A/N: I could hang onto this chapter for a little longer, but I think I've kept you all waiting long enough. I hope you enjoy this chapter and please let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.

Dick didn't know what to expect when he arrived at the cave. When he and Damian finally came to, they'd managed to get out of their bindings with a little help from the GCPD. Once they were freed he discovered a message from Bruce that simply said to return immediately. There was no reasoning, no update on the status of Tim or the Red Hood. The vague news only made Dick more anxious. He'd hurried back to the cave with Damian, both of them streaks of shadows in the dark. The worry pushed Dick past the weakness in his muscles and sped him onwards, Damian right by his side. Although the boy didn't voice it, Dick sensed his worry, too.

As soon as they made it to the cave, Dick told Damian to find Alfred while he searched for Bruce. If there was bad news, Dick wanted to break it easier to Damian. The boy had good instincts, as he decided now was not the time to argue and went off, disappearing through the stairs leading upwards to the manor. Dick searched around the cave, stride swift, passing by the memorial cases on the upper level. The worry in him sunk like a heavy stone inside of him as his eyes traveled over the cases. What if we're adding another?

He hated that it was a real, possible thought. Dick shook his head to try and clear it and turned his back to the cases, clamping his hands tightly onto the rail. Letting the fear eat at him was something he always had to control, and right now he couldn't afford to lose his grip. Worry had to be a motivation, not a weakness. Dick lifted his head, scanning over the lower levels of the cave. His gaze locked on a black and red clad figure sitting on the edge of one of the equipment tables, their head ducked and dark hair in their face. Dick spurred to action, the image of the figure connecting with recognition, and he bounded down the stairs and over to them. "Tim!"

Very slowly the teen raised his head, and as Dick moved closer his heart dropped into his stomach. Tim looked pale, his expression dazed. His entire chest and hands were covered in blood. It didn't matter that Tim had attacked him a few hours earlier, it didn't matter that Tim had been siding with a criminal for months. None of it mattered more than how Dick's hands flew to Tim's shoulders as he looked him over, fear spreading through him faster than his mind could keep up with. "What happened?"

Tim blinked, looking down at himself as if he'd forgotten that he was drenched in red. It took him a few long seconds to process exactly what Dick asked, and to realize that he had to give an answer. His voice came out drained. "It's not mine...I'm fine."

Dick took a deep breath, trying to slow himself down. Sure enough, upon closer inspection, there weren't any tears in his suit, no gaping wound. Tim didn't appear to have any injuries other than probable bruising underneath the suit. Dick used another stretch of silence to try and gather himself together. He didn't want his agitation upsetting Tim any further, as it was obvious something had deeply affected the teen. Dick was relieved that he was here, and that he wasn't physically hurt, but that only brought him more questions. He looked at Tim, concerned. "Whose is it?"

"Red Hood," Tim answered quietly. "Harkness got him."

The waver in Tim's voice gave away the turmoil that Dick suspected had the teen so shaken. He pressed his lips together, his brow creasing. As much as he didn't know why Tim cared for the Red Hood, why he'd been protecting him all this time, he knew that the teen had reasons. Tim didn't do anything without a reason. To see him hurting over this only filled Dick with more worry. "Is he…?"

"No. I don't think so. He's upstairs," Tim said, swallowing hard. "Bruce is with him. Alfred said they're doing what they can."

It must have been a horrific sight to send Tim into such a state. Normally Tim handled these situations well, but Dick couldn't remember the last time he'd taken someone getting injured so badly. He suspected the teen hadn't reacted in such a way since his father died, but even then that was a different reaction. Tim looked like a ghost of himself, empty and exhausted. He didn't have the strength to be frantic. But it was evident by the gleam in his eyes that underneath the tiredness his emotions were roaring right below the surface.

Dick nodded slowly, looking Tim over and settling his concerned gaze on the teen's face again. "Are you alright?"

Tim just shrugged, shaking his head a little. He couldn't seem to answer that question with words, and Dick didn't want to push him. This was Tim in a fragile state, balancing on a thin line and trying to hold together what little of himself was left. Dick didn't want to keep pestering him either, but there was so much missing information on his end that he needed to know.

