Author's Note: I rewrote this like... twice, I think. One version was totally different and for another I spent two hours on skype with my best friend going back and forth. He was less than enchanted with some of my choices with Bruce's... less than positive emotions, but I argued my point. If anyone is curious about my reasoning, I'm going to post something on my livejournal. A sort of musing I wrote mostly for myself but then decided to share. Please enjoy and review!

He was not apprehensive as he followed Dick back upstairs to the manor. What was there to be worried about? If there had been a world-wide emergency, he would have heard from the League and everything in Gotham was closely monitored. He assumed that if something had happened to Tim or Alfred or Barbara, Dick would been rushing him to the car, not practically ordering him back into the house. But the younger man did seem unusually pensive.

At the very top of the stairs he stopped and looked at him over his shoulder.

"Do you remember..." he swallowed. "Do you remember that day at the circus?"

Of course he did. He remembered it as clearly as the murder of his own parents, had seen himself in Dick as the then-boy looked down from the trapeze platform. All he remembered thinking was, Not again, but it was quickly followed by a sense of determination. Leslie and Alfred had done the best they could for him, and now it was his turn. The city – his responsibility – would not destroy this child. Looking at Dick now, at the man he'd grown into, Bruce couldn't be more proud, and for a second it occurred to him that he didn't say it nearly enough. Dick had become everything he'd hoped for him; strong, brave, compassionate, every part the heart that Bruce rarely found himself capable of expressing.

He had saved the boy from the circus, but he'd also failed another. And it wasn't a boy, but a man who looked back at him now.

"You told me it would be okay," Dick reminded him. "You knelt and took my shoulders and told me it would be okay. Try to remember that now."

They exited into his study where Alfred greeted them, standing as formal and rigid as Bruce had ever seen him. He didn't miss the silent communication that passed between his oldest friend and Dick, and then Alfred left the room. Bruce turned to his first protégé.

"You were about to explain."

Dick nodded and looked him directly in the eyes. "Okay, first thing's first, I guess. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Talia's been missing for a couple weeks. She... might be dead."

Outwardly he remained impassive, but he did feel a twinge of sadness. There had been moments in the past where it had felt like the woman truly understood him. Had she not been so loyal, so brain-washed by her father... It didn't really matter now. Their paths had diverged a long time ago. Still, she had meant something to him once upon a time. Not that he let it show now. Instead he asked:

"How did you find out about this?"

The young took a breath and shifted his weight from one foot to another. Bruce's eyes narrowed. To the untrained eye Dick might have simply looked like he was uncomfortable, but he knew better. Dick was stalling, the only question was, why? The answer came when Alfred returned, flanked by Tim and another boy Bruce didn't recognize.

Dick walked around to him and gently prompted the boy to move forward until he was standing right in front of Bruce. The child glanced up at him but instantly looked down again, suddenly fascinated with the carpet, but the man couldn't take his eyes off him. Dick stepped behind him placed both hands on the boy's shoulders.

"Bruce, this is Damian. Talia's son. He's eight years old," Dick added as if it was information of vital importance. As if he didn't understand the silent implications without it. He met Dick's gaze, looking hard at the young man.

"Talia's son." He repeated. Dick tensed, and he returned his gaze on the boy.

This is wrong...

As much as he would have liked to think so, not every thought that passed through his mind was always rational or under his control. Looking at the child now – small, frightened, innocent – all Bruce could think of was that, no, no this was not his son. They had taken his child from him already. The world had murdered Jason and replaced him with this... impostor. Mordred, who might have been a son of the blood but could never be a child of the heart, who would bring Camelot crashing down through war from within.

A cuckoo bird chick in a robin's nest.

A changeling.

But then he remembered another story. In it, a father and king of sorts, had two sons, though he favored the elder. But the elder – the warrior – had been killed in noble combat. The younger – the scholar – asked his father:

"Do you wish our places had been exchanged? That I had died, and he had lived?"

