Welcome! So, terrible me, I don't actually have the next chapter of this ready? On the plus side, I know exactly what happens in that next chapter. I just gotta... finish all my commitments that have deadlines first. XD Enjoy!

No warnings for this chapter.

I watch the clouds as we whip by them, the darkness only barely illuminated by the moon and still far too black to see anything through. The moon is only a sliver at the moment, and we're farther down through the cloud cover than we would need to be to really see the light. It's not quite black, but it's dark blue and grey, and variations on that.

I think that's a pretty good representation of this whole damned thing.

Jason, with no soul. No, he has a soul, but he's separated from it. Ra's al Ghul has it, and everything my younger brother has done has been on the word of a sociopathic criminal lord, the Demon's Head, the leader of the League of Assassins. That makes sense of so much.

It explains why Jason, the boy I knew, would ever come back as someone so ruthless, so murderous, and so unconcerned with Bruce and me. Or why, every time I looked in his eyes, I knew in my gut there was something wrong with him, something cold and blank that I couldn't pin down. I thought it was just his lack of caring that I was cueing off of, I thought it was just him, but now I can actually label it. Jason feels wrong, he feels cold, because one of our greatest enemies has a hand wrapped around his soul and is squeezing. Who knows how long it's been since Jason was allowed to actually touch his own soul? You have to, to stay alive and sane, but Jason said the Lazarus Pit fixes that, somewhat.

If Ra's has been dousing Jason with the Lazarus Pit to keep him alive, instead of allowing him to reconnect with his soul, who knows how emotionally and mentally shattered Jason could be? Can he even feel anything? How strongly, what emotions, how much has his soul being owned by someone else affected him? Has Ra's had it for the years that Jason said he'd been alive again? Has he ever been allowed to reconnect with it?

How broken must Jason be, if that's the case? How badly has Ra's hurt him — the scars aren't that bad, but if he's been getting thrown in the Lazarus Pit then any from before his last bath would be gone — and how long did Jason hold out? How much did he hold out against? I know some of what Ra's is capable of, and it's not pretty.

I know that Ra's is capable of some of the most inventive, perfect soul manipulations Bruce and I have ever seen. He can wrap people up so firmly in his words and his commands that they can't even think of escape, if he chooses to, but that sacrifices some of their autonomy. Putting Jason back in Gotham as his pawn, as Red Hood, would have required a lot more free will than that. More likely that he made sure Jason couldn't talk to us — as well as he could, anyway — but left him enough breathing room that he could be as good as he possibly can. Jason always had so much potential, he learned so fast. Ra's wouldn't want to kill his instinct, or his skills, so he had to have left Jason enough room in the commands not to be crippled by them.

If it was as easy as just ordering obedience and having Jason fall to his knees, Ra's wouldn't be as frightening as he is. You can't force loyalty, not really. At his heart, whatever's left of it, I don't think Jason wants to do anything that Red Hood has done.

What he preached at me while I was in his safe house, the things he said… How much of that was him, and how much was Ra's' words in his mouth? If they were Ra's' words, how much was commands and how much of it was brainwashing or torture that programmed him that way? Ra's knows torture, and Robins might be hard to break but Ra's knows his methods and our tolerance for them. If he's had Jason for years, I don't know how Jason could possibly still be all himself. Not with Ra's controlling his soul, and with Jason under his heel. Not even one of us could hold out that long, especially since—

It's not just Ra's, is it? Maybe Ra's tortured him into obedience as much as he could without actually breaking Jason's mind, but Bruce and I are the ones that were supposed to support him.

Jason said he— Oh god.

My hands clench, eyes squeezing shut for a second as I try and banish the thought of what Jason told me from my head.

"Are you alright?" Bruce asks, sitting in the seat next to me and piloting the jet. His voice is serious, just slightly concerned, but most of what I can hear in it is restrained anger. Not at me, I know that, just like the anger churning low in my stomach next to the grief, and the guilt, isn't aimed at him.

"I just—" I shake my head, staring out the window. "Do you think he was telling the truth?"

I have to consider the possibility that Jason was lying to us. I don't want to, there's not a single part of me that wants to think that Jason would actually do all of this of his own free will, but I have to. Jason said himself that he was furious with us, so there's at least some piece of him that would willingly fight us. But…

"I'd like to," Bruce says quietly, "and the facts do seem to back up what he said, and didn't say."

