Let me apologize for the delay. December started off so well. Full of love and laughter and opportunities to be with family. Then on the 30th of Dec. my grandmother, who has always been nothing but healthy and mobile, passed away quite suddenly. I was with her, along with my mother, her other granddaughter and my bonus dad. She died in the ambulance but it all went down in my living room. It sucked ass. Then just a day after the funeral, my aunt was hospitalized with multi-lobar pneumonia and strep in her blood. Couple days later we found out my grandma's younger brother was going to lose a portion of his hand due to blood poisoning from a sliver. It's been a very stressful month and all I can say is if you have the chance, spend as much time as possible with the ones you love. Just do it. Be bored, be annoyed, but be present. Anyhow...on to the story...


March 13th

Gotham General: Harvey's Room

1821hrs

Harvey looked up at the news station playing on the hospital television and frowned. It hung above the door, a rather precarious place for it be in Harvey's opinion, but it did have the best vantage point for a bedridden patient. Still, Harvey wished the Kid would watch anything but the news. It had only been three days since the showdown with Black Mask and JT was still healing, too. The kid was coming to grips with some major shake-ups and honestly, Harvey wasn't sure how JT was going to be able to keep it all together.

Especially as he watched JT's teal blue eyes stare guiltily at the scene before them. He wondered if it was because he missed the news last night, if it was because he hadn't known about the twins until a few minutes ago.

There was a live press conference held by the family of those boys who'd been murdered by the Joker. The victims had been fourteen-year-old, identical twins. They were the youngest of a prominent Gotham family known for their charity work.

A tall man with more salt than pepper in his brown hair approached the podium filled with microphones. Subtitles named him Joseph Everly, father of the deceased. Harvey's breath hitched as he watched JT stare with wide, terrified eyes. His stomach turned at the sight and he wanted so badly to tell the younger to shut it off, but Harv knew better. The tortured soul beside him wanted to be punished. He wanted to be filled with shame and anger. He wanted some kind of fuel to reignite his wrathful heart.

"My sons were good boys," Mr. Everly choked, pulling Harvey's eyes back to the television. "They were loving and compassionate with truly altruistic spirits. They didn't deserve their end. They didn't deserve to watch each other die!" The father paused, his puffy face red and tracked with tears. "Why were they targeted? Why did Joker choose them? Ch-choose any child?" Again, Joseph Everly sobbed, but continued through his agonized tirade. "This sickness is spreading, and I don't… I don't understand why this Red Hood hasn't killed my sons' murderer!"

Suffering, bloodshot eyes looked into the camera and at Harvey and JT. "Do my boys require masks to be avenged? Were they not good enough? Why didn't you kill Joker, Red Hood? Why aren't my sons worth your bloody signs? Why aren't you out there tearing this monster apart?" The man's voice rose in volume and Harvey was frozen by Mr. Everly's grief. "Are you scared? Are you?"

One of the family members stepped forward and pulled the broken father away from the podium. The former speaker openly sobbed as his wife embraced him in a tight hug. The man who pulled Joseph away returned to the podium and took over, laying out a slightly crumpled paper with a prepared speech or notes. The subtitles immediately came up proclaiming him the eldest brother of the deceased, Daniel Everly.

"Gotham Police, guardians of Gotham," Daniel called as several tears ran from his eyes. "My family and I are begging you. Any of you. Please, please stop this from happening again. Don't let Joker claim even one more victim. Please. Please capture him. Put an end to our suffering."

Harvey forced his eyes away from the Everlys and to JT who was sat on the edge of the recliner. He was hunched forward, his body trembling as tears ran down his cheeks unchecked. Never, had Harvey seen JT look so miserable. He was pale and his body lacked any tension, like he was deflating right in front of Harvey. He was suddenly afraid for the boy. Afraid of and also for his state of mind. Would he be okay? What was it about the Joker that wrecked so much havoc within his psyche?

He'd never personally witnessed The Red Hood in action, but he'd damned sure seen JT stand fearlessly before those who wanted nothing more than to destroy him. He knew that as The Red Hood he'd taken down criminal after criminal. Small time, big time, heavy hitters, and monsters. Not once had Bennet flinched in or out of the mask. What was he missing? What was it about that clown that nearly paralyzed the Kid?

