J'onn Jones is an expert at mind reading. He understands the ins and outs of the human psyche in a way, perhaps no one else ever will. He has seen many minds over his long life. He's delved into heroes, and everyday citizens. He has seen everything mundane to the insane
but nothing prepared him from looking into Robin's mind.
Most people, most living creatures, have some sort of mindscape. A landscape that is the physical representation of their thoughts and feelings. All he sees around him now is darkness. It's unnaturally cold and in the distance, he can hear whispered words, fleeting, distant thoughts.
J'onn paused as the faint sound echoed through the void, his eyes narrowing as he focused. It wasn't a complete thought—it couldn't be. Robinn's mind was too fractured for that. But there was a spark of something—a single word, struggling through the mire of emotions that consumed him.
Dark!
The word rippled through the emptiness, heavy with the weight of despair. It wasn't just the literal dark of Robin's mind. It was the feeling—cold, oppressive, like drowning in an ocean with no surface in sight.
He could feel the oppressive unease behind it. J'onn pressed forward, careful not to push too hard. "I know, Robin," he whispered. "But you're not alone."
Cold!
It wasn't a word, not in the way most would understand. It was a feeling—sharp and piercing, like a knife carving through Robin's soul. J'onn could feel it radiating through the dark, twisting deeper into the boy's core. There was no recognition of what it meant, only the raw, visceral sensation.
Pain!
This, too, wasn't a thought but a constant, throbbing force. It pressed down on everything, suffocating any remnants of Robin's mind. J'onn winced as it washed over him—an echo of the boy's suffering that seemed to stretch endlessly, without respite. There was no way for Robin to understand or process it, only to endure it.
He wondered morosely if his daughter's mind had been like this, in her final moments. Had she been lost in the pain, absolutely terrified without his mind touch there to comfort him. He breathed deeply. No he could not afford to wallow in his own grief, less it imprint on Robin's own psyche. The boy's pain was enough as it was.
Lost!
A flicker—something desperate, not a concept but a gut-wrenching feeling. The absence of warmth, of security. There was no "where," no "who." Just the overwhelming void that swallowed everything, leaving nothing behind but fear and emptiness.
J'onn reached further, careful not to disrupt the fragile space around him. He wasn't here to pull Robin out—not yet. The boy's mind was too fractured, too far gone. But he could be there, a presence, a faint glow in the endless dark.
Slowly, he let his thoughts seep in—warmth, safety, calm. Not in words, but in feelings, gentle and subtle.
For a moment, the darkness rippled. Robin's mind twitched, but there was no real recognition—just a faint flicker of something under the layers of fear and pain. J'onn held steady, knowing that rushing would break whatever fragile connection he'd managed to make.
J'onn kept his mental presence steady, like a flame flickering in the cold abyss of Robin's mind. The boy's consciousness, or what remained of it, was scattered—fragmented emotions, shattered instincts, nothing cohesive enough to call a thought. But that didn't deter J'onn. He had to be patient, had to be careful, or he risked overwhelming Jason entirely.
Fear.
It slithered out of the dark like a living thing, clinging to every piece of Jason's fragmented self. It wasn't fear of a particular thing—there was no focus, no concept of an enemy. It was just raw terror, coursing through the boy's shattered mind, pulling him deeper into the endless void.
J'onn responded by sending a wave of warmth—not overpowering, but gentle. Something familiar, perhaps, to coax Jason's instincts toward a feeling of safety, even if Robin himself didn't understand it.
Another flicker.
Hurt!
This wasn't the simple pain from before. This was deeper—like an open wound that refused to close, festering and raw. J'onn could feel it like a physical thing, the echo of trauma, of brokenness, manifesting in the blackness around him. Jason's mind had locked itself into this state—survival mode, primal, unreachable.
J'onn pressed forward, his own mental presence solid yet comforting, careful not to impose but always there—an anchor in the storm.
The blackness shifted again, rippling at the edges as though it was aware of J'onn's presence. It wasn't Robin, not directly. Jason's mind wasn't functioning that way, but the subconscious was reacting, pushing back against the intruder.
Alone!
That pulse hit J'onn like a physical blow—a scream of isolation, of abandonment so profound that it threatened to drown everything else. Robin's mind was locked in this state of isolation, spiraling deeper into fear and pain without the ability to find a way out.
