1: Superman

Jason Todd didn't have the greatest track record when it came to self preservation instincts. If he had, the whole crowbar incident -murder really- would never have happened. He might have recovered his sanity a little sooner, before he tried to murder everyone in the Batfamily save for Oracle. All water under the bridge they said- beside the point. Despite having recovered relations with his dysfunctional trainwreck of a family, despite trusting them with his life, despite countless lectures, the Red Hood still had a hard time reaching out when he needed help with the small things.

What were small things? The sole bullet wound from a miscalculated dodge, a case of the sniffles, a bout of depression, or -as such was the case this dreary night- a particularly bad phantom pain.

He figured it was just the price of his healing factor, a gift from the Lazarus pit; but on certain days, before a bad rainstorm, before the snow billowed, certain scars would remind him of their presence. They burned and ached like the day he first received them, sometimes several scars all at once, other times just one old wound at a time. No pain killers would touch them, and soon he actually stopped trying to quell the pain.

If it was bad enough, he'd drop out of patrol; but today he wasn't that unlucky. It was only one scar bothering him as a dank chill swept over Gotham. His throat was on fire. If he hadn't checked in the mirror, he'd have sworn someone had slit his throat all over again. It was a stabbing pain that made swallowing nearly impossibly. Forget talking, that came out as a barely audible rasp. He hadn't been able to talk for nearly a week after the initial injury.

After that week, it took a month for his voice to return to full strength. Apparently vocal cords didn't heal easily.

Despite the crippling pain in his neck, Hood had gone out. It was easy to compartmentalize as long as the old injuries flaring up weren't in his arms, legs, or head. He'd been productive, all things considered. With no small amount of discomfort, he'd busted a warehouse raid, a few drug smugglers, and a bar fight. Now he sat on the rooftops, ignoring the bone rattling chill and leaning his back against a ventilation shaft. His throat throbbed, gloveless fingers reaching up to make sure he wasn't bleeding. His fingers brushed against a smooth raised patch of skin.

"Red Hood."

Jason jumped. Not many could sneak up on him these days. His were trained to- Oh. His emotionless Red Mask settled on the invulnerable alien who'd had the audacity to approach from behind. What was he doing in the Bat's city? He intended to ask as much, but when he opened his mouth to talk, all that left was a raspy croak. He snapped his mouth shut, rolled his shoulders and turned his gaze from the guy who had the potential to make his life heck.

Did the league know he was finally on good terms with Batman?

"You okay?"

Oh frick-tastic. Jason hated pity, hated people asking if he was alright. Since when was he ever all right? Jason glared from behind the mask, knowing full well Clark was peering right past it. The alien sighed, coming to rest on the roof and kneeling next to the teenage hero delinquent. Superman was scanning him, and Jason didn't even have the voice to tall him to stop. Finally he reached up and slapped a hand over Clark's eyes, momentarily yanking his hand back and folding his arms with a gasped out huff.

"Okay, okay." Clark held his hands up in appeasement. "Sorry, I was just concerned." Jason shot him an incredulous look, then pointed at himself questioningly.

"What, I can't be worried about my nephew?"

Jason's eyes narrowed. Clark ignored it.

"Why can't you talk, kiddo?"

Jason shrugged. He had no way to communicate. He'd dropped right out of ASL lessons when his voice came back originally. He frowned.

"Oh... uh here." Superman pulled his reporter's notepad out of a pocket, much to Jason's confusion. He figured Clark must have worked a pocket into his Spandex, which was not inconvenient for anyone not invulnerable. Jason took it, plucking the half used pen from the spiral binding in the top and flipping it open. It was well worn, some of the pages singed, others too wet to be legible. Yeah, pockets in the spandex was not worth the trouble.

He found a page not falling apart and scribbled down- Phantom Pain. Can't talk.

Superman's kind smile tilted to a frown. "Phantom pains? In your neck? I'm afraid I don't understand."

Jason sighed out through his nose. Got healing factor from Lazarus Pit. Heal fast, old wounds ache. Rain incoming.

Superman's frown only deepened. Bruce hadn't told him how Jason returned, said that was for Jason to reveal. The bat had only told the league that the second robin had returned under the moniker Red Hood, and that he'd been temporarily insane. According to the bat 'the insanity is gone, and hood is under my protection. Leave him alone.'