"JT?" He called softly, afraid of alarming him.

Wiping away the remnants of his tears, JT got to his feet and slowly turned to face him. "I need to go for a walk."

"Kid, I don't think that's a good idea." And he didn't. JT looked…out of it. Harvey wasn't sure that JT was all there at the moment. "How many bounties did that red head say there were?" No. He couldn't let that happen. "You need to stay here."

"Not happening." JT shook his head and grabbed his coat.

"JT!"

The kid whirled on him, suddenly standing in his face, his eyes mean and furious. "I am not your kid. I am not your brother, your lover, or your son. Back. The fuck. Off!"

Harvey was so surprised by the intensity of the boy's anger that he couldn't speak as JT left the room. The door slammed so hard and created such a clatter that Harvey was sure hospital security would be alerted. He stared at the empty space JT had taken up and frowned.

"What the Hell was that?" A Pendleton body guard named Jackson asked as he came into the room. "Where did he go?"

"He lost it," Harvey answered. He couldn't get into much detail, nothing that would give the kid away, but at the same time, Harvey wanted the guards to find JT before he left the hospital. "He took off, said he needed to go for a walk."

The black man's shoulders tightened. "Don't you worry, Detective Bullock, we won't let your boyfriend out of the hospital without an escort." But even as the words left his mouth, Harvey could tell the man doubted it as much as he did. He could tell by the way his mouth grimaced and his eyes cut to the left.

"Yeah, of course." Harvey nodded, feeling his stomach knot up at the thought of JT alone in Gotham. The question was, who did he fear more for? Gotham or JT Bennet.


The Bat Cave

2032hrs

Bruce squeezed the bridge of his nose. He sat before the large screen of his computer. It was drafty, but then, it was also a cave. Draftiness was to be expected. He ignored the chilly bite around him and looked up at the faces on his screen. Joker's was in the top right corner, Slade Wilson in the top left corner, Ra's al Ghul was in the bottom left corner, Dick's picture was on the bottom right corner. In the center was a photo of Jason Todd age 15 beside a picture of JT Bennet from a few weeks ago.

Ultimately, it might seem that Ra's and Slade were top priorities, but really, they were just a mental note. There was no sense in getting involved with either man any more than necessary. Slade in particular. If and when the man became a problem, Bruce would deal with him, but until then, he'd focus on his work. It was impossible to beat Deathstroke in a game only he had the rules to.

Dick was on his screen because Bruce was concerned about him. He was worried about his son's state since discovering the man he'd been sleeping with and dating was in fact someone he'd once thought of as a sibling. Dick was usually an easy going, laid back kind of guy outside of his costume, but anyone who forgot that the boy had a temper to rival Bruce's own deserved what they got.

But that temper didn't always work the same way Jason's did. Dick's foul temper didn't push him to be stronger or better, it crippled him. Dick became stubborn and reckless. For all his intelligence, the first Robin would become sloppy and easily distracted. He held grudges and pushed people away from him when he was angry. He became a target because he refused to ask for help or acknowledge he was in any kind of trouble when he was mad.

Of course, there was Joker, too. The madman wasn't getting out of hand. He'd always been out of hand. Very rarely was the clown anything but dangerous. Every now and again the pranks and crimes would be harmless but those were always just warm ups, and indications of far deadlier games on the horizon.

The murdered teens were unexpected and yet, with hindsight on his side, Bruce understood completely. Jason had been thrown wholly off his game. The boy had nearly broken character in the diner. It was easily one of the most tragic things Bruce had witnessed. But it wasn't done to get The Red Hood killed. It wasn't done out of revenge. It was done to provoke something in The Red Hood.

Wasn't it?

There was no doubt in Bruce's mind that Joker hadn't truly cared for Harley. That she was his favorite toy was unquestionable, but Joker didn't have the ability to empathize enough to love or care for someone. Obsess over, lust after, and control? Absolutely. And Bruce knew for a fact that Joker had every intention of avenging Harley Quinn, but something had happened before he could make good on those plans.