"But do you trust that?" I press, looking over at him. He's still except for the minute adjustments required to guide the jet, and his mouth is in a thin line, his jaw clenched tight.

"I can't," he says eventually, grudgingly. "No matter how much the facts seem to agree, I have to stay detached until we get a solid explanation."

"What are the other options?" I ask. We've covered most of this already, but I need to remind myself that there are other possibilities beyond Jason being Ra's' puppet. "Just humor me, B."

I can see his hands flex on the controls, and his head tilt as he looks over at the navigation to confirm where we are; still about fifteen minutes out from Ra's' current 'hideout.' A large mansion on top of a mountain, with nearly sheer cliffs on all sides, but it's well defended and hard to get to, so I guess that makes it a hideout. Especially for someone like Ra's, where a lot of the time comfort and appearances are more useful than practicality.

"The most likely option, after Ra's having Jason's soul, is that Jason purposely separated himself from it to hide it, and refused to tell us where it's hidden to not give us any kind of control over him." Which hurts to think about, but it's not as unlikely as I'd like it to be.

Jason was always extremely defensive about his container; it came from growing up in Crime Alley. If he really is who I'm afraid he's become, Red Hood, then he would never let us near his container if he could help it. Even if that meant pain for him, and lying right to our faces about what happened. But Jason was never the best actor, and maybe he could fool me — he's my brother, and that makes it really hard to see him as objectively as I need to — but Bruce? If Bruce didn't think he was probably telling the truth, he would never have let Dr. Thompkins insist that Jason stay at the clinic.

"But I've seen you when you're separated for awhile, B, and you don't look like he does. He feels wrong; you get that off him too, right?" Memory comes back in a vivid slash, and I tilt my head back and give a slight laugh at my own stupidity. "The girls I talked to at the apartment building. The younger one said he was wrong, and the older one hushed her and said it was Jason's secret, not theirs. They told me and I just—"

"Dick, stop. None of this is your fault. We don't know the facts yet, don't take any blame that isn't yours." I look back out the window of the cockpit, trying not to think about the way Jason's eyes seem empty when they're not bright with anger. Hollow. "Yes," Bruce admits, quietly, "I feel it. It's nothing tangible, nothing I could explain, but—"

"It's something in his eyes," I finish, and out of the corner of my eye I can see him give a single nod. "You've never looked like that, Bruce. Not even in the worst times. You've never felt wrong like he does. Besides, he was delirious. Maybe he wasn't making much sense, but we both know he was too out of it to be lying."

"You're twisting facts to suit the theories. I know this is hard, Dick, and there's nothing I'd like more than to believe every word Jason said, but we have to keep our minds open." His voice softens, as I squeeze my eyes shut. "You know that."

I swallow and resist the urge to run a hand back through my hair to vent. I can take it out on Ra's when we get there, this is his fault at least a little bit. Even if Jason did all of this by himself, he still talked about Ra's and Talia like they were teachers, which means Ra's knew he was alive again. God, I need to know what happened. I need to know if what he said… I need to know if any of it is true. Or all of it.

"Bruce, could you hear any of what Jason and I talked about when I went back in?" I can see him check the navigation panel again, and then glance over at me.

"No," he answers shortly, and I shake my head.

"He's so angry with us," I say softly, wincing at the reminder.

Bruce hesitates, and then responds, voice dark with pain and guilt, "We failed him in a lot of ways. Joker never should have gotten hands on him, and if it's true, Ra's shouldn't have either."

"No," I counter, looking over at the side of his face. "He said it wasn't that. He said it was because," my breath catches at the memory of the snarl on Jason's face, "because he crawled out of his own grave, and we didn't notice. Bruce, if that's true…"

His hands have tightened on the controls, jaw clenching down hard enough that I feel like it must hurt, but his gaze is fixed straight ahead. "Facts first," he says flatly, only easing his jaw enough that he can spit the words through his teeth. If I didn't know better I'd think he was angry with me for bringing it up, but I know Bruce. He's angry, yeah, but at himself more than anyone else. He's always shouldered blame, even if it's not his, and even if no one else agrees that it's his fault.