"I know Red Hood is here," Dick said carefully, "but why?"

"Because he's not a criminal that you can send to a hospital and then have them shipped to Blackgate or Arkham," Tim said, staring at the ground. His voice didn't have the defensive tone that Dick expected. He was just talking facts, telling Dick the way that things were. "He's not like Harkness or the Joker."

"Tim..." Dick squeezed his hands on the teen's shoulders, trying to ground him. Even when they were at this point, Tim was still trying to keep the secret. He'd bottle it up and danced around the question, still holding the Red Hood's identity tightly in his grasp, unwilling to let it go. "I know you've been keeping this a secret for a long time. But...who is Red Hood? Why are you defending him so much? I'm not asking you to betray him. I just want to understand."

At first, there was no response. Then Tim slowly raised his head and looked at Dick. His expression betrayed nothing less than conflict, a battle between loyalties. Then something gave way-his expression softened into simply pain and sadness. "Jason. The Red Hood is Jason Todd."

It didn't connect at first, as if a mental block kicked in to try and keep Dick from understanding, to keep the pain away. Dick stared at Tim, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Then the words sank in, phasing through the block that tried to keep him from feeling, and Dick's stomach twisted, horrific realization as every piece of the puzzle started to click together. "What? But that's…"

Impossible. But it wasn't, not really. Dick couldn't quite believe it either way. Not Jason, the petulant, arrogant boy that took up the mantle after Dick left. Not Jason, the boy that Dick had struggled to connect with, who he often found himself at odds with due to his issues with Bruce. Not Jason, the boy who had died when Dick wasn't around, whose death broke Dick down to tears in front of his teammates and tore open old and new wounds of regret inside of him. It couldn't be him.

But there was only one Jason Todd, and only one that mattered to each of them.

Dick looked at Tim, meeting the teen's gaze. Tim's eyes narrowed, but not with anger. If anything, they were filled with uncertainty and unspoken agony and guilt. Of course he'd feel guilty, but the guilt was two fold: he'd not only given up the Red Hood's secret, but he'd caused Dick pain with the answer as well. Dick's shoulders dropped as he shook his head, taking another deep breath. "Right. Okay. It's Jason."

The name was strange on his tongue. It had been a long time since Dick had said it out loud-since he referenced Jason in the present tense. He looked to Tim sympathetically. "I'm really not trying to interrogate you."

"It's okay," Tim said. He didn't seem bothered by it, and Dick supposed he must have expected the questions.

Dick told himself he'd give Tim a break from them soon. He gave Tim's shoulders a squeeze, "Can you tell me what happened after you left the GCPD?"

He left it open for Tim to choose if he wanted to talk or not. The teen considered it for a moment, clearly deciding if he had the will to do so. Then Tim started to recount the night slowly, as if struggling to recall all the details. Dick listened patiently, paying attention to not only the words, but Tim's reaction as he said them. He continued speaking, his eyes on the floor, until he reached the point of Jason getting hit with the boomerang. Suddenly Tim stopped speaking, his eyes shining.

It was hard for Dick to watch Tim suffer-especially when there was nothing that he could do. Dick reached his arms around Tim and hugged him tightly, waiting to see if Tim pulled away. He didn't, instead leaning into Dick but keeping his arms down weakly. Tim's shoulders shook, and while Dick couldn't hear exactly what he was saying, he swore he heard him mutter, "Not again."

No wonder it was bothering him so much. Tim had already dealt with Harkness killing his father. The last thing he needed was for Jason to be murdered the same way. The first time was traumatizing enough, for both of them. All of the details told Dick just why Tim was feeling this so deeply-why Bruce had called them back urgently.

"This isn't your fault, alright?" Dick talked to him softly, trying to keep his voice soothing. He brought up one hand and ran it through Tim's dark hair. "Harkness was the one that hurt Jason, not you."

"But…"

"No more playing the blame game," Dick said. "What happened, happened. Jason had his guard down. Bruce wasn't paying attention either. It's a lot bigger than just your role. Believe me, this is something that could happen on any mission, to any of us."

