I'm back, and I'm sorry I took so long. I was studying like crazy and applying to nursing school, and I just found out I got in. I won't take up your time with anything else, save for saying thanks for sticking with me. I really, really appreciate it. This chapter is dedicated to all of you for coming with me on this journey. ❤️

Warning: This chapter talks about PTSD; we see Jason break down after getting some important news. There's mention of torture (when Joker held him captive until Harley arrived) and he relives some things/breaks down/has flashbacks. So if that situation isn't something you're comfortable reading, this is your heads-up. The last line before it starts is "He covered his eyes with his hands as events from that night began to surface."

Also- I know this isn't a completely accurate depiction of how it works, but from a narrative standpoint, I needed him to remember what happened.

After the incident with Talia at the hospital two days prior, Bruce called a meeting. When the time came, they all met back in the library, gathering in the common space in the middle of the enormous room.

Tim, Stephanie and Cass took the couch and Stephanie curled up in the middle. Dick and Damian chose the love seat across from them, and Bruce claimed one of the two arm chairs on the end between the couch and love seat. There was a lone arm chair across from them, to which no one paid any attention. Dick was trying to get Damian to thumb wrestle with him, and when he refused, Dick turned to Bruce.

"Whatever this is, can we get it started? Everyone's here."

Bruce subtly checked his watch and nodded when he heard footsteps approaching from the hallway.

"Not quite. We're still missing someone."

Alfred entered and stepped aside to hold the door, Roy walking in behind him.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. Kori, Artemis and Bizarro were headed out this afternoon and I wanted to be there to send them off."

Bruce nodded and gestured to the empty chair across from him.

"It's not a problem. Have a seat and we'll get started."

He noticed the strange looks he was getting from Damian and Dick, and he waited until Alfred was seated before he began.

"We're here to talk about Jason. As you know, he's got some major decisions to make about treatment, and I wanted to talk to all of you about what that means."

He nodded at Tim and Tim pulled a tablet from the front pocket of his hoodie.

"Without taking into account the respiratory infection and current hospital stay, the plan was chemo and/or radiation followed by an allogenic stem cell transplant," Tim said. "S.T.A.R. labs has his up-to-date medical records and is preparing treatment so it's ready whenever he is. Out of everyone tested, there's one compatible donor."

"I don't know what decisions there are to make. Why wouldn't he start treatment as soon as he's out of the hospital?" Dick looked around the room, noting the confusion on everyone's faces, except for Bruce and Roy. "Unless there's something you aren't telling us."

Everyone turned and looked at Bruce again, who sat motionless with the stoic expression he used only when he was trying to prevent anyone from reading him.

"And that's my cue," Roy muttered. "I'm actually the reason you're all here."

Stephanie piped up with a frown.

"I thought this was all figured out already. We were all tested to see who's a match, so now all that's left is the transplant."

Roy nodded.

"It was figured out, yeah. But I had a conversation with Jason not too long ago and at the time, he wasn't so sure what he wanted to do as far as treatment goes."

The room went silent, quieter than the Manor had been in a while, before chaos erupted and everyone tried to talk at the same time.

"What do you mean, he isn't sure?" Damian asked. "Why wouldn't he continue treatment?"

Stephanie was next.

"He can't get better without it, right?"

Roy stood up, whistling loudly. He circled his chair and rested his hands on the back as he carefully considered his answer. He needed to make sure it came out the way he intended; this family had a tendency to only hear what they wanted.

"I know you've all seen what chemo has done to Jason," he began. "The weight loss, his hair falling out, and the pain and fatigue he's dealing with."

When no one interrupted, he kept going.

"It's clear you all want the best for him and want him to get better. And there's nothing wrong with that."

"But it's not about what we want, is it?" Tim asked quietly. "It's about what Jason wants."

Roy snapped his fingers and pointed at Tim with a warm smile, not surprised in the least that he picked up on it first. Tim was perhaps the most intuitive of the bunch.

"Bingo. We need to stop and consider if this is what we want him to do, or if it's what Jason wants."

"Why wouldn't he say anything?"

They all turned and looked at Dick, noting his hurt expression. Roy sat down and waited until Dick looked at him.

"He's under a lot of pressure to do what everyone thinks he should do. Think about it- would you want to tell your family you might not have any fight left in you? Wouldn't you feel like you're letting everyone down?"

He let that sink in for a minute, watching the realization dawn on them. Satisfied they understood, he continued.

"Whatever happens next, whatever options he has, the decisions need to come from him. And whatever they are, we have to accept them, like it or not. He needs to know we'll support him."

Roy noted the sullen faces and felt a momentary pang of guilt. He knew this would blindside them; they all cared about Jason and wanted him to beat this. But they hadn't stopped to really think about the fact Jason might not survive, even with treatment. They needed a reality check, and they typically aren't what people want to hear.

Jason asked him to do this after a day spent going to seven different appointments. He was exhausted and in a lot of pain, not to mention he felt like a burden. After a long conversation, Roy offered to talk to the rest of the family so Jason wouldn't have to, and here he was, doing just that.

