Despite this piece, I really do love Jason Todd. I promise. But I got this idea after re-reading "Death of the Family" and some of the Rebirth arc. I wondered what would happen if one of the family had to deal with a serious medical crisis that wasn't caused by injuries during a fight or being exposed to fear toxin, and this is the result.

The only warnings that apply relate to a medical diagnosis and the treatment that goes along with it. There's nothing very graphic or violent in this piece, but anything that could be considered anything above a basic rating will be prefaced with a mention and a warning. Like this chapter, for example. There's mention of some blood and that damned crowbar at the end of this one, so be warned if that sort of thing gets to you.

Also? Jason swears.

For Jason Todd, Gotham City was a contradiction. Some nights it was exactly where he wanted to be. The darkness, the danger, the familiar scents and sounds. It all made him feel at home and in his element. Other nights it was the absolute last place he wanted to be, with the seemingly unending supply of bad memories, violent crime sprees and unwelcome family reunions. Tonight, however, fell somewhere in between the two. But considering he'd had some tough luck lately, he'd take it.

There were two or three active cases on his radar but tonight his focus was on just one. Two Face and his merry band of idiots were planning something big and it involved a hefty shipment of weapons and explosives. He'd conducted surveillance for weeks, sorting through large batches of intel and weeding out the false leads. Based on the cargo manifest his paid informant at the shipping company gave him a few nights ago, the weight of the containers was a red flag. Two Face was definitely not importing luxury cars and crates of caviar. Containers that heavy usually carried more interesting cargo. Cargo he was determined to stop from ever leaving Port Adams.

He was making his usual rounds on patrol when he spotted a figure perched on a rooftop across from one of Penguin's nightclubs. Tim was right where Jason figured he would be after their encounter the weekend before- the heist at the Gotham Historical Society. With the shipment not arriving into port for another few days and nothing else needing his immediate attention, he decided to stop and see what Red Robin was up to.

Jason backed up several steps and sprinted to the edge of the roof, leaping effortlessly over the expanse between. When his boots hit the rooftop on the other side pain erupted in his legs, sending him wildly off balance.

"Fuck!"

He tucked and rolled, coming to rest in a crouch on the lower half of the roof out of view from Tim. His legs throbbed. He tugged his gloves off and loosened one of his boots, prodding along until he hit a sore spot. He massaged his calf and along his shin, using much less pressure than he could usually handle, until the pain dulled to a tolerable level. The sore spot was too high to be an ankle sprain and he hadn't come down hard enough to fracture anything. His shins and ankles had been bothering him lately, but they hadn't hurt like this yet. He made a mental note to look into it later.

He made his way to the fire escape, climbing up to where Tim was waiting. He froze after he planted his foot on the roof as the throbbing started again. He grabbed the railing before he stumbled, closing his eyes against the pain.

Suck it up. You've got an audience.

He waited a moment before opening his eyes and glancing over at Tim, who was working on his gauntlet computer, wondering if he'd seen him trying not to fall. He crouched and pretended to lace his boot, taking his time until he was sure he could walk without a limp. Carefully making his way over, he crouched next to Tim and studied the club across the street. Tim acknowledged him with a nod.

"Never thought you to be the clubbing type, Hood."

"Yeah, well, I hear all the cool kids come here." Jason flicked through several settings on his helmet and ran a thermal scan of the building. "Looks like there's a decent crowd. What's going on?"

"You know that jewelry heist last Saturday?"

"The one Robin told me not to break up 'or else'?" Jason added air quotes, as if his usual brand of sarcasm wasn't enough.

Tim smirked and shook his head, trying not to laugh. They had been standing in the alley behind the historical society last weekend discussing their plan when Damian poked Jason in the chest and called him an "egotistical and reckless miscreant" for suggesting what turned out to be a very good idea. Jason wasn't bothered in the slightest. He simply picked Damian up and hung him by his hood on some nearby scaffolding, all the while talking through the plan with Tim. Damian was too surprised to manage a comeback and simply hung there until Jason left to cover the front of the building.

"One in the same. We needed to know who the merchandise was going to. I had my suspicions, but Batm…"

"I take it the buyers are inside?" Jason shifted his focus back to his scan of the club and its occupants.

"Yeah."

"Then let's crash this party."

"Once the sellers arrive, we can."

Tim took off for the roof of the club and Jason raised his grapple to follow, but paused when his comm beeped in his ear. He studied the screen in his helmet, the number of his informant's burner phone flashing. He answered the call with a grin.