Slowly Tim nodded, and Dick pulled back and looked at the teen. He offered a gentle, half-hearted smile. It didn't have his usual warmth and Dick knew it, but it was all he could manage. "I think we both have some explaining to do. Go get cleaned up and changed and we'll talk, alright?"

It took a moment for that to click, and then Tim nodded once more. He pushed himself off the table and stood there, as if trying to remember how to walk. Dick gave him a gentle nudge and the teen walked forwards, his footsteps echoing against the cave walls. Once he'd gone Dick leaned over, his elbows against the table as he buried his face in his hands. This was all so much to handle at once, and normally Dick could take it all in.

But even Dick had his limit, and when it came to his family, they often pushed him over it.

"Grayson."

Dick lifted his head to find Damian standing next to him. He wasn't sure if the boy had purposely snuck in or if Dick just hadn't heard him approach. Damian stood there, arms crossed. "Pennyworth says that Hood is here and stabilized from an injury. They expect him to live."

"Good," Dick said with a sigh, rubbing his face. That was at least one weight off of their collective shoulders. Dick didn't know if he could take it if there were worse news.

Damian regarded him with curiosity, his inquisitive nature leading him to continue, "Pennyworth seems shaken, very unlike him. Is there something I should know?"

There was a lot Damian probably needed to know. But Dick was on a time limit, and he could only focus on one crisis at a time. Right now, he needed to address Tim. He turned towards the boy, putting his hands on Damian's shoulders. Dick wondered if he was doing it this time to ground himself rather than someone else. "Damian, I need your help."

Damian raised an unconvinced eyebrow. "With?"

"Remember that Robin? The one that didn't come back?" They'd touched on it, Dick remembered. But Damian hadn't asked, so they'd never talked about it further. "That's the Red Hood."

Damian's eyes narrowed. "Another Robin?"

"Not Robin anymore," Dick said. He wasn't surprised that Damian was less impressed about Jason being alive. With his grandfather constantly restoring his body to a younger state, death and rebirth must have seemed less surprising to him.

"I need you to help Alfred, alright? He might try to hide it, but this is going to be a lot for him. I've got to talk to Tim and figure out everything that happened. Then I'll tell you everything," Dick said, looking to Damian hopefully. "Can you do that for me?"

Damian looked at him, seeming to think over the position carefully. As much as Dick was doing his best to act strong, he knew it wasn't coming out as much as he wanted. For all of Damian's challenges, Dick knew the boy's observing skills were sharp. And with the way he was looking at Dick, he could tell that the man really needed him to do this. He glanced to the side, "I suppose."

"Thank you," Dick answered, giving him half of a smile. "Get out of that suit, too. We won't be going out for a while."

To his credit, Damian didn't protest. He headed back from where he'd came, and Dick took a few minutes to settle his mind. There was so much swirling in his head, so many directions that he was being pulled in. Jason was alive, Bruce was most likely a wreck, Damian was thrown into this mess with no one and Tim…

One crisis at a time. Dick dragged his hands over his face, rubbing his temples. He was only one person, which meant he could only handle each of them one by one. With all of this going on and overlapping, Dick needed to find a focal point. He breathed in again, exhaled slowly. His first priority was Tim. The rest would fall into line.

But even before he did that, he needed to get situated. Dick pulled off his domino mask and rubbed his eyes as he headed to the back of the cave. He needed to get changed too, especially now that the front of his suit was thinly coated with blood from Tim's suit. Dick tried not to think about the fact that it was Jason's blood, pushing the thought away. He peeled off the Nightwing suit, paused, and then tossed it over his shoulder. A shower would do him some good, and he doubted that Tim was in a rush.

Dick still made it quick, letting the warm water relax his nerves. He lingered for a couple minutes at the end, and then shut off the water before the shower gave his mind the chance to wander and dwell again. He opted for a T-shirt and sweatpants, drying his hair with the towel and then tossing it into the pile with his suit. He'd take care of all of it later, if Alfred didn't get to it first. Then he headed back into the main portion of the cave. Sure enough Tim sat in his place on the table again, his hair damp from his shower.