If the Batman claimed that Hood was handled, none of the league was particularly inclined to press the matter. Superman had been all ready to swoop in and give his second nephew a hug, but Bruce had warned him that Jason needed space. They had worked together a few times, but Jason had made it a habit to vanish before Clark could really talk to him.

"I didn't realize you were brought back by the pit." Superman stated offhandedly, much to Jason's surprise. The look on his face didn't even need a verbal translation. He didn't TELL you? "Bruce didn't give us details. Only said you were no longer 'insane' and that you were under his protection... even told those of us who view you as family that you needed space. So we stayed back."

The look Jason was giving him was one of pure gratitude. Clark couldn't tell if it was aimed at Bruce for getting the league to back down, towards The man of Steel for respecting his wishes, or a little both. Though Clark was willing to bet on the last. "Don't worry. It's not my story to tell." Clark continued, not missing the relieved look in Jason's eye. "Though it has to stink having every scar hurt when it rains. Last I checked, it rains every other day here."

Jason scribbled some more- Not every rain storm, not every scar. Just occasionally, once a month maybe, sometimes one, sometimes several. Today just one on my neck. Hurts like when it happened, couldn't talk then, can't talk now, can barely swallow. Miserable, but I'll live.

Superman nodded.

"Does it get worse when the rain actually hits?"

Jason shrugged, tipping his hand back and forth. Maybe, maybe not. Clark sighed, watching the stormy clouds advance ever so slowly.

"Well come on then. Your bloody knuckles are telling me that you already got your punching in for the day. Why don't we go somewhere a little bit warmer? I can have you back before midnight."

Jason gave him a hesitant gaze, eyes narrowing slightly. It wasn't that he distrusted Clark. In fact, next to Nightwing, Clark was the one guy everyone could pretty much trust. He had the resolve of a warrior, the keen mind of a investigative reporter, and a heart bigger than the sun. It meant Clark had a tendency to dote though, and Jason wasn't sure he could stomach being doted on. The Bat never doted, his younger brothers never doted, and Nightwing was never given the chance to dote on him. He wasn't sure he wanted his... uncle? to be the one to set the doting ball rolling.

"Come on, I haven't gotten to talk to you in ages. It'll be fun. I know a great place, and the tea's amazing. It might soothe your throat a bit."

Jason couldn't lie. It sounded nice.

Tell no one. Especially Wing.

"Deal." Clark beamed at him, and Jason instantly regretted agreeing. Maybe it was some part of him longing for familiarity, a friendly environment that he had cut himself off from for the most part. The Hood didn't need fun. He had a job to do. But just this once, he could cut back, let go. Clark's cape was suddenly draped over his shoulders, much to Jason's irritation, and the Man of steel was launching into the air.

Jason had forgotten what it was like flying alongside Clark. His helmet kept the wind from assaulting his eyes, the wind from making his ears ache, but it was still a wondrous sensation. The boy realized that the cape had been to keep him warm, and subconsciously, he pulled it up around his neck to protect the scar.

"You know-" Clark called above the night wind. "We haven't done this since you were little!"

Jason jolted at the memory. He'd been small, wearing the Robin suit. It'd been only a few month before Ethiopia, and for the first time, he'd truly felt the freedom of a bird. The cold air and sensation of flying through the clouds wasn't something that swinging from a grappling hook could produce. Clark had taken him flying for his birthday. His heart ached for the old times. He nodded slightly, tucking the cape around his neck. The he wormed out of Clark's grip, holding tightly to his arms and letting his feet hang, trailing slightly behind them. The man of steel didn't try to stop him, only attempting to restrain a slight smile.

He wasn't overly if Jason had lost his grip, Clark could have backtracked and caught him. But he'd seen the kid operate, even as the Red Hood. His fighting had adapted from the acrobatic style all Robin's used, to a more close quarters style that screamed of gang influence yet still on occasion incorporated wide movements and somersaults. In short, Clark knew Jason was still acrobatic, even if he didn't opt to use the style often.

He didn't have to peer past the mask to know Jason was smiling.

They landed in Smallville, just outside the farm house of Martha Kent. Sure, Clark's dad had passed on, but Martha still made her home open to all who graced its doors, often times Leaguers who had nowhere to go on the holidays. The old woman, with her gray hair pulled into a tight bun, met them at the door. Jason smiled slightly. He'd never met Ma Kent, but he'd heard the stories. Somehow, she'd even gotten the Batman's reverence, and even stranger, gotten him to eat pie. He wondered briefly what a Ma' Kent and Alfred Pennyworth team up would look like.