"Tony! What do you have?"

"Cargo ship coming into pier eleven."

"When?"

"Due in thirty."

Jason sighed and dropped his head back, closing his eyes.

Shit.

"You said Thursday. Last time I looked at my calendar, it wasn't Thursday."

"Didn't know you'd changed your name to Captain Obvious." Tony laughed at his own joke and continued. "Gee, it must be something illegal if they falsified the manifest and time tables."

Jason ignored him and looked over at Tim across the street, where he was waiting patiently and studying building schematics. Jason turned his back to Tim and faced the dockyards across the island. He'd really have to push it to get there before the cargo ship did, but if he left now, he just might be able to make it.

"Well, I appreciate the heads-up. Even if I barely have time to get there."

"I'm sure you'll make it work."

Jason ended the call and turned back to Tim. Tim would be fine, but helping Tim would free him up to tag along. Having backup on his end would be nice since Dent was always paranoid and hired more men than he needed. But there was always the risk that Bruce and the brat would show up if he stuck around to help Tim, and he didn't have the time or energy for that drama tonight. He sighed and reached to reactivate his link to Tim.

"Uh, Red Robin?"

"Are you coming?"

"Can't. I've gotta go. Something's come up that I've been watching for weeks." He watched as Tim's shoulders dropped ever so slightly and he felt the annoying sensation of guilt creeping into his head. "Nothing personal, just, you know. Bigger fish and all that."

"Yeah, sure. Leave me here with these losers." The humor in Tim's voice almost hid the disappointment.

Almost.

Jason cocked his head. "Where are the other two?"

"Who knows? But I imagine Robin is dragging Batman all over Gotham trying to pick a fight."

"Kid didn't get his nap in today?"

Tim snorted.

"That would imply that demons sleep."

Jason hummed in reply as he studied the rooftops nearby, looking for someone watching from the darkness. He knew someone had been tailing him the last few nights and he had a pretty good idea who. And if his hunch was right, Tim wasn't on his own.

"When you finish here, you can tag along with me. If you want."

Jason watched as Tim popped the cover off an air vent and removed the pin on a smoke canister. He looked up at Jason as he dropped it into the vent.

"Seriously?"

"Did I not sound serious?"

Tim was already lowering himself into the vent but stopped and looked up at Jason once more. He swore he could see the annoyed look on Tim's face from across the street. It was impressive.

"With you I never know. But I'll see if I can get there. Send me your coordinates." He slid a respirator over his face and dropped out of sight. Jason took that as his cue to leave.

It didn't take him as long to get to Port Adams as he'd anticipated and he found a decent vantage point nearby on a rooftop. He could see the entire yard, including the ship moored to the pier. There was a single truck parked at the loading dock a three hundred yards away. He did another scan of the yard to get a headcount.

Fifteen on one. Sounds like a good time.

He sent Tim his coordinates and a warning about the mess he was about to start before he drew the pistols holstered at his thighs, chambering a round in each. He did the same with the two beneath his arms before returning them to their holsters. Finally, he drew a higher caliber rifle from the holster at his lower back and screwed a suppressor onto the barrel.

Here goes nothing.

He disabled the truck with a shot to the engine block and all hell broke loose. When Dent's men started shooting, Jason dropped into the darkness below. He came up behind one of the perimeter guards, watching as he carelessly fired over the heads of his own men. Jason sighed and tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned, his face met the butt of Jason's rifle and he crumbled into a heap. Jason crouched and grabbed the gun, releasing the magazine and tossing it into the empty lot behind them.

"That'll teach you," he muttered. He studied the aerial map of the ship yard in his helmet display to plot a course through the mess. He quickly plotted a route and moved around the perimeter, staying in the shadows and out of the sight line of anyone with a gun. He could hear rounds slamming into the side panels of the transport truck and shattering windows of nearby buildings. The spray of bullets only slowed when someone stopped to reload. Jason sighed and shook his head.

You sure know how to pick 'em, Harvey.

The loud squawk of a radio stopped him in his tracks and he pulled up a screen from his helmet, easily tuning into their radio frequency. He almost laughed as they speculated on his whereabouts; they had no idea where he was, and whoever was in charge had them still scanning the rooftops.