Dick pulled up a chair and took a seat in front of Tim, not minding that he now had to tilt his head up to look at Tim. He leaned back, stretching out to try and get comfortable. Tim looked at him, seeming more alert. The color had returned to his face and his blue eyes were no longer glassy. Even still, he didn't speak right away. Dick figured he'd have to be the one to prompt Tim to talking. He crossed his arms leisurely, tipping his head at Tim. "So, where have you been all this time?"

They each told their stories then, Tim going first. He filled Dick in on everything-from the moment the Joker caught him to the unfinished details of hauling Jason back to the manor. Dick took his turn, Tim giving him the same quiet respect. He told the teen about how Damian had come into their lives and how everything became much more complicated from there. The whole time Tim listened, nodding along, taking in every detail.

When Dick finished he ran a hand through his hair. "And that's how we ended up here. Crazy, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Tim said, leaning forwards with his hands gripping the edge of the table. "So no one gave Damian the Robin title. At first."

"No one really gave it to him at all," Dick admitted. "It was just how everything played out. We never wanted to replace you, Tim. We were out looking for you day and night."

Tim nodded, considering it. "You never gave up."

"Not once," Dick promised. They'd never given up on him, even when he was actively avoiding them. The entire time, they'd hoped he'd appear and they could work through their issues. Dick never liked being on opposing ends with his family, and being at odds with Tim had felt completely wrong. Tim might have healed Bruce, but he'd also been a pillar for Dick, too. He leaned forwards, propping his crossed arms on his legs as he looked up at Tim. "We all made mistakes and I'm sorry that you were hurt so badly. But I don't hate you, Tim. None of us do. We just wanted you back."

"I don't hate you either," Tim said quietly. "I missed you guys, too."

Dick gave half a smile. The divide between them was gone, thankfully. They were on their way back to the way they'd used to be, and that gave Dick the feeling that it would all be okay, eventually. "Alfred said Jason's going to be alright. Told you he was a fighter."

Tim visibly relaxed, his shoulders sinking, some of the tension leaving him. "Trust me, I've learned."

Dick chuckled. It was strange to hear Tim say it, to know that Jason wasn't just a subject or predecessor to the teen anymore. From what he could tell, Jason had changed somewhat, but he was still the person that Dick had known. And now that Dick didn't have his issues with Bruce clouding over his judgment, he could understand him better. Maybe he'd get the chance to mend those regrets, even if it was only partially.

If Jason would ever be willing, Dick reminded himself.

This time Dick caught quiet footsteps as they approached. Both he and Tim turned towards them as Damian walked over, changed into regular clothes as well. He looked between each of them before giving Dick a look, the kind that told him he needed to take control before things either became tense or awkward. Though, Dick thought as he stood up, it would probably be awkward either way, considering the circumstances.

"This is a little pointless because you've already met," Dick said, "but not formally. Tim, this is Damian. Damian, this is Tim."

"Drake," Damian answered, looking him over. The look on his face wasn't quite distaste, but the boy was clearly sizing up the other. Knowing Damian, Dick suspected he wanted nothing more than to believe that Tim wasn't someone that could stand against him. But Tim had proved that he was a force to be reckoned with. No matter what Damian decided, the boy knew that Tim wasn't someone he could walk all over.

Tim regarded him silently, but Dick appreciated the fact that it wasn't nearly as cold as he expected. At least he was trying to be civil, which was never easy when it came to Damian. Finally Tim asked, "How's Robin treating you?"

"Fine," Damian said, unwilling to budge from his stubbornness. Dick watched how Damian tensed, a defensive wall rising at the comment. Damian despised being questioned, and now that he was facing the former Robin, Dick wondered if Damian felt unstable with the role. He couldn't know for sure, but Dick had been around Damian long enough to guess that he was right.

"You have some pretty big shoes to fill," Tim continued, unaffected by Damian's defensiveness. "It won't be easy to live up to the legacy."

"Please," Damian said, eyes narrowing. "I could beat you if I wanted to."

"Only if I'm not trying," Tim replied and then shrugged. "I guess you'll just have to prove me wrong. But fair warning, I'm rarely wrong."

