A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed this story and/or added it as a favorite or follow! I didn't expect a response like this, but I am so glad for it. Hopefully this lives up to your expectations. Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter. I hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.

After fleeing the area of the explosion, and the authorities who were sure to be coming, Jason had inspected Robin's injuries. He was surprised at his findings; Robin hadn't been beaten as badly as he'd originally thought. Yes, the injuries were in need of immediate medical attention, but compared to Jason's old wounds it was considerably less. Jason knew he must have intervened at the right time, saving the kid from the rest of the beating that would have surely killed him. He was smaller than Jason had been at his age, with not nearly enough bulk. One thing he was certain of; this kid was not from the streets.

He stole and hotwired a car from a side street, and then made a reluctant decision. The kid needed medical attention, and if it had been just a little less severe then he would have sped to the nearest city. But that risk was not in his favor, or Robin's. Jason had no choice but to remain in Gotham and take the kid to the city hospital; though at least in Gotham they wouldn't ask too many questions. He knew the residents had seen so much chaos that they didn't bother to think of the cause anymore.

Jason took it upon himself to remove the Robin suit from the kid, not needed to draw more attention to themselves than necessary. Admittedly, he was impressed; his old uniform hadn't had nearly as much protection. Either it was compensating for the boy's lack of body mass, or Batman had decided that dressing his Robin with a bit more Kevlar was a fantastic idea. Bitter thoughts aside, the suit was impressive; and one of the few things that kept the broken boy alive.

He gave excuses to the doctors and nurses; the kid had been beaten by a gang in the back streets of Gotham. As expected, no one raised an eyebrow at the claim; just whisked the boy away. He claimed the kid was an orphan who had been staying with him, and that he had no family. They took that lie as well, and Jason was satisfied with the cover. He'd considered that Bruce might have taken in his new Robin as his ward; another risk. But no one recognized the boy as connected to the Wayne name, which gave Jason another advantage.

Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't on alert. The kid wasn't even conscious, and despite his injuries that doctors assured Jason would heal, that didn't make everything totally easy. He was still in the middle of Gotham, Batman's territory. While it seemed like the city's protector had gone missing, or was at least out of town, he'd return eventually. It was only a matter of time before Bruce realized his Robin was missing, and so was the Joker. Advantage; he'd connect the two as being one in the same. Disadvantage; Bruce would be on the search. As far as Jason was concerned, he wanted to be out of Gotham before that happened.

But that meant the kid had to wake up, and Jason had to try and make his plan work. Until then, he was stuck in his old hometown, eyes on the sky and ears tuned to the whispers on the street. The odds weren't looking that great, and there was no telling what unexpected scene he'd fall into next. But if Jason had nothing else, he had determination. He'd get out of the Bat's city, he was confident in that.

He just had to wait.

To say that Tim was haunted by the ordeal would be putting it lightly.

Even unconscious, the memory repeated over and over in his head. The Joker's laughter echoed, and he could feel every whack of the crowbar against his body. His screams were his only way of communication in the nightmare, and nobody ever answered. He knew every inch of the crowbar, and the exact shade of red that matched his blood. It was a constant state of agony, of complete turmoil that had the strongest grip on his mind.

Then, when he thought he was actually going to lose his wits, he finally woke up.

He wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't white walls. Tim blinked, turning his head to look at the beeping machines. Wires were attached to him, and he could feel the tightness of bandages around his chest, see them wound around his arms. He reached a hand up and touched his jaw, wincing at how sore his face felt; it had to be bruised. He ran his tongue over his teeth, amazed that none had been knocked out. But sitting up proved to be the worst action; searing fire seemed to race through his chest and he gasped, grimacing.

"Sounds like you're awake," a male voice said from the corner of the room. "Though I wouldn't suggest moving."

Tim looked up, seeing a man standing with his arms crossed and leaning against the wall. While Tim didn't mind people being there when he was hurt, he had assumed those people would either be Bruce or Alfred, or even Dick. He didn't expect to see a stranger there, dressed in a biker's jacket. His hair was dark and eyes blue, and he was looking at Tim both curiously and with something else that the teen couldn't place. It was a cool expression, controlled, like he was holding back other emotions that he didn't want anyone to see.

"Yeah, I figured that out," Tim answered, looking at the man apprehensively. "What are you doing here?"