He crept into a small enclosure adjacent to the pier and grinned when he saw the shipment sitting unattended. With the shouting and gunfire showing no signs of stopping anytime soon, he removed a small package from his jacket and knelt next to the first crate. The weeks he'd spent on this case had paid off; the crates were loaded with grenades, shotguns, automatic rifles and various explosives. He worked quickly, putting a small but powerful explosive charge in each one and setting the timers for thirty seconds. As he set the last charge and started the timer, he felt a presence behind him.

"Turn around."

The voice was deep and sounded very unimpressed. Jason sighed.

"Something tells me you aren't here to help with this."

He heard the telltale click of a hammer being drawn back and he stood, raising his hands and slowly turning around. The man in the doorway was enormous; not quite in Bane's ballpark, but at least four inches taller than Jason and about fifty pounds heavier, from the looks of it. He was pointing a Desert Eagle with a laser sight at Jason's forehead. A round of that caliber would go straight through his helmet.

"Nice laser sight. Afraid you'll miss?"

He threw Jason an irritated glare.

"Shut up. Two-Face would like a word."

The timer flashed across the inside of his helmet and he had twenty seconds before the explosives detonated. Panic stirred in his chest and his heart pounded wildly at the thought of once again being trapped in a room with an explosive device.

"Not really in the mood to chat with him, to be honest. I've got dinner plans."

The man made the mistake of rolling his eyes and Jason used that to retrieve a smoke grenade from his hip, pulling the pin with his thumb. With his other hand he reached up and turned on a filter in his helmet to see through the smoke he was about to throw.

Fifteen seconds.

Get a move on it, Jason.

"Let's go. Now."

"Not gonna happen, Sasquatch."

Jason tossed the grenade at him and darted toward the window, drawing a gun and firing through the glass. The pane exploded and he dove through the frame as the timer ticked down to zero. The blast wave threw him away from the building and he barely managed to tuck his head and roll before he hit the ground. He came to a stop in the middle of the yard, totally exposed. He was on his knees, bracing himself with one arm as he put his gun away. He coughed weakly.

"Ow."

Just to his right Sasquatch was face down and partially covered in debris. He was unconscious, but alive.

"You son of a bitch!"

Jason had no time to turn his head toward the voice before its owner broke a two-by-four across his upper back. While it hurt like hell, it wouldn't cause any serious injury thanks to his body armor. Jason looked up at him to see the man's expression morph from anger to panic.

"Bad move, asshole."

Before he had the chance to kick Jason in the ribs, Jason grabbed his foot and wrenched it sideways. He fell to the ground next to him and clutched at his ankle. Jason swung his elbow and it hit the man's jaw with a loud crack.

As soon as Jason was on his feet, three more of them pounced and he barely avoided being stabbed in the shoulder with a piece of rebar. He grit his teeth as the sharp end pierced the sleeve of his jacket, laying open a gash along his bicep. Jason grabbed the rod with both hands and yanked it towards him. The man holding onto it stumbled and Jason jerked his knee upward, hitting him in the face. He landed on his back in the mud, unconscious and blood pouring from a broken nose.

As Jason stepped back to catch his breath, someone approached him from behind. Whoever it was wrapped an arm around his neck and tried to wrench one of his arms behind him. Jason leaned into him in an attempt to throw him off-balance. But before he could drop all his weight forward for a throw, the third one drove his fist into Jason's stomach. A second punch immediately followed and hit just as hard. His body armor absorbed some of the impact, but it still nearly knocked the wind out of him.

Jason snarled and lashed out with a solid kick. His boot hit the knee of the one who punched him and he dropped to the ground. Jason then took hold of the arm around his neck and stepped to the side, throwing the guy over his shoulder. Jason kept hold of his arm and twisted violently, hearing and feeling the arm break in his hands. The last one standing lunged at him with a splintered piece of wood. Jason dodged the makeshift weapon and drew one of his pistols, aiming for the man's chest. The rubber bullet knocked him backwards and he landed on his side, clutching his chest. Jason shot him once more in the lower leg, making it difficult for him to walk.

He re-holstered the gun and sucked in a lungful of air; he was having a difficult time catching his breath. Thankfully, to the untrained eyes of the men he was fighting, it looked like he was just incredibly pissed off and nothing more. Granted, he was pissed off because that prick ruined his second favorite jacket. But he was in much better shape than this, so he shouldn't feel so tired.

Not yet.

He rolled his shoulders up and back, stretching his head from side to side, wincing at how sore he felt already. He grit his teeth when Bruce's voice echoed in his head, reminding him of something he taught Jason a long time ago.

Take that pain and use it against them.