He held onto Jason's death for a long time, right up until Tim's presence, and our support, finally got through to him. None of us had a chance of talking him out of his own self-hatred and grief until he was ready to let it go. No matter what we did.

How long is he going to hold onto whatever we find out at Ra's al Ghul's? How hard is he going to take it? And what about Jason?

I hope that everything is as cut and dry as I want it to be, and all we have to do is reclaim Jason's soul and take him home. It won't be easy — he's not the same person that we knew — but we could learn to help him, no matter what that takes. Maybe he could even be one of us again, really one of us. Part of the family, and after a new name he could join us on the streets too. Not immediately — I'm not naive enough to think that Jason won't be hurt and at least a little broken when we get him back — but maybe someday, once we've fixed him.

I have to believe that Jason can be fixed. Otherwise…

"Two minutes," Bruce says, all business but still with the same growl to his voice. "Nightwing—"

"Got it, B." I take a deep breath, counting it and forcefully pushing away all the conflicting emotions raging in my chest. I don't need anything but the anger right now, everything else I can deal with later.

I unbuckle myself and move out of the chair, shifting towards the back of the jet and the hatch built into the floor of it. I loop my hands through the bars at the top, so I don't just drop out of it the second it falls open, and then glance up at Bruce. He's working at the controls — I know the pattern well enough to know that he's inputting the autopilot controls — and then releases them and stands to move back and join me. He has to crouch a little bit to not brush the top of the jet, but it's automatic enough to look natural.

"We need him able to talk," he reminds me, and I clench my jaw and resist the urge to glare.

"I know, B. I'll let you take point; handle anyone who tries to interfere. I know my job." It stings a little bit that Bruce thinks he has to remind me that if I do too much damage Ra's won't talk to us. It stings even more to think that he might believe that just because it's one of us in the crossfire — that it's Jason — that I'd forget all the years of training. I can control myself, even when people hurt my family. It might make me furious, but I can still control myself.

Bruce gives a small sigh, reaching forward with his free hand to touch my shoulder. "I know you do, Nightwing." He squeezes my shoulder, and I can feel some of the tension bleed out of me at the physical reassurance. "No matter what we find out down there, we'll make sure that Jason gets whatever care he needs. Even if that means a cell. Understand?"

Double-edged reminder. If Ra's did take Jason's soul, if what I want to believe is true, Jason's going to need a lot of help to be himself again. Therapy, at least, and probably a whole lot more. But if Jason did all of this under his own free will, then it's a much harder choice. Then he'll really be a criminal, and no matter what he is to us he'll need to be in a cell. At the least, he'll need to be contained for the safety of everyone else. It won't be easy, but we'll have to.

God, I hope Ra's has his soul. I hope this isn't just what Jason has become.

I nod, answering Bruce's mostly rhetorical question, and then tighten my grip on the bars as the jet's computer beeps the familiar warning at us. Incoming drop. Bruce raises his second hand to the bars, lifts his weight off the floor — I do the same — and then the hatch falls open. Bruce lets go, cape flaring out to give him a little bit of gliding power as he falls, and I give it about a second before I let go and follow him down. Bruce is the one with the cape, and he'll be the one to break the glass of Ra's' window. I'm just following him in.

The air is cold, thin from the height, but I hold my breathe for the first few seconds anyway. Bruce is a shadow in front of the light coming from Ra's' large windows, but it's a shadow that I angle myself towards with the ease of practice. We're coming in at an angle, and I see the stick and then explosion of a batarang in the window — to shatter the glass before we get there — as I reach down and grab my grapnel. I aim it right above the shattered window, and fire it. Bruce crashes through the leftover shards, rolling as he hits to dispel the force, as my grapnel sticks and draws tight against my arm. I let my momentum drain into the swing, disengaging it at a much safer speed to do the same as Bruce and roll when I hit the ground.

He's already moving, leaping forward towards Ra's. Ra's, who looks supremely unimpressed and unsurprised. That's not right.

Bruce's hands clench in Ra's' overcoat, dragging him forward and up a little bit to snarl into his face, "We need to talk."