"I expected more of a welcome tone," the man said. He was young, in his early twenties at most. Tim couldn't help but notice how strong the man looked; even his posture radiated some sort of strength. It wasn't cocky, but a sort of knowledge that told the teen that this stranger somehow had the upper hand. "That's not how I would greet the person who saved my life."

"You?" Tim replied, eyebrows rising. He couldn't remember much past hearing the window shatter, he had been fighting blacking out at that point. Though he did recall looking up at someone, their face was a blur. The longer he tried to think of it, the blearier the image became, fading away.

The man smirked, blue eyes sparking. "Not all saviors come dressed in white."

Sometimes they wear black, Tim said to himself. With that thought, realization dawned on him and the teen's heart almost stopped. "That means you know..."

"Your little secret?" The man waved his hand dismissively, though he didn't appear to be bored. "Please, don't have heart attack over it. I've known Bruce longer than you."

Tim wasn't sure how to respond to the comment, but the man continued speaking before he could try. "So you're Round Three, huh? He just flies through his Robins these days."

"That's not how it works," Tim said, narrowing his eyes. "If you knew Bruce, then you'd know what happened."

The man smirked, and Tim suddenly regretted his words. There was a look in those blue eyes, so intensely focused on him, that screamed he knew all too well what went on in the past. "Know what? That he ended up constantly fighting with his first sidekick, so he replaced him with a kid from the street? Or that the replacement was smacked with a crowbar and then blown up in a warehouse? What am I missing?"

Tim swallowed hard, "I'm not a replacement. Batman needed me."

"Oh, I'm sure he did," the man replied coolly. It was too calm, and yet with a tinge of bitterness. "Just like he needed the last two. But what happened when their use ran out?"

The man walked forwards, coming to Tim's bedside. "I watched him replace Robin after Robin. He didn't bother stopping the first from leaving, and with the second? He didn't wait too long before dropping another kid into the uniform."

Tim glared up at the man, "It sounds like you're jealous. What do I have that you didn't?"

Again, the man's eyes flashed. Tim saw something along the lines of anger and hurt before the man spoke, softer than before, "Someone to tell me this."

Then the man's eyes hardened again, along with his voice. "Bruce kept tabs on you, didn't he?"

Tim knew it wasn't a good idea to answer. The entire conversation was pulling at mindsets that the teen didn't want to have in his head. But his curiosity took hold, and he answered, "Yes, of course he did."

"Then why didn't he come for you?" Any trace of a smirk from the stranger's face was gone. In its place was an icy understanding. "I've been standing here for three days, kid. I dragged your body out of that building, I brought you here and saved your life. He hasn't shown his face, costumed or civilian."

Everything in Tim wanted to argue. Bruce had been at the Watchtower, and he was occupied with League business. But Batman never stopped watching over Gotham, even that far away. He always kept an eye on his city, and on Tim. When the Joker had broken out of Arkham, Tim had raced back to Gotham from his stay with the Titans. He had thought Bruce would be there, or at least contact him. But there had been nothing, totally unlike his mentor.

Then he'd fallen right into one of the Joker's plots…

Tim shook his head, proving to be a horrible idea. An instant headache bloomed, and Tim reached up and touched his head. "No, Bruce always watches Gotham. There has to be something wrong—"

"Is there?" The man questioned, eyeing Tim. "Does Bruce assume that you'll go after the Joker? Or did he tell you to stay away?"

The man walked from Tim's bedside to the window, his gait oddly smooth for someone so giant. "I bet he told you to stay away, didn't he? So why would he bother contacting you? And then when you were captured…"

"Stop," Tim said, gripping the sheets of his hospital bed. His hands balled into fists in his lap, and he stared down at them. It hurt to hear these theories, it hurt to hear anything that made sense. The man's points were all valid, and Tim's logical mind wanted to accept them, no matter the emotional impact.

But the stranger continued, "If he keeps tabs on Gotham and you, then he knew where you were. And he didn't bother coming for you. If I hadn't been looking for the Joker myself, then you'd be dead right now. Bruce wasn't coming to the rescue."

He wanted to speak up, he wanted to argue that none of that was true. But somehow this man knew Bruce, somehow he knew the policy; either that or he did incredibly well at guessing. Tim pressed his lips together, unable to say anything against what the man was suggesting.