The crickets were chirping, the air much warmer than in Gotham. He plucked his hood off, taking in a deep breath of warm farm air and ignoring the twinge of pain in his throat. He missed the smile from Clark.

"Clark!" The woman smiled widely, stepping down the porch steps to throw her arms around the alien she'd helped raise.

"Hey, Ma." He gingerly wrapped arms strong enough to rend cars in two around the delicate, yet spry old woman. She pulled away, placing a hand on his cheek.

"Are you eating? You seem kinda-"

Jason snickered quietly, earning the old woman's attention while Clark muttered a mortified Ma under his breath.

"Ma, this is my nephew, Jason Todd. He's Bruce's second son."

"Let me get a look at you." Ma demanded warmly, grabbing his arms. Her gaze was piercing, appraising, and finally she nodded, as if deeming Clark's words true. "He stands like Bruce. Now why don't you both come on inside. It's chilly out here."

No where near as cold as Gotham. Jason thought to himself, following obediently. He wrinkled his nose thoughtfully, adjusting his stance slightly so his shoulders hunched. A heavy hand collided with his back, forcing his shoulders straight.

"It's a complement." Clark muttered, a wry smile on his lips. Martha missed the exchange, standing to hold the door open as the hero and the vigilante entered the warm kitchen. Jason blinked. It was just like he'd imagined a farmhouse kitchen, but not cliche. It was warm and inviting, not big like the manor's kitchen, but not small either. It wasn't cluttered, but not designed to be immaculately arranged either. There was an old oak table, with a blue checkered table cloth in the corner, and enough chairs for five or six people.

"Oh family rule son-" Martha's hand grabbed his forearm to catch Jason's attention. "No capes in the kitchen. I left some of Bruce's clothes upstairs in the Guest room right next to Hal's. Go get changed."

"I'll show you where."

Jason nodded silently, following behind Clark as the man of steel led him through the quaint little home towards a stair case. Upstairs, there were four bedrooms. Clark's had a bunch of newspapers tacked to the door, but the guest room had a sign tacked to it labeling it as such. It was done in pretty lettering, shadows of a corn field used as a backing for the white lettering. Jason grabbed the handle and twisted it.

The guest room had a twin bed, a dresser with five drawers, a closet, a painting of a corn field on the wall, and a desk. Jason inspected the dresser, resting his Helmet on the bed before he pulled open the drawers. Much to his amusement, he found clothes of all sizes and colors, including a few 'hero' themed shirts. He found a green lantern fan shirt sitting next to a batman fan shirt. He grinned wickedly, pulling the bat shirt out and a pair of jeans probably meant to fit Bruce. He found a belt, probably Hals', and cinched the remaining slack out of his jeans. He was as tall as Bruce, his shoulders equally as so.

But he was slimmer at the waist. He folded his clothes and left them to rest on the end of the bed, his helmet settled on top.

Clark met him outside the door, leading him silently downstairs. "Bat themed shirt huh?"

Jason grinned slyly.

"Too bad you swore me to silence."

Jason's grin broadened. they arrived downstairs, and Ma had already whipped up a hearty dinner. Jason felt bad. He wasn't sure if he could eat any of it, that was until she set out a warm soup with small chunks. His stomach growled slightly. Yeah, he could make it.

"Have a seat." She waved, at the table, setting a tea pot down next to the fried chicken and mashed potatoes. "I see I was right. Bruce's clothes fit you nicely. I'll buy you some better fitting ones for the next time you visit."

Jason bit back a startled expression, smile barely faltering. Martha, if she noticed, didn't say anything about it. Clark, patted his shoulder as they sat down. Jason hadn't said grace in years, but apparently, it was a Kent family tradition. Jason could be respectful of that. After Martha was finished, she started passing around the food. She noticed he didn't touch anything but the soup and tea, raising an eyebrow slightly at Clark.

"Are you alright, Dear?"

Jason looked up, startled as his muted green eyes locked with hers. He shrugged slightly.

"He has a sore throat. Not contagious!" Clark quickly added. "A phantom pain from an old injury."

"Injury?" Ma gave him a look. Jason paled suddenly. He remembered now why he wore a high necked spandex suit, and a jacket. He hadn't even though about it when he slipped the batman shirt on; but the scar was there to see, a nasty jagged cut in his throat. He rubbed it absentmindedly, missing the look of horror on Martha's face and the way Clark's face pinched in worry. The old woman recovered quickly. "I see..." Her voice was hesitant. "Can... you talk?"

