"So, two years sober today," Roy said proudly to the mute sitting at the kitchen table. Roy popped toast into the toaster and turned to face Jason. "Pretty badass, huh? I'm kind of a big deal."

It could have been a sneeze, but Roy definitely heard a snort.

"Yeah, scoffing at my achievements. That's so Jason," Roy mumbled, and couldn't help but smile brightly.

In the two weeks Kori and Roy had been staying at Dick's apartment and making daytrips to the manor, that had become the thing to say. When he would drop a plate after Damian and Tim bickered in front of him, that was "so Jason." When he refused to sleep in his old room, that was "so Jason."

When he gripped that Red Hood helmet, white knuckles stark against the bright red, whenever Bruce decided to show his face, that was definitely Jason. It was weird, but Roy always felt pride when he saw these things.

That didn't mean the whole situation didn't phase him, though. Even Kori, who had taken it all in stride, still found herself shaking some nights, actively seeking Roy out just so that she could hear someone's voice.

Dick had given them the keys and stayed at the manor, telling them they could stay however long they liked, but Kori and Roy knew eventually they would have to go. Gotham wasn't theirs, and if the Outlaws were going to keep up their reputation, they would have to do something worth remembering.

"Are you still going to kill?" Dick asked while Kori was asleep, and Roy thought about it as deeply as he could.

"We didn't kill because of Jason. I killed people before I met him, because before I went to jail I was a real soldier for a while. And Kori is a real warrior, and she's taken lives for good reason. And I think you guys over exaggerate Jason's lethal tendencies. I've never seen him shoot first, I've never seen him shoot someone unarmed or without their own weapons out, I've never seen him kill someone who didn't deserve it. And, even though he has those rules in place, I sill used to see him out in the middle of the night, staring at his hands and talking to the stars. He still does it, stare at his hands, I mean. Like he's looking at the blood stained there. I do it too, sometimes." Roy shrugged, wondering how he could be this honest and this sober at the same time.

"So why do it?" Dick asked, frustrated. "Why not go back to before? Why can't you come back?"

"Look at us right now, Dick. We're not on opposite sides, we're just different shades of gray. It doesn't matter how insane he is, if the Joker had a gun to somebody's head and the police had a sniper in position, they'd take the shot."

"We're-" Dick struggled for reasons. "We're not the cops."

"You're right. And you have no idea how much I admire and respect your chewy moral center, but the only reason your job works is because of people like us."

Dick scoffed, insulted and a bit baffled. "How do you figure that?"

"Everyone had figured out you guys don't kill. Then, all of a sudden, drug dealers start disappearing left and right. The Joker shows back up at Arkham with crowbar bruises and flash burns. Tell me, how much easier is it to get someone to talk now?"

Dick swore aloud and dropped off in silence. He could have sworn a year ago he had all the reasons lined up why Red Hood was wrong. Now, all he knew for sure was that this was all very confusing. He was really tired of confusing. The two of them sat together in the artificial light of Dick's kitchen. Roy looked deeply into his glass of water.

"When did it become so complicated?" Dick asked sadly. And, after the words tumbled out of his mouth, he realized he was sad, sad because this was his best friend once upon a time, and now he was someone who crossed the ultimate line, someone he didn't know and didn't want to be.

"We grew up, I guess," Roy said, and he was sad, too. Accepting, but sad. "I guess we just grew up and all our innocence fell apart." He chanced a look at Dick, who was staring sadly at the closed bedroom door. "I don't like it, you know. Taking someone out permanently. It's my last resort, it's our last resort."

"Are you sure it was Jason's?" Dick asked. They still weren't making eye contact; it was easier to open up without seeing the truth in their eyes. "You didn't see him when he was here. We found a duffel bag with his prints on it. There were 8 severed heads inside. All the lieutenants to every drug operation in Gotham. Severed heads, Roy."

Roy grimaced. "Dude, I shoot arrows. I'm not qualified to talk about this."

Dick smiled, a quick amused smile that never reached his eyes. Then, he was serious again. "I think it was the Lazarus Pit. It can make someone go mad."

"I think it was Gotham." Dick and Roy finally locked eyes. "I think it was seeing you and the old man exactly how you used to be, only this time you actually cared about the kid wearing the booty shorts."

"Hey!" Dick yelled, forgetting about the sleeping alien. "He didn't want me around, okay? I tried. But Bruce was being an ass and Jason was this stubborn, stupid kid that thought everything was a game!"

"And what did you think when you started out? What did we all think? We were sixteen, living together in a building shaped like a T, for God's sake! The only difference was that he said what he thought out loud!" Roy's eyes blazed. He wasn't fighting for Jason anymore, he was fighting for all of them. He was fighting for the disenfranchised little boy stuck inside himself and Jason, the one that thought the world of the people around him, before everything fell through. He fought for the boy inside Dick that hadn't been broken all the way through yet, the one he hoped would always be quick with a bad joke and a smile.

"You're right, we all made that mistake. And Jason had to die for us to learn!" Dick flailed his arms wildly. He had stared at that case for too long for it to have no lesson attached. It had to mean something more, because if all that case meant was that his brother was dead, then how could he go on with his life?

"Why did Jason die, Richard?" a smooth voice called from the open doorway. Dick tried not to notice she was wearing one of Roy's shirts and nothing else.

Dick swallowed the lump in his throat that question formed. "He didn't wait for Batman before entering this warehouse. The Joker was there. He. . ." Dick trailed off. Even after all this time it was hard to talk about, hard to remember how easily avoidable it was.

"I know what the Joker did. And Jason informed me that his death came about from disobeying orders. My question was why."

Dick thought a second, confused. "Why? I thought I just told you why."

"Why didn't he wait?" Roy asked. He had never heard this story from anyone before. All he knew was that Jay had died and come back with a vengeance.

"This woman, Sheila Haywood, was still inside. He had just found out she was his biological mother."

Kori nodded resolutely. She had known; she had known since that night Jason had told her everything. But even he had not realized why she had asked about his motivation.

"And why is his uniform still in the case?" she asked calmly, even though Roy was looking at the both of them as if they had two heads. "Why did Batman take that uniform that you also wore and set it up for everyone to see?"

"Because," Dick said, his head hanging in guilt and shame. "Because we all died that day. Because the way he felt, the darkness that consumed him, the loss, he needed to see it. Every day."

Roy swallowed thickly, imagining losing a child like that. All he said came back to him. "Damn," was all he could muster.

Kori took only one step closer. "He felt immense pain over Jason's death, as if it all weighed on him. Because he believes he shoulders the whole burden, he believes he is allowed to decide its meaning."

Dick looked up at her. "What?" he asked, voice cracking.

Roy took over. "Jason died, and after he did Bats made him a cautionary tale, because he wanted to protect everyone who was left. Because he never wanted to feel that pain again. But now Jason's back. He's back and all you guys remember is that he died because he didn't listen, not that he died to save a woman he barely knew."

Dick nodded once. "He should get to define what his death meant. Only now he can't talk, he can barely comprehend the world around him. We've lost who he really is, again."

Kori walked the rest of the way and put her hand on Dick's shoulder.

"When did it get so complicated," Dick whispered again.

(A.N.: One more epilogue, then a little hiatus, then the sequel! Again, thank you guys so much for the wonderful reviews, I appreciate every single one. Also, if you're ever in the mood to listen to some songs that are pretty much tailored to Jason Todd, Radical Face is the artist to listen to! Really great music that I actually listen to on repeat when I write =) Thanks again!)