He turned and saw three more men appear from around the shipyard. One hung back, arms crossed over his broad chest, apparently in charge as he barked an order for the other two to attack. They both had automatic weapons in their hands. He took a moment to assess his surroundings and felt the pain in his back throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He pushed the pain down and grinned darkly beneath his helmet, drawing both pistols from beneath his arms.

"Bring it on, fellas."

A short while later Jason dragged the barely-conscious lieutenant back out into the yard, having finished his interrogation. The guy had several broken fingers and ribs, but in the end he'd given Jason what he needed. He dropped him into a frigid mud puddle and exhaled loudly. He was still having a hard time catching his breath and once he knew he could talk without sounding winded, he activated his comm and contacted Tim.

"Guess you'll just have to be faster next time, Red."

He looked around as he waited for Tim's reply and thankfully didn't see anyone else conscious. He shifted his focus back to the lieutenant and retrieved a pair of flex cuffs from his belt, kneeling next to him. He grinned when Tim replied with slightly breathless sarcasm.

"Yeah, well, you had a head start and I was swarmed with Penguin's idiots." Tim paused and Jason knew he was mid-swing, firing his grapple again. "Thanks for the help, by the way."

Jason secured the guy's hands behind his back, not caring in the slightest when he jarred broken fingers.

"I'm sure you handled it just fine. You didn't need my help."

The next reply came from behind him and not through his ear piece.

"Need? No. Would have appreciated? Yeah."

Tim landed almost silently, his staff drawn. Jason shrugged and rested a boot on the back of the lieutenant. He ground his heel down and rolled his eyes when the guy squirmed.

"Couldn't risk any of these morons getting away."

Tim looked around and surveyed the damage throughout the shipyard. From what he could see, most of the men on the ground were still breathing.

"Get anything you can use?"

Jason looked down at his hands and noticed both the glove on his right hand and the cuff of his jacket were saturated with blood. He could feel the blood tricking down his forearm from his bicep and ignored it, seeing the way Tim was watching him.

"Nope. Not a thing."

The lieutenant mumbled something about his broken ribs and fingers. Tim looked down at him and raised an eyebrow. His face was covered in bruises and one of his eyes had started to swell shut. He likely held out for quite some time, by the looks of his injuries.

"Seems to me like this one might have been helpful."

Jason nudged him with his boot and rolled him over. He knelt and grabbed the front of the man's jacket. Before he or Tim knew what was happening, Jason snapped his head forward and knocked him unconscious with a vicious head butt. Tim winced at the sound of cartilage breaking. Jason let go him and stood, swiping the blood off the front of his helmet with the back of his hand.

"Not particularly, but he told me enough." Jason dusted his hands together and turned to Tim. Tim was staring at him, leaning on his staff. "What?"

Tim didn't bother to hide his frustration.

"You know we don't keep score. You can run point, it's your case. I promise I'll follow your lead. But you don't have to do this alone." Tim collapsed the staff and drew his grapple gun. "Come on. You're the one who said I could tag along, remember?"

Jason sighed.

"That was when I thought the shipment I'd been tracking was bigger. Turns out that this was all there was to it."

Tim simply stared at Jason, well aware he was lying through his teeth. He knew Tim was a genius, but how easily he read Jason was ridiculous. And it was starting to get really irritating.

He knew Tim just wanted to help. Despite the fact he knew he'd be done with the whole operation in half the time, he didn't want the rest of them getting involved. He was wary of their newfound interest in helping him, though Tim had started to grow on him a few months back. He inhaled and held his breath for a few seconds before releasing it slowly, still trying to control his breathing. Moments like this he was insanely grateful for the helmet.

"I can handle it from here. Besides," he said, leaning around Tim and waving, "your ride is here."

Tim turned and searched the rooftops behind him, spotting Batman standing atop the adjacent warehouse, cape rippling in the wind. He sighed and turned back to Jason to find he'd disappeared. Tim sighed and headed toward where Bruce stood, grappling up easily onto the building. He didn't look at Tim, instead focusing his attention on the direction Jason went.

"What was that about?"

"You weren't listening?"

He gave Tim a look and Tim knew there was a raised eyebrow beneath the cowl.

"Sorry. Long night." He rubbed a sore spot on his shoulder. "He spotted me about to deal with that Penguin thing. Then he got a call and took off."

"Robin and I were nearby at Gotham First National. If you needed help, you should have called me."

Tim shook his head.