Something had given The Red Hood away as the very Robin that Joker had murdered. But what?

What had revealed Jason to the clown? He'd expected the two to fight with Joker slightly insulted and mostly flattered that someone had taken up one of his original aliases. But eventually, as with all the other "capes" or vigilantes in Gotham, Joker would grow bored and get back to focusing on making Batman flinch.

Bruce's eyes narrowed as he frowned and stared up at the photos of Jason and Joker. Then they widened as he thought about the possibility. No. It couldn't be. Could it? And yet, it made perfect sense. Once The Red Hood was revealed to Joker as Robin the 2nd, that meant he was revealed as a connection to Batman and that meant something far worse was being set up by the clown.

This game Joker was setting up wasn't about killing The Red Hood or even Batman. It was something so much worse. Something –

A red flashing screen popped up with a live feed of what was thought to be an intruder on Wayne property. He frowned as he stared at the young man who wandered aimlessly toward a few rows of marble stones surrounded by a three-foot, black wrought-iron fence. Bruce closed his eyes and shook his head. He had to be seeing things.

He looked again.

No.

Jason Peter Todd had stumbled into the Wayne cemetery and took a seat, leaning against his own headstone. The image turned Bruce's stomach. Jason looked…out of it. Not high, but not in his right mind. His eyes appeared unfocused, the lids were swollen. He had moved like a zombie, as if he was struggling to be alive. Bruce could not and would not leave an unstable Jason to his own devices. What could he mean sitting in the cemetery like that?

Surely he wasn't going to harm himself?

A new, unknown fury swam through Bruce's veins. He'd worried about many things with his boys, but suicide had never been one. And that Joker had brought this new fear to him? He might not ever kill the clown, but that didn't mean he couldn't make every breath Joker took filled with excruciating pain.

He rose from his seat only to see Alfred looking up at the large screen with the same worry and fear in his aging eyes. "Master Bruce, what are you going to do? Surely you aren't recovered enough to take him on?"

"I can't leave him out there, Alfred," Bruce answered.

"And after you bring him inside?" Alfred pressed on. "If you can even bring him inside?"

"That's up to him," He answered with a bit of doubt. "But I can't just let him think I'm going to let him leave, either. Though, to be honest, I don't know that I can make him stay right now." He sighed heavily, avoiding Alfred's gaze. "For the first time in many, many years, Alfred I don't know what I should do. He's dangerous and he's likely dangerous to me in particular right now."

Alfred didn't disagree, which might have hurt if Bruce hadn't really believed what he'd said. Jason hated him. Had every right to, in fact. He hadn't been able to rescue Jason from Joker. The one and only time Jason needed him, truly needed Batman, and Bruce hadn't gotten to him in time. He failed Jason and the consequences of that failure seemed never ending.

"He'd only be dangerous to you if you tried to restrain him," Alfred amended.

"Alfred," he started, but shook his head.

"No, it's true." His dearest friend insisted. "He's had how many opportunities to not only do serious damage, but to kill you if he wanted."

"I'm aware."

"So why hasn't he?" Bruce blinked at Alfred's question before following the older man's eyes to Jason on the screen, trembling and seemingly mumbling to himself. "Look at him, Sir. He's a frightened child, lost in the torrents of his broken mind. He does needs you, but only if you try to be calm and patient."

"He's still dangerous, Alfred. He's unstable and no amount of love or nurturing is going to fix that right away," Bruce pointed out. "Over time, yes. But I don't think I'll be granted much of that when I go out there. Do you?"

"I suppose not," there was a pause as Bruce started to head up the stair case. "Make sure you are prepared for anything, Sir."

"I am, and I will be," Bruce promised.

Neither Bruce nor Batman had succeeded with Jason. He could accept that he had failed Jason as a parent when he hadn't tried to support the boy. Or as a guardian when he hadn't kept a closer eye on the boy's activities and the people he'd been speaking to. But his greatest failure with Jason had come as Batman.

Because of those failures and thanks to his own instincts, Bruce wasn't walking into that cemetery blind. He was aware that Jason would absolutely try to harm him, and he was prepared to do what ever necessary to prevent either of them from being badly hurt. Even if he didn't know the end game, Bruce knew he had to confront him.