J'onn sent another surge of calm, trying to reinforce the faint thread of connection he had built. He didn't expect Robin to recognize him, but he hoped to plant the seed—something for Jason to cling to. A presence, a promise that he was not alone.
The blackness quivered. Robin's mind was like a fragile shell, so close to breaking, so dangerously unstable. J'onn hesitated for a moment, knowing that one wrong move could cause the boy's psyche to shatter completely. But he couldn't pull away. He had to stay, had to be there. He reached out again, not with words or thoughts, but with pure emotion—an overwhelming feeling of belonging, of being connected to something greater.
The response was subtle, but it was there. Another flicker in the void, something deep within Robin stirring beneath the fear and pain. A spark, small and distant, but real.
J'onn's mental voice, quiet but firm, whispered once more into the void.
"You're not lost. I'm here."
For a brief moment, the blackness stilled. The fear was still there, the pain still rippling through every fragment of Jason's broken mind. But the flicker remained—small, fragile, but no longer entirely smothered by the darkness. J'onn knew he had to follow the flicker if he wanted to find what, if anything, was left of the boy's consciousness. And so, he did.
J'onn continued through the void, the flicker of Robin's presence steady, though fragile. The coldness still surrounded him, gnawing at the edges of his mind, but he pressed on. His steps were deliberate, careful not to disturb the delicate threads of Robin's shattered psyche. There was something deeper here—something locked away, hidden behind the layers of fear and pain.
He moved forward, the darkness growing thicker, more oppressive, but there was something in the distance. A shape—vague at first, but as J'onn drew closer, it became clearer. The outline of a massive door loomed ahead, cold and foreboding. Heavy chains crisscrossed its surface, thick iron links wrapped tightly around the door, holding it shut. Large, rusted bars secured the chains, as if the door was never meant to be opened.
But it wasn't the door that caught J'onn's attention—it was the small figure huddled before it.
Robin.
The boy sat just outside the door, his knees pulled to his chest, shivering. His body was curled in on itself, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs, as if he was trying to protect himself from the cold. But it was futile—his small form trembled violently, and his skin was pale, almost ghostly. His eyes, distant and hollow, were fixed on the chains that barred the door.
One of Robin's arms was lifted up, his hand gripping the chain weakly, as if he were trying to pull it loose. But there was no force behind the movement, no true understanding of what needed to be done. His fingers curled around the cold metal, trembling, but the action seemed more reflex than intent.
J'onn approached slowly, his own mind steady, projecting warmth and calm into the void around them. He knelt beside Robin, his presence soft but grounding. The boy's grip on the chain tightened for a moment, his hand trembling as though he wanted to pull it but didn't know how.
"Robin," J'onn whispered, his voice gentle yet firm, careful not to startle him. "You don't have to open this alone."
Robin's eyes remained fixed on the door, his hand still gripping the chain, but there was no recognition in his gaze. He was lost—trapped in this place of fear, his mind too fractured to process what was happening. His body continued to shiver, the cold seeping into his very core.
J'onn placed a hand near Robin's, not touching him but close enough to offer a sense of support. "You're not alone," he said softly, allowing warmth to flow from his mind into the darkness that surrounded them. "I'm here."
Robin's grip on the chain faltered slightly, his fingers loosening, but he didn't let go. It was as though he was caught between the instinct to pull and the overwhelming fear of what might happen if the door opened. His body remained tense, his mind too fractured to understand the conflict he was trapped in.
J'onn reached out further, carefully projecting calm into the boy's mind. "You're safe, Robin. I'll help you." His voice was a soothing presence in the cold, the words more emotion than thought. He knew the boy wouldn't understand the words themselves, but the feelings behind them might reach him.
For a moment, the darkness around the door seemed to ripple, as if Robin's mind was reacting to the presence of someone else. But the chains didn't move, and Robin's grip remained hesitant, unsure and J'onn doubted if Robin could break the chains even if he wasn't. His mind didn't have the strength.
J'onn's heart ached at the site of him. He'd only known the boy in the costume. Lively, witty and full of energy, the light to Batman's darkness. His mind had never reeked of fear before and he doubted if the boy had ever been unsure of anything in his life.
J'onn bent down to Robin's level. He grabbed the boy's hand and gently pulled it away from the chain. "You've done well Robin," he said, "but is my turn now."