And in his grief and madness the father answered, "Yes. I wish that indeed."

This is wrong...

Slowly he knelt in front of the boy. His hands replaced Dick's on his shoulders as his eldest took a step back. He tipped his chin so that their eyes could meet and saw that they were not the eyes of an impostor. They were his own and his father's. The boy was the same age he had been when his parents were murdered. He searched the child's face and managed a small smile.

"Hi, Damian."

The boy looked up shyly. "Hello."

"Do you know who I am?" For everyone he'd mentored, Bruce was still not very good at speaking to small children on their level, but Damian didn't seem to mind.

"My mother told me. You're Bruce Wayne. Batman." The child hesitated before speaking the final words. "You're my father."

He nodded, again unsurprised. "You may call me that, if you like. Or you can call me 'Dad' or 'Bruce'. Whatever you're most comfortable with."

Personally he would have probably been most comfortable with 'Bruce'. He'd never been 'Dad' to any of them, though Jason... No, don't think about him now. It isn't fair to the boy. Still he couldn't help the tension and uncertainty, feeling – knowing! – that he was doing something wrong. There should have been more... emotion! Something other than the however-brief flash of resentment he'd be berating himself for for the foreseeable future. The kid deserved better than to have a father who lacked the emotional capacity to be genuinely happy to have him.

The boy looked down again. "I... I've been calling you 'Father', if... if that's acceptable."

"That's perfectly fine." He would make it fine, he vowed. "And, Damian, I am very sorry about what happened to your mother."

Bruce still didn't know exactly what that was, but those were still words that the boy needed to hear. Whatever issues he'd had with Talia – and there would be more now – children often needed to hear that their parents had cared for one another in some capacity for however brief a time. Besides whatever had actually happened, Dick could tell him about it privately later. They would not be discussing a mother's potential death in front of her child.

Dick took a step forward, touching the child's hair to get his attention. "Okay, Damian, remember what we talked about? I'm sorry to interrupt, but I really need to talk to your dad for a few minutes. Tim and Alfred are going to give you a tour of the upstairs and show you your new room, alright?"

Bruce rose, wondering what else there could be. Dick had come to him and said he needed help. Not that he had something to show him or someone to introduce, but he had explicitly asked for help. What could be so important as to interrupt this? Whatever it was Damian knew and considered it important enough not to argue.

"Go with them," Bruce nodded encouragingly to the boy. "I'll be up in a minute, and then we can talk more."

"But not for too long," Dick added giving Damian a pointed look.

The boy nodded a little reluctantly and followed Tim and Alfred out the door. He paused, looked back at Bruce as if wanting to say something, then thought better of it. Tim did stop, but it was Dick he turned to.

"Do you want me to stay?" the teen asked.

"No," the young man shook his head. "It's all on me. Thanks, though."

Tim closed the door behind him, and they were finally alone. Dick blew out a breath. Bruce thought he hadn't seen him this nervous since an incident when he'd been doing doing gymnastics down the stairs using the chandelier as a trapeze and had brought the whole thing crashing down. That was before his career as Robin. Considering he had just rather calmly introduced him to the child he never knew he had, Bruce had to wonder what else could have such an impact. He should say something now, shouldn't he?

"Thank you," he tried putting as much sincerity into his voice as he could.

Dick looked a bit surprised but then smiled. "I just met him yesterday myself. Didn't exactly want to tell you over the phone, so... He seems like a good kid, you know? Smart. Misses his mom terribly but tries to hide it. Wonder where he gets that from, huh?"

He'd meant for it to come out as a joke, but Bruce didn't smile. He didn't want this for any of them, but somehow it kept happening. First his parents, then Dick's, Tim's mother... Jason's entire short life had been one long string of tragedies, and now there was this boy. Bruce hoped he would follow in Dick's footsteps rather than his own, learn to live with the grief without it consuming him. He was so young!