He grabbed a thick warm robe to wrap around his pajama clothed body, slipped on his rubber soled slippers and headed out into the night; armed with a weapon he sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to use.


Wayne Manor's Cemetery

2110hrs

Jason sat on the slick, cold ground, his knees pulled to his chest, tightly. His back was pressed firmly against the unmoving, solid stone. He brought the cigarette to his lips and breathed in deeply, focusing on the expanding burn in his lungs, before releasing it in a plume of grey smoke against the darkened sky. He shivered. The chilly air was biting at his nose and gloved fingers in particular.

His thoughts were a jumble and while he wanted to be there personally to keep an eye on Harvey, he just couldn't face the man, especially after the way he'd snapped at him. Then again, he couldn't face anyone. When the news about those twin boys came out that evening, he'd expected rage and wrath to overwhelm him again, but he wasn't Red.

He was on the melancholy side of numb and every now and again it lanced into terror and despair.

He'd been so sure he could hunt down and kill the Joker when this first began. He'd killed numerous other monsters since. But the clown's newest targets? They paralyzed him. Kept his wrath entombed in fear, guilt and misery. The green haired man with grease paint all over his creepy face was smarter than he was often given credit for. Joker had to have known these specific targets would drag Jason's mind kicking and screaming back to the trauma of that night.

The surviving family? They'd been on the news during the evening's newscast. They demanded to know why the Clown still stalked the streets. Why the Red Hood hadn't killed Joker. The vigilante appeared to kill for Spoiler, so why not their sons or brothers? Why weren't they avenged?

Jason gritted his teeth and shook his head against the wave of guilt, but it was no use. He was responsible for everything! Had he just shot Joker instead of Harley it would all be over. Had he put that fucking clown down in stead of trying to get revenge, he would have saved at least three boys and who knew how many others that would surely follow.

He inhaled the night air sharply trying to ignore what he'd seen on TV. Had he really missed those initial reports about the murder of the twins? Or had he just been desperate to ignore them? He felt disillusioned by his lack of a reaction, by the way he froze up and paled. He wasn't supposed to be a coward. He was the fucking Red Hood! He wasn't supposed to let this continue! That was one of his biggest reasons for returning to Gotham. To kill the men and women that Batman was too afraid to kill.

Red my ass. More like fucking yellow.

He looked up at the sound of Black Mask's voice.

No one.

Snuffed out by a boobing little bitch. The disembodied voice of his most recent victim was harsh but felt as real as if Roman Sionis was sitting beside him.

He shivered as a taunting, low cackle resonated all around him.

"Oh God," He shook his head and dropping the cigarette, pressed his gloved hands to his ears. "Not right now, Jason. Not right now."

High pitched laughter pealed all around him as his body spasmed at the awful cracks of bone breaking, of flesh tearing. That terrible metal slapping against skin that at least three more boys had suffered alongside him. He flinched and closed his eyes tight, trying to banish the memories.

Jason, enough. Bruce's voice interrupted. Look at me, Son. Look at me.

Teary eyed and trembling, Jason forced himself to look up. His heart nearly stopped at the sight of Bruce Wayne. The voice wasn't in his head. The big man was crouched down in front of him, his cold eyes filled with concern. Bruce was wrapped tightly in a big black wool coat and what looked like silk pajamas of a similar shade.

God, how late was it? It had been a littler after six when he wandered away from the hospital…Away from a day that had actually started out pretty well before he'd turned the news on. A day where he'd made peace with a rival he never thought much of…

"Jason, look at me." A strong hand reached out and grabbed the top of his shoulder. Jason was almost sure he already had been looking at him, but then maybe he wasn't. He didn't actually know. "Jason?"

"Why didn't you kill him?" He shivered against the cold, his eyes finding Bruce's, begging for the answer.

"Jason, I…" The hand never moved, but the grip certainly tightened. Jason knew Bruce wouldn't give him a good answer.

"Look at where we are, Bruce." Jason sniffled against the cold. "Just look."