Psychic chains were not an easy thing to break and doing so often caused pain. The idea of inflicting more pain on Robin felt wrong on many levels. For all that he was a hero, Robin was just a child. To a Martian, 15 was hardly more than an infant. And he seemed so much younger than he was before.
"I'm sorry Robin," he said, "this will hurt." And it pained him to say those words. It made him think so keenly of K'hym and her last moments. He hadn't been able to save his beloved daughter, but there was a chance now to save the boy in front of him. He dreaded causing him pain but knew all to well how necessary such pain could be.
He braced himself. Breaking through barriers like these would be difficult under any circumstance, but the fact that Robin's mind was so fragile, so overwhelmed with pain and fear, meant that any push could rip apart whatever fragile connections still held his consciousness together. J'onn had to be careful, precise, and above all—gentle.
With a deep breath, J'onn focused his mind, his presence expanding to wrap around the chains. He could feel the weight of them, the layers of grief and anguish that had wrapped themselves around Robin's psyche. Slowly, carefully, he began to unravel the first layer.
As the first chain snapped, Robin's body jerked violently. The boy gasped, his breath catching in his throat as though some long-buried memory or emotion had surfaced. His free hand shot out instinctively toward the chains again, but J'onn was there, holding him steady, his presence like a wall against the tidal wave of fear that threatened to overtake Robin once more.
"It's okay," J'onn whispered, his voice soothing, though his heart clenched at the sight of the boy's pain. "You're not alone. I'm here."
The next layer of chains began to loosen, the rusted metal groaning as if it hadn't moved in years. Each link that broke sent a ripple of anguish through Robin's mind, flashes of memories, emotions—fragments of things too overwhelming for the boy to process all at once. Robin's body trembled violently, his small frame shivering as though trying to push back the tide, to retreat into the cold darkness once more.
"No!" Robin's voice—hoarse and broken—whispered through the void, his lips parting for the first time since J'onn had found him. The sound was barely audible, but it was filled with raw fear.
J'onn froze for a moment. He hadn't expected Robin to speak—not yet. The boy's mind was too fractured, too overwhelmed. But the voice, faint as it was, was unmistakable: a child's plea to stop the pain, to stay hidden in the dark.
"I'm sorry, Robin," J'onn said again, his voice filled with deep sorrow. "But you can't stay here."
With a final surge of mental strength, J'onn focused on the last chain, the thickest of them all, wound tight around the door like a serpent guarding its most precious secret. Robin's small form tensed as J'onn's presence pulled at the chain, and for a moment, J'onn felt the boy's mind pulling back, resisting, terrified of what lay behind the door.
But J'onn didn't let go. He couldn't—not if he wanted to save Robin from the abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.
The final chain snapped.
The door groaned, its hinges screeching as if they hadn't moved in a century. Robin's eyes widened, the hollow, empty look momentarily replaced by raw terror as the door began to swing open. His body jerked in J'onn's grip, his voice a broken cry that echoed through the void—an instinctual, wordless plea for the pain to stop.
But it didn't stop. The door continued to open, inch by agonizing inch, revealing the fractured memories, the buried pain, and the overwhelming fear that Robin had hidden so deeply away.
J'onn held him, his presence unwavering. He knew what was coming—the flood of memories, of trauma, of all the things that had broken this boy so completely. He braced himself, preparing to face the storm with Robin, to keep him anchored in this abyss.
"Stay with me," J'onn whispered, his mental voice calm and strong. "I won't leave you."
The door swung open.
Behind it was chaos—flashes of light and darkness, of pain and fear, of blood and loss. It was a kaleidoscope of emotions, too fast, too powerful, too overwhelming for Robin's mind to process all at once. The memories crashed through the door like a tidal wave, slamming into J'onn's mind with a force that almost knocked him back.
But he held steady.
Robin's body convulsed in his arms, his breath coming in sharp gasps as the memories flooded back—the screams, the violence, the fear. The boy's mind was drowning in it, choking on the raw emotion, the trauma that had been buried so deeply.
The memories came playing back for him one by one in quick succession and each one grew more painful than the last.
He was not in the Robin costume. Jason Todd was dressed in his school uniform. There was a stain on his tie from the sauce his mofongo had been drenched in. The feelings here were of satedness from a delicious meal and joy at seeing his favorite waitress. The feelings did not last long.
