Author's Note: Just flew in from Ireland and thought I'd post before I went to sleep off the jet lag. Still trying to decide on a few things for next chapter, about how far I can push certain characters without appearing too oc, but in the meantime please enjoy and review!

Damian gingerly fingered the pictures in the photo album. There were some of Bruce as a boy and many of Thomas and Martha Wayne. The photos became more sparse after their murder. The few that were of Bruce at various functions and graduations showed the image of a solemn man. Small smiles returned when the young acrobat entered the pictures and more followed when Jason appeared.

And then the smiles disappeared all together. And they did not return.

Sitting next to the boy with the photo album in between them, Dick watched the flow of images with sadness. He wondered how much of it Damian understood or could extrapolate. His own mind connected every photo with memories, that like the images, became less and less happy. Was it possible to return to that happiness again? He wanted it so badly but knew that even if – when – Bruce brought Jason home, it wouldn't be the end of the story.

They finished with the first album, and Dick closed it. "It's been a long day. You want to try and sleep?" he offered the boy, though he knew what the answer would be.

Damian shook his head. "I'm waiting for Jason."

We all are. Actually, it was probably a good thing. As much as he thought the boy should be resting, Dick also knew that it would do Jason a world of good to see him. He cared a lot for the child, had stepped in the path of a bullet to keep him safe. He was the only person Jason couldn't possibly be mad at. Seeing him again might be just what was needed to break through to him.

"I know," Dick said sympathetically and wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders. "Might be a long night for us though. Want to do hot chocolate with marshmallows? Maybe raid the leftover cookies?"

The boy wrinkled his nose. Right. Not a big fan of chocolate sweets. Jason would have remembered that.

"How about milkshakes?" Tim offered from his place at the foot of the bed. "We know how to make these amazing strawberry milkshakes."

Looking at the teen over the top of the boy's head, Dick nodded approvingly. Damian had not exactly been Tim's biggest fan – no doubt on Jason's behalf – so the move towards a peaceful co-existence was much appreciated. Damian eyed him suspiciously.

"What's a milkshake?"

"Blended milk, ice cream, and something else, usually fruit." Tim replied patiently. "Dick and I like strawberries, but you can put anything you want in there. Come on. We'll show you."

He rose and held his hand out to the boy. Damian didn't take it, but he did hop off the bed. "We have to make enough for Jason."

"'Course. Let's break out the industrial-sized blender."

Tim led the way down the massive stairs, and Damian turned once to make sure Dick was behind them before trotting off after the teen. He followed, but his mind wandered. He'd started this tradition with Tim to help him unwind, make sure that the young teen had someone to talk to about both costumed and civilian life, complain about school, friends, Bruce, the Teen Titans, anything he wanted. And it appeared to have worked; despite everything, Tim seemed well-adjusted and fairly happy most of the time.

His hand tightened on the wooden railing as he stopped. He should have done this with Jason, who had needed a big brother even more. How hard would it have been to spend a few weekends in Gotham with him? A few evenings just making milkshakes and goofing off to dumb movies? It would've cost him nothing but might have made a difference. How could he have let his stupid, childish pissing contest with Bruce stand in the way of what his little brother had needed so desperately.

Things will be different, Bruce had said.

Dick didn't know how much of that he believed. Some, to be sure. The intention was in the right place, but Bruce was damaged himself. He could only change so much at a moment's notice. But Dick would try, too. He'd be a better brother to all of them. A better brother and a better son, and somehow, between all their efforts, they would make this family whole again.

The first thing he did was head to Arkham. The grounds were under constant surveillance, and it did help that Wayne Tech provided the latest security system upgrade. Even from the car he could see through every camera in the asylum, but all seemed quiet. Every cell and hallway was locked down tight. He lingered an extra moment on the view from the camera that pointed to the Joker's cell. In his mind, he could see the madman as clear as if he was standing before him.

So many lives lost, he thought. It was little wonder Jason was angry. Would it have made a difference if he'd killed him? It might have made the world better, but it would have changed him irreversibly. Even now Bruce didn't know if he could be the father his children deserved, but if he'd allowed himself to be taken down that road, he would be lost to them forever. He could only pray he got to Jason in time now and that he could convince his son to let him be there for him.

Don't let him win, he thought silently, not knowing if he was talking to Jason or himself.

He put the car in drive and dialed into the cave. Alfred answered instantly. "Yes, sir?"

"I need you to calculate five of the most optimal routs from Bludhaven to Arkham," he said without preamble. "Use only public transportation. Upload them to the car with indicators at the three, four, and five hour points."

There was a momentary pause. "Uploading. Sir, none of these routs reach the asylum within five hours."

"I know. I just need to see where he could possibly be."

"And if he chooses a different path?"

He was silent. Jason was not thinking clearly, which made him more unpredictable. There was a very good chance he might not be able to intersect him on route. Even five paths was a lot to search, and if he reached Arkham before Bruce got to him, there would be a lot of trouble. Injured and irrational, he didn't actually think Jason get to the Joker, but he was armed. A lot of people could get hurt in the attempt alone, including Jason himself.