Bruce's gaze moved about them, and Jason hated the sorrow he saw in that expression. Jason could feel how much this was haunting the older man, and yet he didn't care. Couldn't care. He was right this time, damn it. He was so fucking right. Maybe not the other times. Maybe not Hush, Deadshot, Two-Face, or whoever the fuck else, but Joker?

"He's not gonna stop, you know?" Jason sneered, mercifully feeling the flames of his anger ignite in response to the face of his disappointed, disappointing mentor. "Not until I'm right back here." He emphasized his point by knocking gloved knuckles against the frozen Earth beneath him. The now empty grave he'd once 'rested' in.

"I won't let that happen!" Bruce growled, the change in emotion and demeanor startling. "Ever."

Jason stared for a full thirty seconds before he snickered. "What are you gonna do about it, Bats? Joker doesn't stop until he gets what he wants and what he wants is…" He laughed softly, feeling manic and hysterical as he forced himself to his feet. He ignored that he'd essentially knocked Bruce away from him. He kept laughing as he grabbed at the sides of his head. "You know, I don't even know what he wants!"

As his former mentor looked up at him from the ground, he watched the 'all knowing' gaze widen just a fraction. "Yes, Jason, you do."

"No, I don't!" Jason snapped. "How could I? How could anyone know what that sick fuck wants?"

"But you do, Jason." Bruce got to his feet without any help and Jason was tempted to shove him back down. "He's in your head, Son, but you're in his, too. So, you tell me why Joker is doing this. It's not to kill you. If he'd wanted that, he'd be setting traps. He'd be luring you in. That's not what he's doing."

"Fuck you! It's because of you that he's even around!" Jason shouted, deflecting away from the pain of the accusation. "Why didn't you kill him?"

"Stop evading this, Jason," Bruce snapped. "You're in more danger than you realize!"

"Because of you! Because you can't kill one fucking homicidal clown!" He lunged, decking Bruce's jaw as hard as he could. The man tumbled back but kept to his feet. "WHY?!"

"Because it would have been wrong!" Bruce answered, making no move to defend himself or retaliate.

With another agonized bellow, Jason tackled the larger man. They both collided onto the frosty grass barely missing a few marble slabs, but Jason managed to stay atop him. He pinned Bruce down, striking him again and again. Ribs, face, whatever he could hit. "It was wrong to let him live!" He screamed after another punch. "It was wrong to let him keep killing!"

He moved to strike him again, but his wrist was caught in a vice-like grip. He tried hitting Bruce with his left hand, only for it too, to be caught. And in a move that Jason really should have seen coming, he found himself flipped so that he was the one on the ground and Bruce was the one straddling him.

Jason howled out the frustration of being unable to attack, tears streaming down his face as he glared hatefully into the eyes of the man who'd let him down most of all. His teeth were gritted tight but bared for the older to see. His whole body was both tense and shuddering and it felt miserably wonderful to feel anything at all. He held onto that hate, that rage, that sweet, sweet ire.

"I HATE YOU!" Jason shouted at top of his lungs at the man, wanting –no, needing to see that calm exterior crack. "I fucking hate you."

"I know." Bruce nodded and when Jason finally saw pain creep across those stoic blue eyes, he immediately regretted his words. "I know, Jason. Trust me. I know."

"Why? Just tell me why?" He sobbed, losing the will to fight in the face of Bruce's suffering. "Why didn't you kill him?"

"Because I was afraid to!" Bruce barked out, his voice strained and hoarse. "I was afraid of what I would do once he was dead. I was afraid of having all that hatred and that anger and yet having no one left to feel it toward. I was afraid of it passing on to the next criminal I faced. Afraid that I'd kill again, and again, and again until it was just muscle memory. I was afraid that I'd lose sight of why I'd broken that rule to begin with. That I'd lose who I was and why I am what I am."

Jason's heart raced even as his back felt numb from the frigid Earth beneath him. He was still so angry and so hurt and he didn't want to let go. But, wasn't that exactly what Bruce had just said, too? Bruce was scared he'd never want to let go of that fury or pain, that he'd focus it on people long after the one who had caused it was gone. Jason knew he was facing that struggle, he had been facing it for some time.