Jason stepped out of the diner, his mind still focused on the meal and the pleasant exchange, when everything changed. J'onn felt the shift—the sudden, sharp spike of fear that followed. The boy didn't see them right away, the men in the alleyway near him, but the tension was unmistakable. It was a creeping, cold sensation, slowly making its way up Jason's spine.
The men approached quickly, their movements practiced, deliberate. Jason was trained—Robin was trained—and part of him recognized the danger before his conscious mind could process it. His instincts told him to act, to defend himself, but something held him back.
A hand shot out, gripping Jason's arm tightly, pulling him into the alley before he had a chance to react.
J'onn felt Jason's mind snap to attention, the sharp recognition that this was not some random encounter, that these men had a purpose. But Jason didn't fight—not at first. The boy's thoughts were calm, collected, and almost resigned.
Another kidnapping.
J'onn could hear the thoughts, feel them as they echoed through the memory. Jason had been Bruce Wayne's ward for long enough to know how these things worked. Every so often, someone would try to kidnap him, thinking they could hold him for ransom, make a demand from the wealthiest man in Gotham. Jason had been through it before.
It was a game. A dangerous one, but one he understood. He would let them think they had him, play the helpless victim, wait for the ransom note to be sent. And then, inevitably, Bruce—or Batman—would come. The boy's confidence was unwavering. There was no real fear. Not yet.
As the men forced him toward a waiting car, Jason's mind remained steady, his body relaxed, letting them tie his wrists behind his back. He didn't fight. There was no need. His training told him that conserving energy was smarter than a flashy display of resistance. Once the opportunity arose, he'd take advantage of it, but until then, he would let them think they had the upper hand.
J'onn could feel the calculated way Jason thought through the scenario.
His emotions were muted, calm even, despite the rough treatment from the men. The ropes they used to bind him were tight, digging into his skin, but he didn't flinch. He knew how this played out. He would endure it—because soon enough, Bruce would track him down. He always did.
The men shoved him roughly into the trunk of a car. Jason let out a soft grunt, but it was more for show than out of pain. He was playing the role, waiting for the moment when he could make his move.
The trunk slammed shut, and for the first time, a flicker of unease crossed Jason's mind. It was dark, the cramped space pressing in on him from all sides. He shifted slightly, testing the ropes around his wrists, gauging how much movement he could get out of them.
Still, he wasn't worried.
The car started moving, the hum of the engine vibrating through the trunk. Jason took slow, measured breaths, keeping himself calm, keeping his mind clear. He'd been in worse situations. This was nothing compared to what he faced as Robin. He could handle it.
His thoughts were on the ransom that would surely be asked for. They'd tie him to a chair, maybe rough him up a little before calling Wayne Industries. They'd ask for the ransom and before it ever arrived someone would come and rescue him. Bruce was out of town so it would likely be Nightwing who came or maybe Huntress. There was nothing to worry about.
The scene shifted once more.
Jason was tied to a chair in a warehouse. He wasn't afraid, not really.
A man entered, dressed in a fancy suit and sunglasses. Jason wanted to laugh at the ridiculous get-up he had seen to many times. His scent was as awful as his taste in clothes, Jason was thinking. Either the alpha was unlucky enough to be born with the stench or he really needed a bath. Jason told him as much.
If the situation were not so dire, J'onn may have laughed at the boy's bravado.
The man chuckled. "You've got a smart mouth Todd, just like your old man. Willis runs his mouth too much too"
Jason's thoughts flickered. There was confusion there. The man was talking about Willis Todd. Not Bruce Wayne!
"Ran," Jason said sardonically, "he ran his mouth too much. The old man's dead. The least you can do is show some respect by being grammatically correct.
The man chuckled and stepped forward. His breath reeked as he came closer, right up in Jason's face. "oh, he's very much alive kiddo. You can be sure of that. And he owes me big time."
Jason's heart raced just a little and J'onn could hear him wondering if he should untie the ropes binding him and run.
The man grabbed Jason's face and yanked it sideways. Jason took the opportunity to spit on him and the man growled. He wiped the spit with his hand and his already horrible scent turned sour. He leaned over and punched Jason hard in the gut.
Jasun gulped in pain. Oh yes! He definitely needed to get out of these bindings.
The man grabbed Jason roughly by the hair... "I hate little alphas. Always think they run the world. Think they're untouchable. But you're about to learn, kid... that in my world, even little teenage alphas break."