Ra's still looks very unimpressed, and he's still holding a glass of what I'm pretty sure is wine in his left hand, held out to the side. "Of course. Allow me to call off my guards? They'll have been automatically alerted when you shattered the window."

I glance around, scanning the room for anyone else. My gaze catches on the lit fireplace, the trays of snacks set out on the coffee table set a ways back from it, and the two glasses of what I'm fairly certain is wine. It's not just that he's not surprised, he was expecting us. That's a whole other situation, this is… This could be bad. Or maybe good? Did he track us coming in, or get warned somehow, or—?

"Say one other word and you'll regret it," Bruce says, and I can hear the leashed fury in his voice. Right, Jason might be my brother but he's Bruce's son. There's no way that he's not just as furious at this idea as I am.

I carefully circle the room, checking behind everything as I tuck my grapnel away. It's just the three of us, and I tug the curtains over the huge windows as well, to make sure it stays that way. Or at least that no one has an easy shot through the windows to us. Then I turn to watch Ra's reach down and retrieve a small two-way communications system from beneath one of the folds of his dark green robe. Bruce is very still, poised to move at a second's notice. Ra's keeps his gaze level as he pushes the button on the side down, and turns his head just enough to speak into it.

"Commander, this is Ra's al Ghul. Stand down; I will be entertaining a guest." There's no immediate crash of a door, or window, and Ra's is completely calm as he tucks the communicator back away. "Shall we sit, Detective?" Ra's offers. "Of course you are welcome to join us as well, Nightwing."

Bruce slowly lets go, and Ra's shows absolutely no fear as he turns and sweeps away, towards the fireplace and the furniture in front of it. He's still holding that glass of wine, and I share a glance with Bruce. He flicks his hand in a command to stay where I am, and then follows Ra's. I pace around the edge of the room, unable to force myself to stay still, but stay close enough to hear every word. Ra's takes the most comfortable looking armchair, relaxing into it like it's a throne, and Bruce stays standing, near the back of the couch.

"You knew we were coming," Bruce says, head tilting just a bit as he glances across the table and its array of snacks.

"I did." Ra's' voice is matter of fact. "You will want to sit down, Detective; this is a little more complicated than whatever simple idea you have in your head." Bruce doesn't move, and Ra's shrugs. "As you wish. Why don't you tell me what you are here for?"

"Jason," Bruce nearly growls, and I keep my gaze on Ra's for a moment to watch his reaction. There's a tiny flicker of confirmation, but nothing else.

"Yes, that is what I assumed. What about him?" He seems completely unaffected by Bruce's obvious anger, and I focus on him a little bit more closely. Ra's is capable of what I think he's done to Jason, I know it, but he wouldn't just be lying down and waiting for us to talk it out of him if he had Jason's soul, would he? He doesn't actually think that he can convince us that he doesn't have Jason's soul?

One of Bruce's hands comes forward, clenching down on the back of the couch. "His soul. Where is it?"

Ra's' mouth flicks into a smirk, and he takes a sip of the wine in his hand. "I do not have it, believe what you will. Jason Todd lied to you, Detective, and he's long gone from the clinic you left him in. His call is the reason that I knew to be prepared for your arrival." I can see Bruce tense, and I shove away the sickening swirl of pain in my stomach to take a step towards the two of them.

"Jason wouldn't—" I start.

"You don't know Jason," Ra's counters, cutting me off with ease. "Death changes a person. As I said, you may both wish to sit down, if you're looking for me to set the record straight."

I hesitate, but Bruce moves, circling the couch and taking a seat near the middle of it. "I'm listening. If you lie to me—"

"Pain and regret, I'm aware. We've played this game before, Detective. Are you joining us, Nightwing?" His gaze is sharp, but I wait for the slight tilt of Bruce's head to take the invitation. I take a seat next to Bruce, near the furthest end of the couch from Ra's. "Where would you like me to start, Detective?"

"The beginning," Bruce says immediately. "How did you raise him?"

Ra's' shoulders roll in another shrug. "I did not. My daughter, Talia, found him on the streets of Gotham and brought him here. He was little more than a shell, mostly mad and running off little more than instinct. Best we can tell, he had been living that way for several months. She asked permission to bathe him in the Lazarus Pit, and I granted it. That restored his mind."