"I was fine. He stopped to help me." He paused, not sure how to ask what Bruce was thinking. Deciding the worst that could happen was Bruce ignoring him, he went for it. "Is he... are you worried about him?"

There was a heavy pause as Bruce considered his answer. He'd had his suspicions, but he couldn't confirm anything yet. Even with whatever was slowing him down, Jason was still in top form when it came to covering his tracks. It was admirable and infuriating at the same time, how well he'd taken to that part of his training years ago.

"Something's wrong."

Tim looked at Bruce, then down at the shipyard and all of the men lying there. Most of them were still alive and the few who weren't, Tim knew were victims of friendly fire. Two-Face's men weren't the most accurate with firearms.

"What makes you say that?" When Bruce didn't answer immediately, Tim answered for him. "You've been watching him."

Bruce turned his attention from the shipyard to Tim. "Three of them were able to land multiple blows, which is rare, especially for men like these. They're very poorly trained."

Tim thought back to their encounter earlier, how Jason stumbled after his landing on the rooftop, and how he'd taken much longer than necessary to join him. Tim brushed it off at the time but now that he thought about it, something was off. Bruce recognized the look on Tim's face and waited.

"Something on your mind?"

"Earlier, over at Penguin's. I noticed something. He stumbled after landing on the roof."

"What happened?"

Tim shrugged, staring out in the direction Jason disappeared.

"It could be nothing. I don't know where he'd been or if he'd been hurt lately. We've all been there, B."

Bruce nodded once in agreement, noting his own bruises and stiff joints.

"Anything else?"

Tim shook his head.

"No. He seemed fine when I got here, but I haven't been here long and the fight was over. Why?"

Bruce drew his grapple gun and aimed at a dilapidated office building across the street.

"It's probably nothing. I need to get back to Robin at the bank."

Tim sighed in frustration once more as Bruce disappeared.

"Would it kill any of you to just talk to me?"

A half-mile from the shipyard, Jason dropped into the shadows of an alley and leaned against a brick wall, hands on his knees, still trying to catch his breath. The pain in his legs was back and was intense enough to make it difficult to walk. He forced himself to straighten up and laced his hands behind his head, breathing slowly and deeply.

He'd barely wrapped up the fight and interrogation before Tim arrived and he'd had to try really hard not to let on how awful he was feeling. On several occasions, he was only saved by his wickedly good aim with a handgun. With his legs bothering him, he may not have the ability to maintain prolonged physical combat at the moment, but as long as his hand was steady, his guns worked just fine, despite being loaded with rubber bullets.

Once his breathing was mostly under control, he focused on the rest of his problems. He could feel each and every sore spot. He was sure his back would be one giant bruise come morning, thanks to the two-by-four. Jumping through a window hadn't helped, either. And then there was the blood from the cut on his arm he could feel trickling down his sleeve. He sighed as he fired his grapple up into the darkness. He had to get home before he felt any worse and thankfully his motorcycle was only a few blocks away.

As he drove toward the slightly less-seedy parts of Gotham, his mind wandered back to when this all started ten days earlier. It started as a mild ache in his left leg that he usually only noticed when he was out on patrol. It didn't bother him much and he assumed he'd over-trained or took a blow that he didn't remember. He took a couple of nights off and that seemed to do the trick. Over the last couple of days, though, it had gotten more painful and he could feel it in both legs. But even then it was nothing that some ice and over-the-counter pain medication couldn't handle.

Until tonight.

That landing shouldn't have bothered him. It hadn't been a difficult jump and he could make jumps like that in his sleep. Even when he was a kid, before Batman, before Robin, he'd been leaping across rooftops without any problem.

So why now?

He entered an underground parking garage and parked his bike before began climbing the stairs to the safe house that had morphed into something more permanent than he cared to admit. He knew he'd have to move soon, especially with Batman following him around lately.

By the last flight of stairs he was limping heavily and out of breath again. He broke into a cold sweat and had to lean against the door frame as he unlocked the door and disabled the security system. The couch wasn't far from the door and he collapsed onto it, wincing as he put his legs on the coffee table to unlace his boots. His feet and ankles were swollen, but there was no bruising or discoloration that would explain why his legs felt like they'd been run over by a truck. He ditched his gloves and shrugged out of his jacket, leaving them in a pile next to his boots. They could wait until morning to be cleaned.

He stood and hobbled into the kitchen. A half-empty bottle of pain reliever sat next to an empty glass by the sink where he'd left them that afternoon. He turned on the tap, holding his fingers under the faucet, his mind wandering in its exhaustion and taking him back to memories he worked so hard to forget.