The man's grip tightened in Jason's hair, yanking his head back even further. His breath was rancid as he leaned in closer, a sickening grin spreading across his face. "Your old man, Willis... he used to talk about you," the man snarled, his voice low and venomous. "Always bragging about his tough little alpha son, smart as a whip, fearless. Thought you could do no wrong. He said you'd make something of yourself... that you'd be untouchable."
Jason's jaw clenched as the man's words sank in, but he stayed quiet, his mind working furiously for a way out. His wrists strained against the ropes, the bindings biting into his skin, but he couldn't get enough leverage.
The man chuckled, the sound dark and twisted. "Well, look at you now, huh? That tough little alpha, just like your daddy said, all tied up and helpless. You're gonna pay his debt back with your pain. Because, you see, revenge is sweeter when it's personal."
Jason's heart pounded in his chest as the man's words drilled into his mind. Willis. His father had never been around much, never been a real father, but now Jason understood. His father's mistakes, his gambling debts, had come back to haunt him—and he was the payment.
He reached his fingers to untie the knot. The man grabbed him by his shirt with one hand and snapped his fingers with another.
The man noticed the subtle movement of Jason's fingers, desperately trying to work the knot behind his back. He sneered, his eyes narrowing with cruel amusement. Without hesitation, he grabbed Jason by the shirt, yanking him forward harshly until their faces were only inches apart.
"Not thinking of running away, are we?" the man growled, his voice dripping with menace. "Wanna be just like your old man? Thought you could pull a fast one? I don't think so, kid."
He smirked as Jason glared at him, defiance still burning in his eyes despite the pain. With a snap of his fingers, the man called for his accomplice. From the shadows, the larger man lumbered forward, his presence dark and threatening.
"Break his hands," the leader commanded, his tone casual, as if it were just another task on his list. "Make sure he can't untie those ropes. I don't want him getting any ideas."
Jason's heart pounded, but he couldn't get his hands free fast enough. The brute moved in quickly, grabbing Jason's wrists with a vice-like grip. There was no hesitation, no second thought.
In a single brutal motion, the larger man bent Jason's right hand backward with sickening force. Jason heard the crunch of bones breaking before he even registered the searing pain. His breath hitched, and his vision blurred with agony, but he bit down hard, refusing to cry out.
Without pause, the man grabbed Jason's left hand and did the same, the sound of bones snapping echoing through the room.
Jason's world spun. His hands, once his tools for escape, now hung useless at his sides. His mind screamed, the pain unbearable, but he refused to let the tears fall. His breaths were ragged, his chest heaving, as he struggled to stay conscious.
The first man crouched down in front of Jason, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look up. "No more thinking about running, little alpha," he sneered. "You're not going anywhere. You're going to stick around and pay his debts."
Jason's vision was swimming, his hands useless and throbbing with pain.
J'onn could feel it now, the fear sinking in.
The first man let go of Jason's and patted Jason's cheek. "Oh yes," he said. "Daddy Willis owes me big time and I've spent a lot of time thinking of just how he could do it."
Jason's heart was racing. "Bruce Wayne," he said, "he's my dad now. He'll pay, anything you want. He's got billions"
The man laughed.
J'onn could feel Jason's fear rise again.
"Oh I don't want money," he said licking his lips. "Not yet at least. What I want is so much sweeter."
He laughed once more. "See what I want is for Willis to know pain. Real pain. And what better way to do that than through you. He always bragged about having his tough little alpha so why not take that away."
"I'm telling you. He's dead and even if he wasn't," Jason's voice was bitter. "He stopped caring a long time ago. Just up and ran off."
The man's laugh grew more cruel. His smell more menacing. "Oh, he's very much alive little alpha and I assure you this will hurt him deeply. I'm going to take his perfect, strong little alpha and make him a useless omega."
A word popped up in Jason's mind. It's weight of fear and urgency more pressing than before. Bitching!
"You sick bastard! You wouldn't dare!"
The man leaned forward. "Oh I very much would," he patted Jason's cheeks. "But don't worry. If it's of any comfort. None of my men have a thing for alphas. We won't be doing this the old-fashioned way."
The scene changed again.