"Anyway," Dick went on. "It's not me you should be thanking. I just drove from Bludhaven. It wasn't me who brought him across half way across the world. You... ah... you might want to sit down for that one."

He remained standing, of course, arms crossed. Dick just sighed and shook his head, as if it was the exact behavior he was expecting. It probably was. The young man stepped forward, brought his hands up, fingers flexing, then lowered them again. He licked his lips and bit the bottom one. Alright, this was getting ridiculous.

"You," Bruce said mildly, "are officially scaring me. Congratulations. Now tell me who brought Damian here. Was it Ra's?"

"No!" Dick's head jerked up. "There's a good chance he'll show up on your doorstep in the next few days with a small army, but no. The truth is... Jason did."

There was absolute silence.

He stared at him, completely uncomprehending the words that had just come out of his mouth. It was as if his brain just flat-lined and no new information was getting through. Why was Dick looking at him like that? Like he was watching for signs that he might drop dead at any second?

"Bruce?" The young man cautiously cocked his head to the side.

"I... I don't understand what you're saying." He admitted.

"Jason," Dick repeated slowly. Why did he keep saying that name? "Our Jason," He indicated at the space between them. "Your son. My brother. Oh, God, Bruce, please don't do that thing where you go away in your head. I really need you to hear me. I need you to be you. Batman might've lost a partner, but Bruce Wayne lost his son, and only he can help him now."

He felt the wrecking ball of emotions coming, and in a last attempt to prevent it all he managed was, "No. No, it's impossible."

"We know it's not," Dick was obviously trying to stay calm too. "I don't know how it happened. The Lazarus Pit was involved, but only to heal, not resurrect him. Tim found some kind of clues before hand, but when he tried to convince me, I didn't believe him. Not until Jason showed up in Bludhaven with Damian. Please, please tell me you're hearing what I'm saying."

The wrecking ball finally hit, and Bruce unconsciously backed into the large mahogany desk. Images raced through his mind. Flashes of a boy with so much life, so much emotion he'd never learned to hide them for good or ill. The boy who loved and hated everything with such unrestrained passion. With Jason there had never been a middle ground. What had been his first thoughts when he first saw him? He's so scrawny… but so brave. What had been his last? Why did I leave him alone when I knew he'd run off! I'd give anything to see him grow into a man.

His hands clenched the edge of the table in a white-knuckle grip.

How did this happen? Batman demanded. How did I not know about this?

But Bruce Wayne screamed, I don't care!

He raised his eyes to Dick, momentarily confused why the other man looked so blurry, then swiped at his eyes. The young man dutifully pretended to glance away until Bruce looked up again, gaze hard and clear.

"I want to see him. Where is he?"

Dick looked uncomfortable. "That's the bad news. Tim showed up, which… he didn't exactly take well, but on its own might have been okay. But he found out that the Joker's still alive, and… he went ballistic, to put it mildly. I couldn't talk him down, and he… he ran off."

No… not again! How… how could this be happening again!

"Why didn't you stop him?" He demanded far sharper than he'd intended.

Dick's head snapped up. "Because I couldn't! Short of knocking him out, I just… I probably should've, but after everything… We just got him back, and he was hurt and furious and…"

"Hurt?" Somehow he knew Dick didn't mean that in the emotional sense. It was too much of an understatement.

Dick swallowed. "He'd been shot. After they flew in to Bludhaven but before he could find me. Shoulder wound. He was protecting Damian from some thugs they ran into, and one of them got in a lucky shot. I patched him up, but, Bruce, he's not okay. Physically or mentally."

Shot? Some street punk put a bullet in his son? No, this was not the first time, but it felt like yet another crushing blow. Somewhere out there Bruce was sure there was a place in hell just for him where he was forced to watch every single person he loved die over and over again in every brutal way imaginable. The idea that Jason was back, but out there alone, injured, and angry – angry at him! – tore away at him. What if he couldn't get to him in time again...?