I try not to show how much that hurts. Living on Gotham's streets for months, and none of us saw him? God, Jason is right to be as angry with us as he is if this is true. If he was right under our noses for that long, we failed him on a level that's unbelievable. If Talia found him before any of us… And that would mean that what he told me would have to be true. He clawed his way out of his own grave, and we missed it. If he never forgives us for that, I think I'll understand.

Ra's' gaze flicks to the fire for a moment, as he swirls the wine in his glass. There's something in his eyes that seems dark, maybe even withdrawn, and it lingers as he looks back at the two of us. "His soul, on the other hand, it did not. When my daughter found him, he did not have a container. Presumably, it either did not come back from the grave with him, or inhabited something far from where he awoke. That was most of why my daughter wished to save him; the strength to live without a soul for that many months is undocumented, no matter how poor his state was when she found him. It was untested, but there was a possibility that the Lazarus Pit would seal over the torn edges of his soul's connection like any other wound. As you can see, it worked."

My heart plummets.

"So, Detective, there's the truth of your son's return. He does not have a soul, and I kept him alive, but had nothing to do with his state in the first place." Ra's taps his fingers on the side of the glass, and Bruce is perfectly still next to me. "Before you ask, yes. I offered him the option to stay here until he decided what he wanted to do with his new existence, and trained him when he asked me to. I admit that I did it because of the chance he might choose to work for me — he would be a rather gifted assassin — but that wasn't the path he chose. Jason is incapable of emotion, with the exception of rage, and that is a side effect of the Lazarus Pit. However, that does not mean he lacks morals, his sense of self, or his memories."

Ra's' mouth curls in a very small smile, for just a moment. I can't stop listening. "The man you've met is Jason at his core, without guilt or fear to hold him back. He is fully aware that both of you will condemn him for what he's chosen to do, but he is also convinced that what he has decided on is the right course of action, and knows he will not feel the emotional pain of your rejection. No, I did not suggest it to him, or even attempt to hint it. His plan to control crime in Gotham, and minimize all civilian casualties as well as harm to anyone not involved, is purely his own. I simply taught him what he asked me to, which were the skills he would need to accomplish it."

"And what did you get out of this?" Bruce asks, quietly but firm and dangerous. I risk a glance at him, wondering if I'm going to have to shove everything aside and be the voice of reason. Ra's didn't do anything, not really. Not if he's telling the truth.

"A promise," Ra's answer simply. "As long as I do not endanger the world, Gotham's innocents, or any of you, Jason will never interfere with my business dealings. Other than that, perhaps someday I will be able to use him for my own purposes, and I have added something else to the board for you to focus your attention on, Detective. He's a rather gifted student, but you knew that already."

Bruce jerks, like he's going to stand, but settles back before my automatic grab at his arm even makes contact. I leave my hand there though, wrapped around his bicep and holding on. He needs the reminder, he needs someone at least a little level headed and I can be that right now. I can… I can fall apart later, deal with all of this later. This is just as dangerous as a combat situation and I need my wits about me to deal with Ra's, if Bruce won't or can't.

"Do you have any idea where his soul is, or what it's in?" I try and keep my voice steady; mostly, it works.

"I have my guesses as to what it's in — Jason's death was quite the trauma, and that narrows the possibilities of a container — but as to where it is?" He shakes his head, takes another sip of the wine. "No, I have not attempted to find it. He may not be your equal, Detective, but I respect Jason's skill too much to make an enemy of him by attempting to find and control his soul. He would get loose, either by his own hand or yours, and I've taught him too much for that gamble to be worth it. His promise won't hold unless he sees reason to keep it."

"Then why would he warn you?" Bruce is still rigid underneath my hand, still as if he were a statue, and his voice is… It's a little scary, even to me.

"Because Jason doesn't want to make an enemy of me either, Detective." He glances towards the fireplace again, tilts the glass to take a sip of the wine. "Mutual respect is a powerful force."

"Jason—" I don't even know how I was going to finish that sentence, because Ra's smoothly cuts me off.