Jason was strapped to a gurney. Not that it mattered. The man had injected a paralytic hours before. He was beaten black and blue. IV's were attached to him and an NJ tube had been placed into his stomach. He had been away for the whole procedure. Felt every cut, every insertion without the use of pain meds.
Through their connection J'onn could feel every cut as if it had happened to him instead. His heart went out to the boy. Truly.
The man had been gone for some time, but he came back now, carrying a gravity bag full of a an almost clear liquid, filled to the brim with an opaque white liquid. Jason's mind went wild. The man smiled as he connected the bag to the tubing. "You should feel privileged," he said with a smirk, "this is top shelf stuff."
If J'onn had been outside the mind, in his own corporal body, he might have been made sick watching as for a day and half the bag of alpha fluids and IVs full of hormones were changed. Watching as Jason rived in pain. The scene changed once more.
The man walked over to Jason. He breathed in deeply. He ran a hand through Jason's sweaty hair. "Can you smell it?" he asked. "The change is complete. You're a sweet little omega now." Another man came up beside him carrying a tray of medical tools. "Of course. Call me old fashioned but I like my omega's purified." He leaned into Jason's ear. "They sell better that way!"
J'onn watched in horror as the procedure took place and as the blood flowed, as Jason's entire being became nothing but pain and fear, knowing he could not cry out or fight back as each incision took place.
The tray of tools and the other man were gone. Tears were flowing down Jason's cheeks. He was alone with the alpha whose smell had become overwhelming. The man smiled once more and pulled a syringe out of his pocket, rolling it over and over again from finger to finger. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, knowing good and well Jason could not answer.
"Black Mask's latest stuff. Already starting to make a tidy profit in the testing face. I'm sure you've seen the news reports. Alphas and omegas reduced to nothing but their hindbrains. Oh, to think of the possibilities this baby has."
Jason's fear spiked. That was the drug from Bruce's latest case. The one he wasn't allowed to join in on.
The man came closer and drew the syringe. Tiny spurts' of liquid sprouted out of the needle. "Thing is, it's been tested on people who were born omega's but never one created like you. And I'm all for a thorough drug trial."
J'onn could feel it. Jason willing himself to move, to run. The sheer panic of knowing what that drug could do to him, if it didn't kill him outright and the agonizing thoughts that maybe he was better off dead than living with what had happened.
He wanted to open is mouth to scream for Bruce. To yell for Clark to come and save him. But he knew the warehouses in the district the walls were lead lined. Superman couldn't hear him and Jason couldn't call for him anyways.
J'onn was forced to watch as the man plunged the syringe into Jason's veins, knowing that this was in the past and there was nothing he could do to change the outcome.
The next memories were different—flashes of emotion rather than coherent thoughts. The pictures were fuzzy, like an old TV, unable to get the full cable signal, but J'onn could still make them out. He wishes he couldn't. What those men did to Jason was unfathomable. He knew how Earth treated omegas, but this was beyond the pale. Changed though he was, Jason hadn't even had a first heat. And those men, they, they….
J'onn constructed a box and stuffed those last fuzzy memories inside. Jason would need to confront them someday if he ever wanted to heal fully. But there was enough for him to deal with already. J'onn thought it best to confront the earlier memories first. So he locked the violations in the box and sealed it tightly. Then he walked back out the door.
The mindscape had changed. They were in a library now. Robin… Jason was sitting in a chair with his knees pulled up into his chest. The thoughts were much more coherent.
J'onn carefully walked forward. "Jason Todd," he said.
The boy looked up. "It hurts," he said, "make it stop."
J'onn smiled mournfully. "I'm afraid I cannot," he said, "only time and care can do that."
"They bitched me." He said, picking at his shirt and looking down mournfully.
"I know," J'onn answered sadly.
"He said it was because of Willis, but my dad's dead. He wouldn't care, he wouldn't…" Tears were in his eyes.
"I cannot say for certain what your birth father may or may not feel about this situation but Batman has been very worried about you."
Jason wiped his tears hurriedly. "Batman is here?"
"He's outside waiting."
"But he never came to save me."
"He did," J'onn answered. "It was he who found you in that warehouse. And it was he who called me here to help awaken you once more.
Jason tilted his head. "Batman asked for help?" He could feel the surprise in the boy's tone. He truly was astonished.
J'onn forced a smile. "That he did." He said and added, "And he's waiting for you. It's time to wake up Jason Todd." And with that, J'onn left the boy's mind.