"You can be angry with me, Jason. You can even hate me if you must, but I won't let him take you from me ever again."

"I was never yours to begin with, let alone now!" Jason spat bitterly.

"Well, you're certainly not Joker's." Bruce replied and something about those words forced another shudder through Jason. "Do you hear me? You are not the Joker's?"

Jason cried again as he shook his head. "I don't want to be," he admitted. "I don't want to be crazy, I don't want…" He closed his eyes, so mortified by the weakness he was showing Bruce. "I'm not his…I won't ever be…Bruce…"

The weight of Bruce's body was lifted off Jason's chest and hips all at once. Jason felt isolated and alone. His pathetic feebleness had finally been enough to drive away – his body was suddenly pulled from the ground and then crushed in the tightest embrace he'd been in since he was a small teen. Jason wanted to shove Bruce away, but the little boy in him that had full control of his faculties and his body just wanted to be held. So, he wrapped his arms around the big man's torso and sobbed.

"I've got you, Jason," Bruce whispered softly as Jason felt a sharp prick in his side. "I've got you."


Alfred had been terrified to see Jason enter the family cemetery. He'd been afraid of what Jason was up to, especially considering he was in plain clothes. He knew the boy hadn't been stable, and with all the Joker had gotten away with, he was even more worried. But, to see Jason leaning against his own grave stone and chain smoking? He'd recognized it as a cry for help and while Alfred had been worried about Bruce's safety, he was relieved that he'd gone to retrieve their long-lost Robin.

Now the only question was what to do with Jason. Bruce surely wouldn't turn him in. Dick had been right, after all. Doing so would result in Jason's permanent imprisonment, if not execution. He'd killed several cops. He'd ambushed, plotted, and carried out assassinations of several people who as far as the law was concerned, were innocent. By all rights, Jason Todd or JT Bennet was either a contract killer or a serial killer.

New Arkham wasn't for Jason either. The institution couldn't diagnose what was wrong with Jason, let alone treat him for it. What he was suffering was debatable, and a misdiagnosis could make everything worse. Normally, Alfred would worry Jason would be vulnerable in either an asylum or prison, but he seriously doubted that after all Jason's training, that he'd be in either for very long.

"Is he alright?" Alfred asked softly as Bruce entered the kitchen.

"He's on the couch in the theatre room," Bruce informed him.

"That wasn't my question." He smirked as he pulled out a cheap metal tea kettle. "Did you sedate him?"

"I did." Bruce nodded. "He was… He was going to hurt himself."

"Or you," Alfred added, taking the pot to the kitchen sink. "And then he really might have hurt himself."

Something was bothering the man he'd helped to raise. No doubt Bruce felt guilty now that the danger had temporarily passed. Despite what so many supposed of him, Bruce Wayne wasn't nearly so heartless. As he'd told Dick, the man felt deeply.

"I couldn't take him to his room," Bruce frowned and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "I was afraid he'd feel imprisoned up there. Like I was trying to trap him."

"I think you made the right choice, Master Bruce." Alfred nodded as he moved the kettle over the gas range. He ignited the appropriate burner and then grabbed a couple of ceramic mugs. "Master Todd has always felt the exact opposite of what we would expect. If it were the other two young masters, I have no doubt they'd feel accepted and welcomed. With him…"

"He'd feel like I wanted him to be the child he was before he died," Bruce answered for him.

"Yes," Alfred smiled a little sadly. He hoped they were both doing right by Jason as he walked into the pantry. He returned within seconds to the mugs with two tea bags. "What are you planning on doing with him, Master Bruce?"

"Honestly, Alfred, there isn't much I can do at this point. We don't trust one another, and I am terrified of making the wrong choice with him." He admitted much to Alfred's obvious shock. He tried to busy himself to hide piqued brows, but he was boiling water. There wasn't much else to do. "When he wakes, I expect one of two possible reactions. He'll either be enraged that I drugged him, or he'll be embarrassed of his break down. Maybe even both."

Alfred didn't bother playing dumb. They both knew he watched the cameras, that he listened in on the events in the graveyard.