He shot Clark a look, requesting help in explaining the situation.

"He can. But not when his throat is hurting like it is today. He should be better in twenty four hours-ish, right, buddy?"

Jason nodded, not smiling as he had been previously. He spooned a little soup, staring down at the bowl and keeping one hand pressed to his throat. Martha had questions. So did Clark; but since Jason couldn't talk, they wouldn't press. Yet.

The Red Hood felt a frail hand lightly grab his wrist. "It's okay. We aren't squeamish around here. Actually, I've housed a few heroes recovering from less than pretty wounds." She said offhandedly. Jason let his hand drop.

He wished he could have protested when Martha grabbed his tea cup and stood up, walking to the fridge to add a lemon wedge. He had to admit, both the warm soup and the lemon tea did wonders to soothe the pain.

After dinner, Jason helped Clark clean up. He was ready to get back to Gotham, get back to patrol. It was late, just after ten. He could still squeeze a few more hours of patrol in. The throb in his throat had started to die off to a dull ache. He still couldn't talk, but he hadn't bothered to try yet. As he dried and put away the last of the dishes, Martha shuffled in, her hair in pin rollers.

"Jason, dear. It's late. Why don't you both stay the night?"

Jason shook his head, waving his hands quickly. The gesture was clear enough when you added his worried frown in. Don't want to be a bother.

"Oh nonsense. You're staying and that's final. I'll cook you up a nice breakfast and send you off tomorrow morning."

Jason wondered what happened when the Bats got worried? He usually checked in, but on the off occasion, did ignore them. He'd been doing more and more these last few days, and some part of him wondered if tonight would be the night they started looking. If they couldn't find him, Bruce would probably start questioning people. But a breakfast that wasn't cereal did sound wonderful. He let out a sigh and nodded slightly. Bruce could just deal with it.

He slept well that night. Maybe it was his subconscious telling him that he couldn't really be safer, sleeping a room away from the man of steel. Or maybe it was the warm supper, or perhaps his unwillingness to drag Ma Kent into the crap load of problems that his dreams dredged up on a nightly basis.

Either way, he was grateful for the reprieve. They let him sleep in, his tired mind too muddled to listen to his internal alarm clocks ringing. He woke up around nine, feeling better than he had in a long time. He threw the covers off and yawned, his own voice, albeit still raspy, greeting him. It took him five minutes to make the bed and slip downstairs. Ma was cooking porridge over the stove, and Clark was reading the paper.

"Morning, Dear." Martha greeted warmly, wiping a bit of steam from her brow and setting the spoon aside to smile warmly.

"Good morning." He rasped.

Clark smiled. So the hood's voice was returning. He had a lot he wanted to discuss with Jason, not just the scar, though that was still on the list. Superman was a licensed medical practitioner. That cut could have easily had his nephew bleeding to death. For all Clark knew, his Nephew had bled to death. He shook the thought away and motioned for Jason to join him. Martha served them both up coffee, and Jason muttered a thank you.

No one spoke for some time, Clark occasionally casting a glance at Jason, who was staring at the table with a tired look in his green eyes. Did that kid ever get sleep? Green. His eyes used to be turquoise. Thoughtfully, he remembered that the Lazarus pits had a lot of lasting consequences to their users, including but not limited to physical changes and insanity. It seemed both had gotten a hold of Jason.

"You're staring."

Clark went wide eyed, chuckling slightly and grabbing his mug. "Just thinking about how much you've changed." Wrong thing to say. Jason's lips tilted to a frown, eyes looking a little more green. "I mean you've grown!" Clark backtracked. "You've grown up, matured. You do good work in Gotham."

It seemed to just barely do the trick. Hood sat back, fixing him with an unreadable look, lips still tilted into a frown.

"What do they call you?" Martha asked curiously. "I mean, in the suit."

"Red Hood." Jason replied, still casting a sideways -now most certainly a glare- look at Clark and sipping his coffee. Something hit the man of steel, something old and rarely discussed these days.

"Like the Joker?" Yes, Clark had covered the last Red Hood's supposed demise at Ace Chemical company. Bruce later revealed that the Red Hood who had unfortunately taken a tumble into the vats was now the clown prince of crime, the one who wrought havoc upon Gotham. The one who killed Jason.