"I'll see to it," he promised, then belatedly asked, "Alfred, how are the boys?"

"As well as can be expected. Earlier, Master Richard was sharing a photo album, but I believe they have since then migrated into the kitchen. Master Timothy suggested teaching Master Damian how to make a milkshake."

Good. He should start making memories. "I have it covered here. Go ahead and join them."

"Sir, you may still need..."

"Then I'll call. I have to take care of Jason, but I also need to know the others are taken care of as well. Please... make sure they're alright."

Stoic as he was, even Alfred must have been surprised by the request. Had Batman ever asked anything on Bruce's behalf? He couldn't remember. Certainly not since long before Jason's death, and maybe not even then. But Dick was right; this situation required so much more than Batman.

"Of course, sir," came the reply followed by another short pause. "Be careful, Master Bruce. Bring him home, but be careful."

The call ended, and he glanced at the routs again. The second of the five took him fairly close to the G.C.P.D. headquarters, and he needed to make a stop anyway. Reaching out to the dashboard he sent out a short message.

Rooftop. 10 minutes.

-B

Gordon must have been wondering why he wanted to see him, but he hid his curiosity and apparently understood the implied request for discretion. The signal remained unlit.

"This usually works the other way around," the man quipped.

He didn't smile. "I need your help, Jim."

"Well, I figure I owe you a few. What's happened?"

"Nothing yet, but there is something I'm trying to prevent." He stepped forward into the light of the roof lamps. It was as much in the open as these meetings ever got. "There's a boy... a young man," he amended. "Late teens. Caucasian. Dark haired. He's armed and most likely on his way to Arkham. I'm trying to intercept him before he reaches there, but I may not be able to. I ask that if the police happens to apprehend him, you get in touch and relinquish him into my custody."

The commissioner's bushy brows rose. "That's a... rather unorthodox request."

"It's a very personal situation," he admitted. "The boy is not well. He was injured earlier tonight and is likely in sever emotional distress. I know I'm overstepping my boundaries with this, Jim, but I'm asking as a friend. I cannot express how important it is that he comes with me."

"I think you just did," the man pursed his lips. "I'm not in the habit of intentionally overlooking threats. I'll help you, but I want your word that he won't be trouble in the future."

"He won't be. I'll take care of him." I didn't before, but I will now.

But the next four hours after he left G.C.P.D. head quarters yielded absolutely nothing. He combed through every path up and down, going as far as to return all the way back to Arkham thrice, but still there was no sign of him. Had Dick guessed wrong about Jason's intentions? He didn't think so. Jason always had been impulsive and coupled with his inability to control his anger, it was a recipe for disaster that had come true dozens of times. He'd help him deal with the anger, Bruce thought. Hopefully in a way that didn't make his son hate him even more.

All he had to do was find him, but Gotham was a big city, and he was running out of time.

It was only minutes after he reached Arkham that Jason realized that it was not going to happen. He'd been running on nothing but anger and will since leaving Bludhaven, and his mind was in no shape to even begin to formulate a plan for breaking the Joker out of the asylum. Hell, with the new security, he couldn't even break in and reach his cell long enough to put a bullet in the monster's head.

Maybe once he was stronger... But how was he supposed do that? Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognized that his body needed nourishment, but with his wounds still seeping blood, the weakness and fatigue had long ago overshadowed the hunger. Slowly making his way back towards the city, he couldn't even think about where to go.

I need that fucking psychopath dead! Jason silently screamed, though even the fury had lost some of its force to exhaustion. He should've killed him the second he could! I... I hate him!

But another tiny voice inside him cried out. No! I don't care! I... I just want to go home.

It was the voice of a child, so eerily similar to his last thoughts in his first life. He remembered it all so vividly, remembered thinking that from now on, he would listen, do as he was told, anything to be at home with Bruce again. Had he been 'Bruce' or 'Dad' in that instance? It had never been a conscious thought before, but Jason wondered if maybe – just maybe – in those last moments, it had been the later even then.

He couldn't tell when the emptiness around Arkham had given way to Gotham's city streets or when the bright lights of the popular ads in downtown morphed into the neon glow of much seedier businesses. Not even realizing where he had ended up, Jason sank to the ground.

It's pointless. All of it.

Something bumped into the concrete wall he was leaning against. Confused for a moment, Jason reached back and pulled the gun from the back of his pants. He'd almost forgotten about it. Not really thinking, he weighed the weapon in his palm then checked the clip. Full round. Figures, he snorted. Dick might be required to own it, but no one could make him use it. Damn golden boy. So fucking perfect. He pushed the clip back in, barely hearing the child's very small cry inside his heart.

No! No, please... I want... I want to see my dad...

Make it stop, he thought, feeling his heart twist. It hurt too much to listen.

The safety clicked off.