"A fatal flaw, that pride." He wasn't being cryptic, but he was being very 'Alfred'. Or so the boys called it. He knew Bruce wouldn't normally appreciate it, but he appeared rather receptive at the moment.

"Perhaps that why it's a considered one of the seven deadly sins," the younger suggested in all earnestness.

"Shouldn't we try to keep him here, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked, mostly because he couldn't stop himself. "If he's as unstable as you believe, he'll be killed out there."

"Whether we like it or not, Jason's not going to stick around until he feels safe with us and with my," Bruce flushed and Alfred knew he refused to speak of the tumor. "I just don't know that I can force anything on him."

He could see that Bruce was stressed and Alfred hated adding to it, but it felt wrong to just let the boy slip through their fingers when their whole goal for the past week had been to get him in the manor. Now they had him and Bruce was seriously contemplating letting him go. It frightened Alfred to think of the harm Jason could do.

"Alfred, he's his own man." Bruce frowned. "I know you're worried, but he's very dangerous and well-trained. If I try to exert my will over his, even to keep him safe, he'll just resent me all the more and will retaliate.

"He's not just Jason. He's not Robin at all anymore. He's The Red Hood now, and even if we can get that side of him to go dormant, it's highly probable that the Red Hood will always be lurking in the deepest recesses of his mind."

Alfred frowned but he couldn't disagree with the assessment. "So, we just let him go once he comes out of the drug induced haze?" He slid a mug over to Bruce, dropping a tea bag inside. It was chamomile and should help the man to sleep.

"I don't know," Bruce cringed. "I just don't know, Alfred."

Alfred took a sip of the hot liquid and closed his eyes. Jason had looked terrible in the footage. He could use some sleep. Even it was under less than noble circumstances or brought on by medicine. Alfred backed Bruce's use of the tranquilizer one hundred percent. In that sleepless, unstable, and angry mindset, Jason was as likely to get himself hurt as anyone else.

"I don't imagine you're going to be heading to bed soon?" Alfred asked calmly.

Bruce shook his head firmly. "I can't trust him right now, Alfred. I worry I've been away from him for too long as it is."

"Afraid you'll catch him smoking in the movie room again?" Alfred tried to joke.

It worked.

Bruce offered a small, half smile.

"I know he's dangerous." Alfred offered as he started to walk out of the kitchen. "I know that you must be careful with him and I don't disapprove of your watching over him in the slightest."

"But," Bruce smirked.

"But I trust him with my life and yours, Master Bruce. He wants to come home. I truly believe it."

"I believe he wants to want to come home, Alfred," Bruce countered. "But he's independent and he doesn't want to risk us trapping him here. If he can't come and go on his own, he'll never stay."

"Then you're going to let him leave?" he tried to clarify.

"I didn't say that," Bruce shook his head.

"Very well," Alfred sighed. He felt he was close to understanding the younger man's perspective, but if Bruce didn't know what to do, how could he know it would be the right thing to do? There had to be a way to get Jason to stay with them. To at least stick around until he could stabilize himself. "I'm going to check on him and then head to bed myself."

"Thank you, Alfred."

"It is truly my privilege, Master Bruce."


Wayne Manor's Theatre Room

March 14th

0449hrs

Jason stretched long and hard against the giant layers of blankets the were burying and maybe attempting to crush him into soft leather. The couch was definitely longer than a recliner and far more comfortable than any hospital furniture could have been. He furrowed his brows. He was way too warm and cozy to force himself to sit up and look around. He had a feeling that he wasn't in some place bad, just somewhere he shouldn't be.

Where the fuck was he?

His phone vibrated in the front pocket of his jeans. That's what had woken him up to begin with. It wasn't his burner phone going off either. JT Bennet's stupid iPhone 7. He slipped his hand beneath the covers as he sat in darkness, avoiding his original question. When he dug out the device, he looked over the three missed calls and five text alerts.

His heart slammed painfully against his ribs. They were all from Slade Wilson.

Missed Call from Slade Wilson

Where are you?

Get back to the hospital, Kid.

Missed Call from Slade Wilson

Seriously, Bennet, get back to the hospital.