Don't, Batman warned. Don't even think like that.

"You think he's headed for Arkham," he looked hard at Dick. "After the Joker."

The young man nodded. "He... he took my gun, and before you ask, no, I didn't just leave a fire arm lying around. It didn't occur to me that he knew the combination to my closet."

I didn't mean to snap at you, Dick. I'm sorry. Aloud he only said, "It's done. I'm going to go out and find him. If he comes here first, contact me, and keep him here. There are sedative solutions down in the cave." Don't hurt him! "Have one on hand."

Dick nodded, looked down, then took a breath and set his hand on Bruce's shoulder. The contact almost made him jolt in surprise. Dick had been a happy child, free with his affections. At the time, Bruce remembered being used to it, but as they'd drifted apart, distance and coldness had become the norm.

"I'm sorry," the young man said with utter sincerity. "I know between this and Damian, you must be completely overwhelmed. I've had the last day to process and my nerves are totally fried. I wish... I wish I'd been able to keep him from leaving."

What was the right thing to say? Bruce was quiet for a moment, then set his lips in a thin line. "If it had happened here, I'm not sure I could have done any better." He finally admitted. "After all this time, could I have raised a hand to him? Probably not."

"I think it would have just made it worse," Dick agreed sadly. "That's kind of what I meant when I said he needed you, not Batman. He could deal with another Robin – barely, but he could – but... He thinks that by not avenging him, it means you forgot him or... or that you didn't care."

What? How could he? Dick must have seen the shock on his face, because he shook his head. "I know you love him, but you need to tell him that. Don't take it for granted that he knows. Don't expect people to just read your mind. I'm pretty good at it, but not everyone is."

Had he been expecting that? Of course he loved Jason, but having years to think about it, Bruce knew he'd made a lot of mistakes with him. He shouldn't have made him Robin so soon. He should have worked with him to help him with his grief. He should have treated him more like a son and less like a solider. And looking at Dick now, Bruce knew Jason was not the only one he'd let down this way.

"You shouldn't have to read my mind either," he said quietly. Dick grinned.

"Yeah, well, somehow I managed to grow up into a semi-well-adjusted individual anyway," he quipped. "Mostly."

"I mean it," he said firmly, squeezing his eldest's shoulder. "When I... when we come back, things are going to be different."

"Yup," Dick nodded as if he absolutely believed him. "We're all gonna hug it out and have a big family reunion barbecue. Seriously, just bring him back. Go. I'll keep an eye on Damian."

Damian! Bruce silently winced. He'd already nearly forgotten. Pushing himself off the desk, he gave Dick a determined nod and moved towards the door of the study, but not to the entrance to the cave. Seeing Dick's frown, he turned slightly.

"I'm going," he said over his shoulder. "But I need a minute first."

He found the boy upstairs in the room Alfred had somehow already managed to prepare for him. It had been one of the larger guest bedrooms, so there was very little in the way of special items or decorations. Bruce made a mental note to make sure he helped Damian make the room his own. The child was looking at a painting that hung above the headboard but crawled down when Bruce entered to simply sit on the bed and look up at him.

"Did Dick tell you?" Were the first words out of the boy's mouth. Bruce nodded. "Are you going to go get Jason now?"

"Yes."

There was no 'I hope so' or 'I'll do my best'. Jason would be home tonight, safe and healing. He'd make sure of that. The boy looked satisfied.

"Good. Dick said you would."

"Well, it must be true then," Bruce offered a small smile before his face turned serious again. "I do want to talk to you, Damian, get to know you, but I have to bring your brother back first. I don't want you to think that I want to leave. Or that he wanted to," he added belatedly. "Jason cares for you very much."

Damian seemed to think about that. "He's trouble, isn't he?"

"Yes." Bruce replied honestly. There was no point in lying. "But I will bring him back. It'll be okay, Damian. I promise."