"Is not the boy you knew." His eyes slip past Bruce, find my gaze and lock there with such intensity it feels like he can see my eyes right through the barrier of my mask. "But that does not mean that he is anything but uniquely himself. Do not delude yourself into believing that he is insane, or that the absence of his emotions has somehow changed his core values. He is fully capable of reasoning, and his morals are as intact as they ever were. He remembers everything, and he remembers what it felt like to feel at all. The only thing that has changed is that he no longer feels the guilt you ground into him over the choices you would not approve of. Jason has decided on a course of action, and as much as you might wish it you cannot change his mind. The only reason he would do so would be if a better plan were presented to him, one as efficient as what he is currently in the process of enacting."

"You know his plan," is what I fixate on. I have to. The thought that something in Jason has been so warped, so twisted, that he would— I can't. Not now. I can go through Bruce's footage — he has to be recording this whole meeting through his cowl — later and dissect every word. Hear everything said and unsaid, and then take it to a private corner of my world and let it tear me to shreds like I know it's going to. But not right now. Not yet.

"I do," Ra's confirms, "and I will not be telling you." He says it like it's some kind of impenetrable fact. Like there's no way that anyone, ever, could make Ra's tell us what he doesn't want to. It's probably exactly that true. "We are nothing like friends, no need to worry, Nightwing. Jason and I maintained a relationship of mutual benefits, nothing more. I taught him what he wanted to know, and he did not turn those skills back on me. Perhaps, someday, your unwillingness to accept what he has become will drive him back to me. I would gladly welcome an assassin of his skill, even if I could only use him for those targets that he believed deserved death."

"He'd never—" Bruce starts to snarl, and Ra's immediately snaps that cool, intense gaze back to him.

"Shoot you?" he counters, dryly. "Threaten to expose your identities if you put him in a cell? Lie to you? You may not wish to believe it, Detective, but the boy you knew is not the man you are so determined to save." He drains the last of what's in the glass, frees Bruce from his gaze to lean forward and set the empty glass on the table. "There was never a time while you worked with him that you saw what he was? Some moment where he was darker than you allow in your Robins? Some moment he defied you, but of course you could never prove what he might have done. You didn't look too closely, naturally."

I can see Bruce give the tiniest of flinches, and my heart sinks at the reaction. There was. Maybe I don't know what it is, maybe Bruce never brought it up, but there was something that Jason did, once, that made him question if my brother was suited for the name Robin. Some reason that Bruce can imagine Jason killing, and maybe worse, without the same level of disbelief that fills my mind. Something.

"We talked about a great many things while he was here." Another small flinch, and Ra's raises a hand in pacification. "Jason was always careful, Detective. I know quite a bit about him, and many stories of the three of you, but he never discussed you as anything but your assumed identities, even if he was aware I know your true names anyway. He may be defying you, but he still defends all of you. Very little could ever anger him faster than the suggestion of anyone harming your collected 'family,' if that is what you wish to call it."

That's… That's good, right? If Jason is still defending us — even if he shot Bruce, even if he fought me — that means he has to still care somewhere, right? No, that's not fair. Jason can't care; he doesn't feel. We have to fix that.

God, we have to get back to Gotham right now. If what Ra's said is true, if Jason called him to warn him and is already gone from the clinic… He'll be deep in hiding, but he's still sick. Maybe there will be at least a little bit of a trail. Anything that we can track him down with.

"B." I try and put some of that into the tone of my voice. Bruce obviously is thinking some of the same things I am, because he uncoils from his stiff tension a little bit and nods vaguely in my direction.

He gets to his feet, wrist twisting in that particular way to make the cape flare around him. It's an intimidation tactic, automatic as the way he rounds his shoulders a little bit and takes a step closer to Ra's, even though we both know that won't work. "If any of this is your doing," he threatens, as I follow him to standing, "if you had anything to do with keeping Jason separated from his soul…"

He lets it hang, and Ra's' eyes narrow. Bruce's enemy slowly, deliberately, stands. I can't help the way that my hands fall to finger the slight irregularities of the weapons stowed in my suit. Ra's meets Bruce's height, backlit by the fire as he squarely faces off with my mentor, the robes providing him his own style of cape.