"Tt," Damian said. "You'll see. I'm more capable than you believe."

"I hope you can show me that," Tim answered. Even though it wasn't the friendliest that the teen could be, Dick suspected it was a genuine response. Leave it to Tim to want to make sure that the Robin mantle was in good hands. Despite how things had worked out, Tim wasn't trying to desperately take it back. No, Tim had outgrown Robin and he recognized that. Now it was about moving on and paving the way for the future-one without being at each other's throats. A faint smile slid onto Dick's face.

It wasn't perfect, but it was a start.

It had been a long seventy-two hours, and Bruce still wasn't sure he'd fully processed all of it.

He sat in a chair in Jason's old room, his chin resting on his hands, elbows digging into the arm rests. Lying in the bed in front of him was Jason, breathing slowly. He hadn't yet woken, still unconscious since the fight. Alfred warned Bruce that there was no telling how long he'd be asleep, especially with the medications that they'd given through his IV. But Bruce didn't care. He intended to keep watch for as long as he could.

It didn't matter how many times he looked at Jason, the shock still hadn't worn off. There was his son, the boy whose body he'd pulled from the rubble and cradled, begging the cosmos for him to open his eyes. The boy full of snark and sarcasm, defiance and anger—he was the boy that, for all his struggles, strived to do what he believed was right for the innocent. That boy had shattered Bruce's heart and left a part of him irreparable.

And he was alive.

Older, sure, Bruce had noticed. He wasn't the kid that had tried to steal the wheels off the Batmobile anymore. He didn't know how he hadn't put the pieces together sooner. Sure, the subtle hints that Hood had dropped had never left his mind. He didn't know how anyone could have known those details. But he'd never considered that it was Jason. He wouldn't have believed it either, except for when he pulled off the helmet and looked at Bruce with those piercing blue eyes. Bruce had never forgotten them, and they still held that fierceness that marked Jason everywhere he went. It was unmistakably his son and no one else.

How long had he been alive? How long had he gone without telling Bruce that he was here? And what had happened to him? Bruce didn't know any of the answers, but the questions and their implications plagued him. Jason had been alive without him knowing. Bruce had many regrets, and he was only adding more to the list.

The bedroom door opened, breaking Bruce out of his thoughts. He expected it to be Alfred or Dick coming to see if there had been any change. Instead Tim slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. Not much was able to become the source of his focus at the moment, but Tim was one person that could merge into that scope of thought. Bruce dropped his hands and sat up, "Hello, Tim."

Tim approached with a nod, taking a seat in a chair a few feet away from his own. He'd gotten cleaned up and changed, thankfully. He'd hated to leave Tim standing there drenched in blood, but the teen made no move to follow after they'd gotten Jason back here. It was like he couldn't bring himself to do it. Some of the night must have sunk in, since he appeared to be better. The teen looked over at Jason's sleeping form, taking in the sight of him. "How is he?"

"Stable," Bruce answered. "His suit material absorbed a good amount of the impact. He should make a full recovery."

The teen accepted the response quietly, sitting back in the chair. He spoke while still looking at Jason, his voice quiet. "Dick told me everything."

Admittedly, Bruce was relieved. He wasn't good with talking to begin with, and he didn't know how he could properly recount the toll the entire situation had taken on him. He was certain it hadn't been easy for Dick, but his eldest had pulled through once again. Bruce looked to Tim, "Did you know it was him the whole time?"

"Not at first," Tim answered. "I figured it out quick though."

Bruce blew out a small, amused laugh. "I'd expect nothing less."

The corner of Tim's mouth turned upwards at the comment. "It was why I stayed with him. At first I just wanted to know if he was a threat to everyone since he knew so much. Then once I knew who he was, the mission felt a lot bigger than that."

"You used your judgment," Bruce said. "I think it was the right call."

He knew Tim wouldn't have done this without reason. Before he'd been endlessly troubled as to why the teen stayed with the Red Hood, why he had never left a message to explain that he was alright. Now, Bruce understood. Tim had a plan all along, and even though it altered and turned into something entirely different, he went in with an intent. And now that he knew who the man behind the red helmet really was, it was easier for Bruce to accept.

