The second Dick hit the rooftop, he stopped to com in.

"Tim?"

Tim's voice was clear as a bell through the link.

"That's Robin. No n-"

"Names in the field," Dick finished, with his excited energy at a higher level than usual. "Yeah I know. But Tim, I know where he is!"

Tim sat shocked for a moment. "Where should I send Bruce?"

"Crime alley."

"Shit. Well, he'll be on his way in about ten seconds."

"Awesome."

—-

Batman was holding some poor guy that looked vaguely like a rat by the throat when he heard Tim's voice.

"Nightwing thinks he found him. Head to the crime alley."

Rat man whimpered when he hit the floor, but Batman was gone.

It was only as he grappled between buildings that he began to consider what he would do when they did find Jason. And then he decided not to. This was his son, even more so since he'd been gone.

He really hoped he'd know.

—

Somehow, both vigilantes reached crime alley at the same time, despite the fact that Nightwing had been closer by about fifteen blocks.

"Where is he?" Not even Bruce could contain the hope and pleading in his voice.

"Some kids told me that he sleeps in this alley."

Batman looked down into the alley and couldn't hold back the flashes of memory that hit him.

The smell of blood, blood on pearls, on his knees, on the street, mingling with grease and water and their eyes and-

He stopped that memory in its tracks. Then another flash.

His small face, gaunt, challenging him. Teal eyes, much too bright for a kid who probably hadn't eaten in days, determined.

He held a tire iron in a menacing way. It was probably the most adorable thing he'd ever seen.

"But it's a long alley." Nightwing continued.

Batman stopped him.

"Follow me."

They landed in the exact spot that Bruce first met Jason. He remembered it so clearly.

When he saw that the kid had successfully gotten three of the tires already, Bruce was equal parts impressed and pissed. He'd gotten past all of the security and he was what, six, seven? Probably older because of the malnutrition.

"I'm not giving the tires back, you know." The kid had the audacity to glare.

So freaking cute, the little shit.

Batman glared right back. The kid was at least smart enough to look down for a moment of that. But then he looked back up and Bruce knew he liked this kid.

Batman smiled at the memory.

But no time for nostalgia. his son was somewhere, waiting for him. This time, he wouldn't be late.

Nightwing and Batman searched through the filth and blood, looking for any sign of the wayward boy.

Bruce heard Nightwing's strangled sob and was sure that his heart stopped. He raced over to see Dick recovering something the size of a kid with the blanket. It wasn't moving. Dick was crying.

Not again. Not this alley, not this kid, not this death, not again. Bruce yelled out into the darkness. Any criminal within three blocks knew that if you fucked with Batman now, you'd probably end up in a body cast.

Dick jumped up, and immediately ran to his father figure.

"No! Bruce, it's not him!"

But Bruce was already riled up. He was too late. Again. He had failed Jason in every possible way, and now he was probably dead. Again. He started to rip through the alley, cardboard and dead animals flying from their piles as Bruce searched. At the bottom of one pile, he found an old tire iron. Rusted to shit, but intact.

And then Batman started to cry.

No, Bruce started to cry. Silently, like the bat must. And Nightwing had no idea what to do.

And then Bruce started to laugh. Cradling the rusted tire iron that looked so much like the one little eight-year-old Jason had held, what was it, six years ago, now? He laughed, partially at the memory of the kid ready to face off against Batman and partially in hysterics

And then they heard a child.

Wailing in despair.

In their minds, they both matched up an image from a paused video to that noise. It was the sound of a child in unimaginable pain. Wailing for all that would never be and all that hurt in the world and knowing that it would never be fixed and crying out because this child had seen all the hurt the world had to give and knew that it would never ever get better and was so afraid of that.

Bruce stood up. The noise echoed off the walls into his ears and he struggled to keep his hands from covering them. The sound was coming from everywhere but it was his son and he wouldn't fail him again. They raced to the noise.

And then it slowed, quieted, and stopped.

Against the slimy walls of the alley, there was a shape, completely indistinguishable from the surrounded grime, save for two gleaming orbs.

Much too bright for a kid who definitely hadn't eaten in days.

Those orbs looked past Batman, but they still saw.

He screamed.

It was bloodcurdling, just like the last noise, but this one hurt more.

His son was afraid of him.

Bruce hesitated. Dick did not. He ran up to the boy, still screaming, now looking directly at them.

Dick had never seen such abject fear as the boy tried to turn and scramble backwards. He tried. Jason tried to move away, but he couldn't. His muscles just wouldn't work and the boy realized this and just went back to wailing.

At this point Bruce ran up, wanting to touch the boy, confirm that he was real. When he did, his heart dropped. His temperature was so, so low.

Jason tried to claw his attacker and Bruce saw Jason's fingers, scabbed and bloody. His nails had peeled off and the sight of his fingers, which looked bothfrozen and damaged beyond repair, made Bruce want to cry.

Bruce picked up the screaming boy, now warm enough with contact to thrash about, and pressed the button on his belt that called the car. It appeared in seconds as Bruce held the child to his chest, wrapped in the cape for warmth.

Dick jumped in the driver's seat, Bruce and the child in the back, and suddenly they were racing through the town in desperation.