Author's Note: Bahh so busy with work. So many fandoms, so little time. I'm thinking of doing another Wayne Brother one-shot after this. What do you guys think? Please enjoy and review!

Jason sat heavily down on the kitchen stool. So the phone had been changed... or maybe death and resurrection had left his brain more addled than he thought if he couldn't remember correctly a number that should have been tattooed on the inside of his head. No communication, no money, and there was Damian to look after. What was he supposed to do now? With a frustrated groan, he buried his head in his hands, elbows resting on his legs. What the hell was...

Something tumbled out of the inside pocket of his jacket to land with a small thunk on the floor. Jason frowned and bent down to examine what looked like two leather-bound cases. They were fairly flat so it was little wonder he hadn't noticed them before, but he couldn't remember taking anything with him. Opening them one at a time, Jason stared in disbelief.

They were passports. Honest to God American passports.

One for him and the other for the boy, each bearing what looked like recent photographs. The names were inscribed as "Jason Wayne" and "Damian Wayne" which made him frown momentarily, but he pushed it to the back of his mind and continued to look through the fallen stack. In addition to the documents, there were several flattened wads of bills in multiple currencies including several hundred dollars worth of American notes.

He stared, not quite believing their luck, then a wide grin began to spread over Jason's face. Surely this was everything they would need to get back stateside and to Bruce. Even if he wasn't able to get in touch with him now, he could just imagine his face when they showed up on the doorstep of the manor. Giddy with excitement, Jason tucked everything away back into his pocket and went to find Damian. He didn't even bother to think where any of it had come from. The phrase 'don't look a gift horse in the mouth' felt very appropriate right about now.

Damian was out with the woman in the foyer, a pair of beaten up but whole shoes on his feet that looked like they were about the right size. The boy looked up at him expectantly, but he shook his head.

"It wouldn't connect," he explained curtly. "We'll have to try to make it to a bigger town, D."

The boy clearly looked disappoint but nodded solemnly. The woman cocked her head.

"Train comes with supplies tomorrow. Dmitri go to station, bring back supplies, take you, yes?"

"A train?" That had Jason's attention. "Where does it go?"

"Prague, then outside Berlin. Not go any farther west."

"That's fine. Perfect."

Once they got to Berlin, they'd be able to fly straight to the states. He could be seeing Bruce in less than a week. A few days ride in a supply train and maybe some hitchhiking to Germany's capital was worth it. Anything was worth it. He was so wrapped up in the thought that he almost missed Damian tugging on his jacket. The boy was blinking rapidly, a clear sign of exhaustion.

"Where are we going to sleep tonight?"

Something deep inside Jason's gut twisted at that, all excitement falling away. He remembered that feeling, the hopelessness. He remembered what it was like not knowing where he was going to spend the night or when he would eat next. Jason always had a soft spot for kids and even though Damian was like no other child he'd ever met, he'd become oddly found of him. To hear such a question come out of his mouth hurt.

Thankfully his guess about the house being an inn turned out to be right, and the woman – Margarete – could not let that comment go ignored either. He thought about paying her, but Jason was not sure how long the money would have to last and didn't want to have to explain anything when before he'd told her he had nothing. The in was tiny – only two actual guest rooms on the upper floor – but then again the middle-of-nowhere town was not exactly a tourist hot spot. Having spent a good portion of the night walking, Jason did not complain when she showed them to a room and promised to have supper ready after they awoke. He didn't realize the full extent of his tiredness until he opened the door on a pair of small beds and lowered his body down.

"How about we get a few hours of sleep, okay, kid?" Old springs creaked under his weight, but Jason couldn't care less. "Then we can eat and maybe sleep some more, and before you know it, it'll be tomorrow and we'll be on our way."

Damian said nothing from the opposite cot, just shrugged a shoulder slightly, and Jason sighed inwardly. He'd been as gentle as he could. It wasn't like he didn't sympathize; he did, but he didn't quite know how to sooth, how to be the big brother, and Damian was not the easiest child in the world to read. He took a deep breath and kicked off his boots.

"Yeah, okay," he repeated. "Just a couple hours."

A few hours was apparently enough to dream. In his dreams, Jason was back in Gotham, back in the manor with Bruce and Alfred and even Dick. Death had hurt, the separation worse, but it was all in the past now. He was so warm and happy and didn't even care that he cried. He'd tell his father how sorry he was, how he should have listened, and of course Bruce would chastise, but he'd hug Jason and tell him he loved him. Even then he knew it was a dream, but that was alright because soon it would be a reality. For the first time in a long while, he let himself hope.

When he came awake, at first Jason was not sure what it was exactly that had woken him. It was still fully light outside which meant he could not have been asleep for very long. Then he heard it; the slight whimper, then a sniffle. On the cot next to his, Damian was crying softly, tears sticking his long dark lashes together. Jason didn't know if the boy was asleep or not. He knew he should go to him, comfort the child, but he couldn't move. The few feet between their beds felt like a bottomless pit.

Jason had lost two sets of parents; to drugs, to crime, to betrayal, and finally his own death. One would imagine he should have been an expert by then, but the truth couldn't have been further. He'd never really dealt with any of those losses; there had never been time. So he let the boy cry and hoped to hell it wouldn't leave the child as damaged as it had him.

"You're dead, boy wonder."