There were still unspoken topics between them, uncomfortable truths that hung in the air. Bruce shifted in his chair, looking away from Tim. He knew they needed to talk about them, even if they were difficult. "About Robin…"

"I'm not gonna ask for it back. Bruce," Tim answered. His voice was tired, accepting. "I don't think I could take it back now even if I wanted it. I've changed too much."

Another weight fell off of Bruce, relieving some of the pressure. Tim had grown from the child that approached him and insisted he needed a Robin. It hadn't taken long for him to grow, either. Once Bruce had given him the tools and the training, Tim took it into his hands, molded it, and grew. He was always Robin, but Bruce knew that one day he would move on and do bigger things, that he only needed a starting point. Tim had surpassed the starting threshold. And whether it was too soon or not, he knew that the teen would adapt. He already had.

"Everyone outgrows it, eventually," Bruce said. "Even when it's hard to let go."

He looked to Tim, "I think you can do great things as Red Robin. I always knew that when you went out on your own, you'd be able to handle yourself. I never worried."

Tim raised his eyebrows. "Never?"

"There's always some worry," Bruce assured. "But it's more of the worry of something happening to you in the field than you managing a solo career."

"Well, not entirely solo," Tim admitted. "We'll always work together."

He was right, after all. Their clan was a network, and no matter where they went and who they became, they were always in touch. None of them could ever work entirely alone, as there was always someone around to lend a hand, or an operation that required all of their efforts. Bruce agreed, "That we will."

Tim smiled weakly and looked back to Jason, "When he wakes up, don't be too hard on him. I know what he did was wrong, but…"

"There has always been more to Jason than just doing something wrong," Bruce said. He knew that Tim probably feared he'd be furious, knowing Jason was out there killing and breaking the code. As much as that bothered him, it wasn't the first issue on Bruce's mind. Bruce didn't have the desire to send Jason away, to push him away. They would deal with the issues of his actions, certainly. But what Bruce wanted most was simply to understand what had happened, to reconnect.

"He was hurt," Tim said. "He won't admit it, not entirely. But he'd thought that you'd forgotten him. That you didn't care."

Not care? Bruce couldn't imagine a scenario where that would have been true. He put Joker in a body cast for six months and nearly killed him after Jason died. He'd spiralled into a fit of rage and violence so deep that it took Tim a long while to pull him out of it. Bruce had suffered and grieved, and he'd never truly stopped grieving. Every time he walked by the memorial case, he remembered. He wouldn't ever let himself forget his mistakes.

"I know that wasn't the case," Tim continued. "But hurt drives people to do terrible things. I know first hand. But that's not who he is. Not really. He may have a darker way of dealing with things, but he's not terrible. I don't even really see him as a criminal."

"No, he's never been a criminal," Bruce said, looking over at the sleeping form in the bed. Maybe by definition Jason was a criminal-he broke the law on numerous occasions for sure. But although he could act like them, deep down Bruce knew he didn't have the same view as them. "Jason always wanted to protect people, even when his actions were violent. I saw that good in him. It's why I gave him Robin. He needed a way to channel his frustration as well as the good. He needed to see a path where he could do something meaningful instead of following the path to prison."

He turned back to Tim, "I may not agree with his methods, but I know why he's doing it."

"So you're not going to punish him for it?" Tim looked uneasy, clearly worried about the impending conversation. One wrong word and it would certainly ruin any chance of Jason wanting to talk-at least for a while.

"There is a lot the two of us need to talk about," Bruce said, "but I'm not running him out of Gotham. I failed him once. I don't want to fail him again."

Bruce stood up and went over to Tim, placing a hand on his shoulder. "And I don't want to fail you again, either."

Tim looked up at him, the shadows concealing his face. But his eyes shone brightly, all of the coldness that he'd carried melting away. Tim stood up and wrapped his arms tightly around Bruce, an embrace so tight that Bruce wondered if the teen ever intended to let go. But it brought him back to reality and let the truth sink in: he had Tim back. Bruce held onto the teen, returning the hug, and for the first time in a long time, felt a flicker of hope.

He'd get them all back, one son at a time.