"Hiya, kiddo. Welcome back! I'm gonna do a little experiment. I'll use my right arm first, then my left. Tell me which one hurts more."

The crow bar struck his back, knocking the breath from his lungs and breaking several ribs. The Joker howled with laughter, his shrill voice bouncing off the walls.

"That sounded absolutely dreadful. Let's test the other side."

That time the crow bar made contact with his leg, shattering bone beneath it. Jason cried out, unable to hold back his scream any longer.

The water ran cold beneath his fingers and brought him back to reality. He filled the glass and downed it all in one go before refilling it. His hands trembled as they opened the bottle, shaking several tablets into his palm. He swallowed those with another glass of water before hobbling toward the bathroom.

He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the light before digging his med kit from under the sink, laying out his supplies on the counter. The bleeding on his arm had stopped, but only because his shirt was stuck to the wound. The entire sleeve below it was saturated with blood. He wet a washcloth with warm water and held it over the cut until the clotted blood softened and he could take his shirt off without reopening the wound too much. Jason stared at his reflection for a moment before tugging the shirt up and over his head. It was tossed unceremoniously into the bathtub.

The poor lighting in the bathroom making the dark circles under his eyes even more prominent against his pale skin. There was a fist-sized bruise forming on his stomach where one of the morons landed two lucky punches. He turned and looked back over his shoulder. His back was beginning to bruise and a massive red welt spanned both of his shoulders. His body armor should have prevented the bruising and on a normal night, it would have. Whatever was making him feel so off lately must be responsible for the easy bruising.

He washed the dried blood from his arm and turned, stepping closer to the mirror to get a better look at his arm. The rebar must have been incredibly sharp, since there were no ragged edges, no torn skin. The laceration itself was about two inches long- nothing serious enough to explain the amount of bleeding there had been. It was still bleeding sluggishly, but nowhere near as much as earlier.

With a tired sigh he finished cleaning his arm and closed it with several butterfly bandages. It wasn't deep enough to need stitches. He laid a gauze pad over it, wrapped his arm with a self-adhesive bandage and put everything away.

The pain in his legs had dulled somewhat, but was still bad enough it made him stumble on his way to his bedroom. He thought about he read the other day, when the pain was noticeable enough to warrant some research, about the pain people sometimes felt in limbs that had been fractured even long after they'd healed. That had to be what was happening, why his legs hurt lately.

Jason closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, trying to get his mind to turn off so he could sleep. But a voice deep inside his head asked a frighteningly logical question.

The Lazarus Pit brought you back from the dead- it healed all of your old scars. Do you really think it wouldn't have fixed that, too?

Jason opened his eyes and sat up, scrubbing his hands over his face. He knew he'd always carry the psychological scars: the nightmares, the memories, the anger he had to work so hard to control sometimes. He'd accepted all of that a long time ago and he knew it wouldn't be easy. But it was getting better, at least until he had a flashback and then he felt like he was back at square one.

He drew the blankets up around him and laid down again, rolling over and curling into himself. The medication was helping, as the throbbing in his legs was now a dull ache that would allow him to sleep. But before he closed his eyes, he reached over and turned on the lamp next to his bed. The lamp cast a soft, warm glow over the bedside table, where a picture frame was propped against the lamp's base. The glow was bright enough to chase away the darkness and the anxiousness, but not bright enough to keep him awake. He felt himself start to relax as he stared at the picture. He used it to help calm the panic that crept up on him sometimes, something to ground him and remind him what was real and what was only in his head. It was a time he felt safe, a time he felt cared for.

In the picture a tall, broad-shouldered man stood next to a smiling kid in a school uniform, his arm around the kid's shoulders. Jason came from his last day of school that day to see Alfred with a familiar package from the book store in Kensington. It was a first edition he and Bruce had tried to track down for months- their gift to him for making the honor roll again.

Jason studied the picture and felt himself sink into the mattress, his eyelids growing heavy. The pain in his legs and back seemed like a distant memory, as did everything else. All that mattered at the moment was that he was home. He was safe. One last thought wandered through his mind as he fell asleep, something that Catherine used to tell him when he was sick.

Everything will be better in the morning.

And there we have it: the beginning of what I hope is a roller coaster ride of angst and emotion. I hope you like it! I've planned for 12 chapters, but I'm not going to limit myself to that if things develop differently.