"Look. You haven't done anything wrong- I promise. Our hearts are in the right places; we all want Jason to be okay. But we have to remember even though what he has is treatable, it doesn't guarantee he'll beat it. The best thing we can do is support him, no matter what."

"But how do we do that?" Steph asked. She grabbed Tim's hand and held it tightly. Cass was already holding Steph's other hand.

Roy shrugged and smiled sadly.

"I have no idea. But I do know we should try really hard to keep our thoughts about what we want him to do to ourselves. Unless he asks, keep your opinions about treatment to yourselves."

Alfred gave Roy a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Mister Harper. This has given us all a lot to think about before Master Jason comes home."

"Don't beat yourselves up, alright? Seriously. The only reason I know any of this is because I flat-out asked him. He wasn't gonna volunteer any of that info otherwise."

There was another bout of silence until Bruce cleared his throat.

"Doctor Matthews set up an appointment to discuss the next steps. They had to re-do some of the lab work and other tests because of the infection. And based on what Leslie said, we don't anticipate the news to be good. He'll have to wait until it clears up before he can pursue any further treatment, if that's what he chooses to do."

When it was clear their meeting had come to an end, Steph and Cass snuck out of the library and went upstairs. Both Damian and Tim had questions for Bruce, and while the three of them were talking, Roy got up. Dick followed him out of the library and through the drawing room, waiting until they were in the front hall before he said anything.

"Did he really say he wanted to give up?"

Roy stopped and turned to face Dick, sighing deeply.

"Those words- 'give up'? That's part of the issue, here. Deciding you don't want to endure any more suffering isn't giving up or quitting, Dick. It's a choice, and a valid one. And there's nothing wrong with saying you've had enough." He held his arms out and grinned proudly.

"Look at me- I quit drinking. Was quitting that a bad thing?"

Dick's face fell and he closed his eyes.

"That's not what I meant."

Roy waited until Dick looked at him again.

"I know, man, but you need to consider how it sounds."

Struggling not to break down, Dick nodded. Roy immediately pulled him into a hug, squeezing as hard as he could. Dick clung to him and buried his face against Roy's shoulder. He could feel Dick falling apart and did his best to hold him together. Once upon a time, in the not-so-distant past, Dick had done the same for him.

"Keep doing what you're doing," Roy murmured as he rocked Dick back and forth. "You understand what he's going through the most, after what happened to Nora. He needs that. He needs you."

He felt Dick nod, though he didn't let go yet. He'd stand there as long as Dick needed him to, remembering when they were teenagers and how hurt Dick was after losing Nora. He'd taken that loss just as hard as the loss of his parents.

"And for the record, I think there's some fight left in the guy. You know he's never been one to go down without a fight. He grew up here in Gotham for crying out loud- he's as scrappy and stubborn as they come."

That made Dick chuckle and he thought back on the numerous occasions when they were young and Jason always had to have the last word or the last punch, or how he always had to prove he was tougher than he looked.

He hoped like hell that version of Jason was still in there somewhere.

Jason sat cross-legged on his hospital bed staring out the window while Bruce, Leslie and Doctor Matthews discussed his options for treatment. There were lots of things to consider before a stem cell transplant, apparently, and the number of choices he had to make quickly overwhelmed him.

He didn't have any family members who could donate bone marrow, and none of his "extended" family were an exact match. Bruce was remarkably close, though- close enough he could donate if Jason chose to pursue it. According to Tim, the researchers at S.T.A.R. labs were able to do something to the donated stem cells to make them less likely to be rejected.

If he wanted to do that, the transplant could only happen after his own immune system was wiped out. They would use a really high dose of chemotherapy or radiation, though it was possible they would have to use both. Once again, he'd have to manage side effects, but this time they would be worse because of the higher dosage.

Once the transplant happened, he would be in isolation for several weeks while the transplanted stem cells rebuilt his immune system. While the process sounded terrible, he was at least familiar with the side effects. In the short term, Doctor Matthews told him he should expect hair loss, vomiting, mouth sores, fatigue, loss of appetite and a serious risk of infection. All of those were similar to what he'd already been through.

The long term effects were the most terrifying: permanent damage to his lungs or thyroid, bone damage or necrosis, loss of fertility, developing another cancer later in life, or something called graft-versus-host-disease. In the case of graft-versus-host-disease, the transplanted cells would see his own body as the enemy and start destroying it. Best-case scenario, it would be uncomfortable, but treatable.

Worst-case scenario? It would kill him, and he'd go through absolute hell before it did.

He asked what the alternatives were. Doctor Matthews didn't sugar coat anything and he appreciated her honesty, but it didn't mean he wasn't scared by what she told him. If he chose not to continue treatment, what remained of his life could be measured in days or weeks. A few months were possible, but highly unlikely. He would start palliative care and then he'd be at the Manor under hospice care. In the end, he would die of internal bleeding or a mild infection a healthy immune system would have had no trouble getting rid of.