Tim winced and rubbed the shoulder that one of Nightwing's Escrima sticks struck. It was the third time in as many rounds of their sparing that Dick had completely wiped the floor with him. The man gave him a slightly annoyed look, then sheathed the weapons.

"Want to tell me why you're so distracted or should I just keep beating you up?"

The young teen frowned slightly then shrugged. He wasn't sure what caused the distraction, but now that he mentioned it, he realized Dick was right. It seemed pretty useless to continue sparing, so they ordered pizza to be delivered to the young man's apartment. It would arrive there just a little after they did, but it would give them enough time to change into civilian clothes.

Being an only child and maybe a little bit withdrawn at times, Tim loved that Dick – possibly the coolest person in his opinion – was willing to not only teach him but also do normal things when time permitted. How many other kids could say they could just hang out with Nightwing? Even after a few years, Tim was still a bit star-struck and shyly asked if him being there bothered him. The whole thing just made Dick laugh.

"When I was a kid," the man told him, plopping down on the couch with a paper plate that held two pizza slices, "I tried to convince my folks that they absolutely had to have another kid because I was meant to be a big brother."

Tim grinned but then the thought caught up with him. He opened his mouth to say something, but the sudden somber look on Dick's face told him that the young man had just thought of the same thing. He bit his lip and looked down, suddenly terribly fascinated with the carpet. The teen didn't look up until Dick spoke again, a far away tone in his voice.

"It's coming up on that time of the year again," he mused, and Tim saw that he was looking out the large windows. He suspected that it was more than just the nighttime lights of Bludhaven that Dick was seeing. The teen just nodded.

"I thought it might be. Bruce has been kind of... quiet. Quieter than usual."

Dick nodded and took a deep breath. "Don't ask him about it. Don't even hint that you see something off. There's two things you don't talk to him about: his parents and Jason. He'll... deal with it the way he always has."

"But he doesn't." Tim didn't know why he suddenly felt like speaking out about it. "I mean, I don't think going out and punching bad guys counts as dealing with it."

The young man gave a short dry laugh. "If you're trying to convince me that Bruce Wayne has some horrible coping mechanisms, you're preaching to the choir."

Tim was quiet for a moment, then looked up again. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"How do you... deal?"

"With my parents' deaths?" Dick sighed. "Believe it or not, I had counseling after the fact. I remember them, but I don't... mourn them. At least not every day, the way Bruce does."

"And..." Tim swallowed. It was hard to say the name for some reason. "And Jason?"

Another deep breath. "I didn't know Jason that well." Dick admitted sadly. "That was my mistake. He tried. I didn't. Maybe if I had... I don't know. It's probably unfair to him, but I try not to think about it. These kinds of what ifs mess with your sanity big time, kid."

Tim sympathized. "Are you going to go visit him on the anniversary?"

The man nodded. "After Bruce leaves."

"Do you want some company?" the teen offered. "I know he prefers to go alone, but I can go with you if you want."

Dick actually smiled. "That'd be nice."

The conversation became a little lighter afterward. They talked about Gotham, about Bludhaven, and Dick asked about school and dutifully teased him about girls. They went over some some of the night's sparing, but when asked what had distracted him, Tim frowned. It was almost on the tip of his tongue, but he honestly couldn't quite recall.

It's okay, Tim thought. If it's important, I'll remember it later.

The train cart was meant to haul cargo. It was hard and cold and generally not the most pleasant way to spend several days, but Jason didn't care. They could find more comfortable sleeping accommodations once they reached Berlin, and thanks to Margarete there was a backpack stuffed with bread, cheese, fruit, and even some dry meat slung over his shoulder. Jason had survived on far less and was nothing but grateful to the woman for her kindness.

He'd expected Damian to complain though and was both glad and disturbed that he did not. Being raised almost like a prince and then having to go through all this, he'd expected some kind of resistance... attitude... something! But the boy was oddly subdued, too quiet for Jason's liking. He ate when the young man gave him food, and Jason was fairly certain he slept, but that sleep was uneven, often disturbed by nightmares that would bring the child gasping back to the waking world.

The night before they reached Germany, when Jason tried to pass him piece of bread, he just shook his head and pushed the food away.

"I miss my mother," he swallowed hard, voice on the verge of breaking.

Whatever hatred he felt for Talia mattered little at that moment, but he didn't know how to comfort. All Jason managed to get out was, "I know."

He was a little surprised when Damian scooted over and curled up at his side. It still felt a little odd, but Jason didn't have the heart to push him away. Awkwardly wrapping an arm around the boy's shoulders, he held him. After a moment of quiet, Damian spoke again.

"Do you think Father will like me?"

The former Robin had to laugh. "Sure. He has a soft spot for strays. And," He continued quickly so as not to have to explain the comment., "I haven't even told you about Dick! He's kind of our brother. Sort of, but he's older so he doesn't live at the manor anymore. I promise he'll like you, too. He likes everyone."

Damian gave him an inscrutable look. "You mean we have to share Father with someone else?"

"Hey, we were both here before you, little D," Jason reminded him.

"Sorry," the boy looked down, chastised. "I never had brothers before."

Jason almost said "Me neither" but bit his tongue. Now was definitely not the time to get into his less-than-fantastic relationship with Dick before his death. Not that they'd ever outright fought, but they'd never been close either. He would not have thought to use the term 'brother' except that he was trying to cheer up Damian, give the boy something more to look forward to. He leaned back against the wall or the cart and pulled the child closer.

A few more days... just a few more days...