The boy's frown turned into a malicious smile. "Ironic isn't it?"

"Quite." Superman took a long sip of bitter coffee and furrowed his brow. Yes, the Joker had taken Jason's life, and Jason had taken the Joker's name. "Was it to get Bruce's attention?"

"Yes. and no."

Martha raised an eyebrow, joining them at the table. It didn't fit into the conversation, but unless they got to talking about scars, she doubted it would. "How'd you get that wound on your neck?"

Jason froze, eyes wide. His fingers ghosted the wound as he sucked in a breath and sighed out through his nose. What was he supposed to say? He doubted Ma Kent knew Bruce well enough to understand what had gone down that night. He didn't want to dredge up all his own psychological issues either. Superman wouldn't fully understand either. In some ways, there was no way to excuse what Bruce did, but there was no way to excuse what Jason did either. They had both thrown caution to the wind that night. Bruce was trying to save lives, and whether he was aiming for Jason's throat or Jason's hand, the boy didn't know. He hadn't even let Bruce know about the wound or the scar later on.

He'd come to terms with it. Bruce was trying to save lives. Sometimes though, a dull anger burned in his gut at the memory. He wouldn't kill the Joker, but he'd throw a batarang at his own 'son's' neck. If it even was aimed at his neck. There were too many screw ups that night to even start pinning blame. So Jason had just chosen to not think about it. He wasn't sure what to think about it.

He hadn't realized he'd zoned out until Clark's hand came to rest on his shoulder. Explanation time. "Someone threw a knife... back when I first started."

"As Robin?"

"Ah no... I briefly uh..." He rubbed his head. "Retired, from the hero gig. When I came back and took the name Red Hood, someone threw a knife at my neck."

Clark was frowning; he could tell Jason wasn't telling the whole truth. the boy's heart had practically stuttered at the question, pulse quickened, even as he answered. His easy going smile was enough to appease Martha, but the reporter in Clark was getting suspicious. Why wouldn't Jason want to tell? Was it embarrassing? Wait. Clark paled. Did he do it to himself?

He wasn't able to relax the rest of breakfast.

"I do hope you'll come back." Martha smiled sweetly. The sun was up, warming SmallVille until the small country town was engulfed in a pleasant heat. Clark hadn't bothered to change back into his suit, advising that Jason carry his in a knapsack. He didn't want to attract the neighbor's attention.

"I uh..." Jason faltered. "I will." Someday. He added mentally. He liked her. She was caring, a lot like a mother. He hadn't had one of those in years. No. He wasn't going to attach himself to that luxury, but he could at least put the woman at ease.

"Travel safe." She called as Superman scooped Jason up and tore off into the sky. They'd been traveling a good ten minutes at a slow pace just below the clouds before Clark finally spoke up again.

"So what really happened?"

"Caught my skirt around the truth, huh?" Jay replied flatly.

"More or less. You don't have Bruce's ability to lie."

"I didn't really lie. Someone did throw a knife at my neck."

"Who."

He honestly expected the kid to either lie, or say himself. He didn't expect Jason to say- "Bruce." It felt like a weight off his chest to say it.

If he hadn't been more careful, he might have dropped Jason in his shock. As it was, he heard the kid snap his mouth shut, and let his own jaw drop. Bruce, who'd had his share of epic mistakes but overall been a very attentive father, had sliced his own boy's neck open? Surely this was some ploy. Bruce had mourned Jason! But the kid's steady heart beat told the truth. He doesn't have Bruce's ability to lie.

"Bruce... but that- but..."

"It's like I told Mrs. Kent, that's a very long story, one that happened too long ago to dwell on. I was insane, actually about to blow the Joker's brains out."

"He stopped you from killing the Joker by trying to kill you?" That didn't sound like Bruce at all.

"He stopped me from blowing things up. Though I'm not sure if he was actually aiming at my neck or not." Jay admitted.

"I-"

"Look, uncle Clark, I know what you're going to say. But listen to me carefully. It's in the past-"

"But-"

"-and we both screwed up that night, but we're fine now... Better than fine. Like I said, I'm not even entirely convinced he was aiming for my neck in the first place." No lies so far. "I've let it go, and so should you."

Clark narrowed his eyes.

"Does he know?"

"Know what?"

"Did you tell him that you went mute, how badly you were hurt... Does he even know that he nearly killed you?"