There was a minute of silence before the man asked, his back still to the teen, "I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that you have no family."

"Not anymore," Tim muttered before he could think it through. Instantly a wave of numbness washed over him as the images played in his mind. He tried so hard not to think of it, to shove it into a dark place in his head where he couldn't touch it. But he could still feel the blood on his hands, hear himself scream and beg, the tears rolling down his face. "My father…he was murdered."

He didn't know why he confessed that to a stranger, why he was giving the man more material to use to goad him. The man replied with a heavy sigh, "Well that's just it then. He wasn't going to adopt you, so clearly he wasn't going to rescue you either. He used you, kid. Now he's done. Pretty soon you'll have your own replacement."

"What do you want?" Tim snapped his gaze to the man as he turned away from the window. "You're telling me this for a reason."

"Because maybe I want to save you, kid," the man replied, going to stand by Tim once again. "Maybe I don't want the almighty Batman throwing away another kid because he's tired of them."

"How?" Tim was suspicious, that was for certain.

"I'm offering to take you in," the man answered. "We'll get out of Gotham, and prove that Bruce can't just throw away the orphans he takes in for his own benefit. This time he won't be able to do it."

"Why should I trust you?" Tim locked eyes with the man, ready for an excuse.

Instead, the man shrugged. "Maybe you shouldn't. But where else are you going to go, kid? If Bruce doesn't want you, then nobody else does either. No one else but me, who actually bothered to keep you alive."

Tim knew he shouldn't listen. As much as the man was getting to his head, he didn't fully believe that Bruce would do anything like that. But he couldn't help but be intrigued; this stranger was nothing like he had ever encountered. Who was this person that claimed to know so much about Bruce and the past Robins? What could he possibly gain from taking in someone Bruce supposedly threw away?

There were too many unanswered questions for Tim to let it go. Pieces of the puzzle were missing, and he had to figure them out. That was what detectives did, after all, and that was what he had trained to be. Besides, if he discovered for sure that the man was wrong, he could go back to Bruce. No matter what, Tim felt he had this under control.

"Alright," Tim agreed, regarding his savior with a blank expression. "I'll go. But I have a name, you know."

"I can't call you by a name if I don't know what it is," the man answered.

Though Tim knew this was the last piece of information he had hidden, he gave it away. It was for the sake of discovery. "Tim. Tim Drake."

Suddenly the smirk appeared back on the stranger's face, this one of satisfaction. "Rest up, Tim. We've got a long road ahead of us."

"What about your name?" Tim asked.

The man chuckled in response, and turned away. "You'll learn it when I trust you."

Jason's first thoughts on the kid? Bruce really had an affinity for dark haired, blue eyed kids.

Outside the hospital, Jason stood leaning against the wall. A cigarette was lit between his lips, his eyes trained on the street, darkened by the night sky. He was out there partly to get some fresh air, partly to give himself a chance to think, but mostly to listen for any signs of Batman. It was quiet, other than the hum of car engines as the vehicles drove by. Jason took a drag of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke thoughtfully.

This Robin wasn't like him, and he certainly was nothing like Dick. He hated to admit it, but the boy reminded him of Bruce; calculating and thoughtful. Perhaps the Bat had succeeded in getting someone to think like him, or the kid was naturally talented. Either way, the kid had a mind to be reckoned with, and Jason had to be careful.

Still, he had been able to somewhat convince Tim. The crestfallen expression on his face was enough to tell Jason he'd made a doubtful mark on the teenager's mind. Doubt in someone that young could do a lot of damage, especially with a new loss looming over their head. It was the kind of destruction Jason needed if he was going to pull off his plan, and so far it was looking very possible.

But he had no choice but to lurk around sensitive subjects for the time being; it was the only way to keep the little detective from breaking off entirely and going back to Bruce. The boy's expression, so curious and thoughtful, kept repeating in Jason's head. Yes, he had to be careful if he was going to shift all the power into his hands. They were still strangers to each other, observing each other behind masks of thought. He hadn't seen the real boy behind the mask, the real personality. Jason placed the cigarette back in his mouth, looking up to the black and cloudy sky.

He may have had his first impression of Robin, but he still had yet to meet Tim Drake.

But that would change. From here on out, Tim's entire world would never be the same, and neither would he. Jason smirked to himself, unable to hide the darkness in it.

Everything was off to a smooth start.