Where the Hell are you?

Missed Call from Slade Wilson

Don't make me come looking for you.

All of Slade's attempts to contact him had taken place in the past fifteen minutes. Jason's hands shook as he fiddled with the phone, his head throbbing and kind of fuzzy. Finally, he got the damned thing to dial Slade back. He placed the phone to his hear, his heart racing faster and faster with every unanswered ring.

"'Bout time, Kid," Slade snarled. "Where are you?"

"I," He looked all around him, his eyes finally adjusting to the minimal light. Oh fuck. He couldn't be! He looked around for Alfred or Bruce…Nothing. Just a dark, empty theatre room. Well, at least that was relief. "Just tell me what the fuck happened!"

"That nurse you warned us about, she and some tech made their move," Slade answered. "My guys already reported it to the police, but I was trying to make sure you were the first to know."

Jason nearly choked in fear. "Harvey?"

"He's fine. My men handled it." Slade's tone was surprisingly gentle and stripped of its usual disgust. "They never got anywhere near him."

Jason released a breath he wasn't even aware he'd been holding. "I'm on my way."

"Where you at, Kid?"

"None of your fucking business." Jason snapped as he threw the blankets off him. He could piece how the Hell Bruce got him into the mansion later.

"The Hell it isn't. I don't work for you, Bennet." Slade reminded him.

"Yeah well, maybe you should do a better job stalking me next time." He hung up before Slade could argue with him any further. The smarmy creep.

He was relieved to see his boots sitting next to the couch and even more surprised to see his brown leather jacket folded up beside it. The very jacket he'd left with Tim Drake weeks ago. He grabbed his boots, put them on, zipped up the sides and started to reach for his coat. A small note was safety pinned to the zipper. Honestly, he expected it to be from Alfred, but when he shone the light on it from his phone, he saw Bruce's neat, slanted writing.

Be safe out there, Jason. And please, don't be afraid to ask for help. I'm here for you, Son. – B. Wayne.

Son? Jason's hands shook with some emotion he wasn't sure he could name. He felt sparks of rage with undercurrents of gloom. Part of him was relieved and comforted by the note, but another felt patronized and insulted. And yet, where was Bruce? He'd confirmed seconds prior that he was alone. He wasn't being hovered over and his stuff wasn't confiscated from him.

Not that he'd been armed. Would that have changed anything?

With a little more care then was necessary, he took the safety pinned note off his jacket, folded the scrap of paper, and placed it in his back pocket before sliding the jacket on over the thick black hoodie he'd been wearing the evening before.

As he walked out of the large mansion, he crept along the property line until he found the right gate to the hop over. He was sorely disappointed to realize he hadn't driven out there. He'd fucking walked!

Damn.

He'd really, really wanted to avoid telling Slade where he'd been and yet the walk back to the hospital?

Pulling out his phone in defeat, he winced when he heard Slade answer.

"Forget your wheels, Kid?"


Bruce watched as a black, mostly non-descript, vehicle pulled up near the gates. He wondered if Slade Wilson would get out or if Jason would simply get in. He wasn't at all pleased that Deathstroke was anywhere near his home, let alone one of his sons. He'd never liked nor trusted the man. His intentions towards Dick had been disturbing, especially for a man of Wilson's age.

He looked to a smaller screen and smirked as the GPS readout went live. He'd placed three fairly obvious trackers on Jason and one that he was certain Jason wouldn't even think to look for. Slade might, but by then it would be too late.

His second ward climbed into the vehicle before it sped off into the night and back into Gotham proper.

He didn't need a tracker to know where they were headed at the moment. He'd listened to the scanners and knew something had happened at the hospital. Bruce got up from his seat and went back upstairs to his bedroom to prepare. It wasn't often Bruce Wayne and Slade Wilson stood in the same room, but he would make sure he was dressed appropriately for the rare occasion and in a public setting, the cowl just wasn't an option.


This chapter felt amazing to me before the final edit which was around the 27th of December I think? But honestly, I don't know if it's shit or not. I really hope I haven't disappointed anyone. It still feels like a good chapter, but then I may be biased. ;-)