but his eyes were filled with water, fighting off transparent tears. They're eyes met for a second only, and Jason quickly jerked his head to look at the ground silent, angry. He could sense Bruce kneeling beside him, and instantly shied away.

"God, you're alive." Bruce took the teenager into a hug, hand going to Jason's head, forcing the boy to comply at least a bit.

It wasn't what Jason wanted, and he tried to pull away. It was uncomfortable, and Bruce was trembling. "Let me go."

His request was granted, though it did nothing to hamper either Dick or Bruce to stop looking, well, in Jason's opinion, stupid. What were they doing, crying over him, hugging, laughing, or saying how much they had missed him. How they couldn't believe it.

It was stupid. It was lame. And it wasn't fair!

Jason had been missing for years, and where had they been? He had been hurting for years, and who came to save him?

Dick was rambling on and on about how horrible it was, and how everyone thought Jason was dead, and how he was the only one who knew that wasn't the case.

It came out of nowhere, and Jason hadn't meant to say it, not really. He was thinking it, but …"Then why didn't you do anything?"

The surprise was clear in Dick's face, and that instantly turning to hurt and shame. He was turning red, mouth opening, as if to say something, but then closing. Finally, he gave up trying to answer and just hung his head and shut his eyes.

"Jason, we were trying to find you." Bruce spoke in a soft tone, soothing, like it would help. "We tried for years. Dick and Tim both dropped out of school during that time. Our life was consumed with trying to get you back. The detectives we hired kept telling us the same thing, that you probably weren't out there to find. Don't blame Dick for not finding you, if you want to blame anyone, blame me. He said it again and again, and I finally told him to stop saying it. I hated that you could be out there, hurting, waiting, and that I was incapable of finding you-."

"You gave up. I get it." Jason snapped the words, he wasn't looking at anyone, rather straight ahead, still sitting on that floor, between two people who were being so utterly selfish. How dare they act hurt. How dare they turn this into their pain.

"I gave up. You're right. I couldn't stand the pain anymore. It was destroying me. It was destroying Dick and Tim as well. To this day, Tim will hardly speak. He puts all his drive into school and studying. Alfred says it's so he won't have to think about you. I do the same, I admit. Don't be mad at Dick, if anything, he's the reason I get to see you again."

"Dad, he can be mad at me. I don't blame him."

"I'm not mad at anyone." Jason dropped his head, eyes narrowed, anger apparent. "I don't care either way. I don't care." The earned silence, to which just made the teenager more and more upset, and confused, and … "AH!" He let out a frustrated yell and started to get up, only to be pulled back by Dick.

"Jays, please, don't go. We just got to see you."

"Dick, let him go. If he needs some time to-." Bruce stopped short when Jason turned on his heels, giving the most hateful look in his direction.

"Yeah, let go, Dick, let him go. Don't bother, right, Bruce?"

"Jason, you know I didn't mean it like that."

"Yeah, whatever." Then, just like that, Jason left the room.

"He hates us." Dick looked up at Bruce, caught up in the hateful exchange of words. "I didn't imagine it like this."

Perhaps they should have, perhaps Bruce should have known better. He ached for Jason, and hated himself for never finding the boy, now more than ever before. "He isn't mad at you Dick."

"I didn't find him either, Dad. Don't take all the blame, ok?" It was clear what the billionaire was thinking, and Dick refused to give him that opportunity. "He's just hurt, right, and he might say he doesn't care, but … if he didn't care then he wouldn't be angry."

"Yes."

"What should we do?"

That was the question, wasn't it?

"Wayne Manor, Alfred Pennyworth speaking." The butler held the phone delicately, ignoring Tim's giggling at him. He was wearing an apron, and had cookie crumbs all over his hands, as well as some chocolate on his face that he didn't know about. Dirt pudding was easy to make, unless you were doing it was a twelve year old boy with no experience in the kitchen. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Alfred, it's me."

"Master Bruce, good to hear from you. I trust you both arrived safely, despite your lack of a phone call to let us know."

"We made it fine, Alfred, sorry. I was actually calling about something important." There was a pause. "You should probably sit down."

It was an unexpected request, and in the instant it was given, Alfred knew exactly why the call had been made. Bruce had been searching for Jason, so, that meant one of two things. Either Jason Todd had been found alive, or his remains had. Covering the mouth piece, the butler gave Tim a warm smile. "Master Tim, would you mind if we finished our … creation, at a later date?"

The boy was quiet and nodded, curious. Alfred was politely asking him to leave, and it was Bruce on the other line … so what was wrong? Something had happened. The urge to ask was forced back, and Tim left the room, closing the door behind him, and then pressing his ear up against it, praying both Bruce and Dick were alright.

Alfred could be heard, his voice was trembling. "This is about Jason, isn't it?"

Tim flinched, eyes going wide as he took two steps away, and then realized what he was doing. He forced himself to go back and listen.

"My god." A pause, Alfred was listening to what was being said. "My joy at this news is beyond anything I have felt in years. Bring him home to us, Master Bruce."

That was enough, Tim shoved the door open. "Jason's alive?"

"Yes, my dear boy!" Alfred hung up the phone and crossed the room to Timothy, wearing a genuine smile. He pulled the twelve-year-old into a hug, something out of the norm for the gentlemen. "He's alive, and he's coming home."

To be continued…