"Do you believe I am immune to the sensation your son gives off?" he asks, sharply and cold. "Anyone who meets him, who looks into his eyes, knows that somewhere at his core there is something wrong. The idea of an assassin without guilt, without remorse, without the capacity to feel sympathy, is a tantalizing one. But an assassin without emotion is an assassin without loyalty, and I have no wish to test my own life on an attempt to control something like that. Your son, Detective, is in constant pain. Every moment of every day, he can feel what everyone else around him knows. That he is hollow. That he is wrong. The physical pain alone would have crippled anyone without the remarkable strength he shows, and the knowledge of what was lost would have sent anyone else to an early grave by their own hand within weeks if not days."

Ra's doesn't take a step forward, he doesn't even shift his weight, but the narrowing of his eyes feels like a threat all on its own. "The Lazarus Pit is not kind to those it heals. Jason has forced himself to learn to tolerate that constant pain, as well as to control the rage that the Pit inspires at the slightest irritation. Beyond that he had to teach himself to fight without the guidance of instinctual fear to tell him when to dodge, or when something was too dangerous a move to attempt. He knew you would never accept his state, so he did not return to you. He created this plan because he decided it was the best way he could make use of his new existence, even knowing that his entire family would condemn him. Your son is extraordinarily strong, Detective, and I would not risk that strength turning its attention to me."

He glances to me, and then gives a soft sigh and a small shake of his head as he returns his gaze to Bruce. "What do you think your son is going to do when his goal is accomplished, Detective? Have you considered that? When Gotham is clean, the way he intends it to be, what do you think Jason will do? Stay there for the rest of his life, fighting all of you and grinding the blood on his hands deeper? You should know your own son better than that."

"What the hell are you suggesting?" Bruce's voice shakes, just a little bit. I stay silent, still, hoping that Ra's doesn't mean what it sounds like he does.

"Jason believes himself to be an abomination. In some ways, he is correct. It is a simple knowledge for him, as he is incapable of the feelings that would cause it to be painful." Ra's studies Bruce for a long few second, and then quietly says, "He is fully aware there is no place in Gotham for him, Detective. As he is fully aware there is no place in your family for him. He hasn't spoken of it to me, but it is not difficult to piece an ending together out of those facts."

No, Jason wouldn't— God, Jason would never kill himself, would he? The Jason I knew would never do that, not ever, but maybe…? If it was the best option to him, why wouldn't he? No fear to stop him, no regret, no guilt. Jason is capable of anything he thinks is necessary. Even if that means…

Bruce whirls on his heel, and after a startled moment I rush to follow his stride across the glass-scattered wooden flooring of Ra's' study. His shoulders are stiff, tense, and I can barely see the flick of his hand calling the jet back to retrieve us. This is bad. This is seriously bad. Not just Jason, but Bruce's reaction, Ra's' certainty, all of it. Oh god.

"One last thing, Detective," Ra's calls, and Bruce stops so suddenly I almost slam into his back. Luckily my reflexes catch it, but— "If you find Jason's soul, you may wish to pause and consider things before you decide to return it to him. It may get you back what you feel you've lost, but Jason is his own man now. Death is not easy. The Pit takes a heavy toll. What he's done has gone against much of what he once believed in. If you return his soul, it may break him entirely."

Bruce turns just enough to look past me, at Ra's, and snarl, "Then I'll put him back together." Then he's moving again, and I try not to let the sick feeling in my gut get any further than the vagueness of nausea.

Ra's is right. What happened to Jason would have been hell on him if he was capable of feeling the emotional pain. He would have been destroyed by something like that. I think he might have only come out sane because he was cut off from it. And how much pain would his anger come with? How much guilt over what he's done, or what he has planned? If we give him back his soul — if we can even find it — how hard will all of that hit him? Jason always felt things so strongly; remembering all of that at once…

There's not a scenario that plays through my head that doesn't end in Jason insane or broken beyond our ability to help him.

It shouldn't be our choice. If we can find his soul, and that's a huge if, it should be Jason's choice whether or not he wants to be reunited with it. We can't force that on him, not with what it might do to him. He already has enough reasons to hate us; forcing him to live that kind of trauma would be so far past unforgivable. I can't be part of that, and I won't let Bruce be part of it either. It has to be Jason's choice. It has to be, and I almost hope he never agrees.

I saw my brother die. I don't know if I could stand seeing him break too.