"No, and I don't plan on telling him." Jason didn't want to discuss it any further, which was fine by Clark.

Good. Clark thought to himself, still feeling somewhat betrayed, somewhat worried. Cause I'm gonna do it myself. I don't want to hurt you, Jason, but Bruce needs a good dose of reality.

Jason had been dropped off at the safehouse of his choosing. Much To Clark's surprise, Jason was far more orderly than he had been all those years ago; and kept his place well stocked. Superman didn't linger, instead bidding Jason good bye and arranging to meet him at the Bat Burger next week for an official catch up. He wanted everything, everything Jason couldn't discuss in front of Ma Kent, everything he hadn't been willing to discuss on the way home.

Jason had reluctantly agreed.

Now Clark Kent, mild mannered reporter, very ticked off and concerned uncle, stood behind Bruce at the Batcave. Jason was going to kill him, but he didn't really care.

"Can I help you?" Bruce asked, slowly swiveling the monitor chair to face Clark. Bruce had a bruise on his jaw, dark bags hung under his eyes. Clark would have asked him if he was fine, despite the fact that Bruce's only reply would be a grunt. But he was too anxious to do so. Instead he crossed his arms.

"Yeah. An explanation would be nice."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "About?"

"Well I bumped into Jason last night." Had to leave out the part about taking him to Ma Kent's. "You know he occasionally gets phantom pains?"

The way Bruce's gaze narrowed, a pensive frown flitting across his rugged face. "No."

"Yeah. I'm not entirely surprised."

"Your tone's getting Colder, Clark."

"Well don't you think it's a bit odd that he didn't tell you about it? That he'd tell me and not the guy who's supposed to be his father?"

"Clark. You're a reporter. Stop wasting my time and just tell me what this is about."

"He couldn't talk last night, Bruce. He has a gash on his throat, probably healed up ages ago! Do you know who gave it to him, who slit his throat open? I'll give you a hint! He's big and dresses like a bat!" Clark bellowed, in no way missing the way Bruce had gone bedsheet white. He thought back to all the times it could have happened. Only one stuck out in his mind.

"I- I was aiming for the detonator in his hand."

Clark fought to restrain his temper. "You can't tell me you didn't know!"

"It was a lot of movement, and I lost him after the bomb went off."

"That's not an answer!" He snarled. "You're supposed to be better than that!" Clark pointed out. "You're the one who tells us to rise above the people we fight! The Joker killed him once, and you nearly kill him again! He was mute! He couldn't talk. It's..." Clark lowered his voice. "I'm not entirely sure how he survived it, Bruce."

The Batman looked pale, equally ashamed. It was a startling look. He honestly had no clue; the world's greatest detective didn't know.

"I-" Clark dragged a hand down his face. "I gave him my number. If I find, that you hurt him like this again, I don't care what you've done in the past... for me or the other heroes... I will bring the entire wrath of the league down on you.

Bruce nodded, almost relieved. "I'd expect nothing less... But Clark, you know me. I never meant-"

Clark raised a hand. "Just don't... I believe you had go intentions. I... I don't think you wanted to kill him, but you nearly did." Clark sighed, looking down. He took a deep breath and nodded. "You're still my friend. That's why I'm telling you. Because I am your friend. I care about you, and I care about Jason. Am I ticked off? Absolutely. And while I don't think you meant to hurt him that badly, you did. Now from the sounds of it, you both were out for blood that night. It doesn't excuse you, and it doesn't excuse him. You both needed a good kick in the pants, and I wish I'd known what was going down. But I didn't. He had the opportunity to hurt you last night, and he didn't. He respects you, and I've seen that you two are working hard to make amends. Don't mess it up... not again."

Bruce silently tilted his chin in affirmation. And satisfied that he'd said his piece, the man of steel turned to leave.

"Clark." Superman stopped. "Thank you. I... I needed to hear that."

"Make it right, Bruce. Talk to him about it. He doesn't know you weren't trying to kill him... He told me as much."

A wave of air in the dank cave told Bruce that his friend, and sometimes worst enemy had left the premesis. He'd need to talk to Jason about the phantom pains, about his neck. Did Jason honestly think that Bruce was trying to kill him? He hoped not. It had been a misfire of his throw. Somehow, that made Bruce feel worse. He was supposed to be better than that. He was supposed to never miss, to not make these mistakes... and yet he had.

TBC- Next up Dick and Alfred