After all of that, Jason tuned out. His mind raced while it tried to process what could happen to him if he decided to do this. It would literally be the fight of his life and could very well be the most painful thing he'd ever experienced, which was saying something. If he chose to go ahead with treatment, the next few months would be awful, but he had great doctors to help him. If he chose to stop treatment, the next few weeks would also be awful, but there would be an end to his suffering in sight.

An end to his suffering was a novel idea, since there were times lately he'd felt his entire life was full of nothing but pain and disappointment. He knew that wasn't entirely true, but when he had to think really hard about the good things he'd experienced and came up with a surprisingly short list, it was hard to believe otherwise. He'd always felt like he'd been in the passenger seat of his life, and now that he was finally the one in charge, it felt strange.

But the relief he felt when he realized he had the choice to stop treatment, that he had total control over the way whatever remained of his life played out, scared him. He'd done his fair share of terrifying things throughout his first twenty-five years, but somehow, choosing whether or not to stop treatment was the most frightening of them all.

A forgotten memory from when he was just a kid stuck in a warehouse with a madman rushed to the forefront. Joker had stopped mid-swing, a crowbar held high above his head as he stared down at a broken, bleeding Robin. Before he brought it down again, he'd given Jason a choice. In order to get the beating to stop, all Jason had to do was say the magic words. Joker promised he would leave, Batman would come, and Jason would survive. He could still hear the lying smile in Joker's voice as he leaned down and told Jason his life was in his hands.

Just say the words, Joker had said. And it would end right then and there. Five little words.

I want to go home.

He knew Joker wouldn't let him go and he refused to give him the satisfaction of begging. So despite his injuries at that point, Jason found the strength to turn and spit a mouthful of blood in Joker's face, crimson standing out against ghostly pale skin. Joker's smug expression quickly turned furious and the beating continued until he was out of breath, sweat dripping down the sides of his face.

That was the moment when Jason promised himself he'd never give in, even if it meant taking a beating like that. Even if it meant giving everything he had left to keep fighting, he would.

His current situation was no different. He realized there was nothing wrong with wanting to stop treatment, but he wanted to keep things on his terms. Even if the treatment didn't work, he'd go down swinging. That was all there was to it.

A poem Alfred once recited for him while he and Jason prepared dinner popped into his head.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

No, Jason thought, no I will not go gentle into that good night. I've got too much left to do.

Bruce, Leslie and Doctor Matthews were still talking, presumably allowing him some time to think about his options. Bruce had asked a lot of questions so far and was taking notes, something Jason had rarely seen him do unless he was working on a particularly tough case. At the moment, he was asking Doctor Matthews about the isolation process post-transplant, how it worked and how long it lasted.

"If I do this, if I go through with the transplant, do I have to stay in the hospital?"

The three of them looked at each other before Doctor Matthews answered.

"Most patients do, yes. The majority of homes and apartments aren't able to be kept free of pathogens to the extent a hospital can."

Jason stared at his hands in his lap, noting how bony they looked.

"How long are we talking?"

"It's hard to say, but a lot of patients are in isolation or quarantine of some kind for four to six weeks."

Bruce spoke up and sounded optimistic. Hopeful, even.

"We could turn one wing of the Manor into an isolation unit. We certainly have the space, and I can arrange for the permits and whatever construction is necessary to begin immediately. That way it can be ready in time for Jason to come home."

Doctor Matthews glanced sideways at Leslie and she nodded, confirming Bruce's ability to get it done. Bruce watched Jason, gauging his reaction for a sign it was what Jason wanted. Jason shrugged one shoulder.

"Are you still up for being my donor?"

The tension in Bruce's face melted into an enormous smile, the kind Jason used to see so often when he was a kid. He saw it so rarely now as an adult and the realization made him sad. Bruce used to laugh all the time.

"Of course I am."

Jason allowed himself to smile when he felt hope flutter in his chest.

"Then let's do this."

Bruce brought Jason home the next afternoon and the ride was devoid of any of the usual tension. The mood was decidedly upbeat since Jason chose to continue treatment, and they now had a set schedule for things to begin just before the New Year. It was a few days before Christmas, and Jason admired the colorful lights on the large homes out in Bristol while Alfred filled him in on what the rest of them had been doing in his absence.

Bruce had a tablet with a digital floor plan of the Manor's second floor in his lap, sketching the isolation plans for Jason's room and the surrounding rooms. Temporarily, Jason and Tim would have to relocate to the guest wing until the ductwork was upgraded and new medical-grade air filters were installed. The carpeting would be removed and replaced with wooden flooring that matched the other bedrooms, and the heavy drapes would also be removed. Room-darkening shades would take the place of the drapes, cutting back on the need for cleaning and dusting.

He frowned when he studied the part of the plans where Jason's massive bookshelves were, including the concealed entrance to the Cave. That would have to be disabled before the HVAC contractors arrived. It was unlikely they would find it, but since they had to poke around in the wiring and ductwork, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Jason turned and watched Bruce frown at the floor plan before erasing something and redrawing it.

"Are you hungry, Master Jason?"

He shrugged and met Alfred's eyes in the rear view.

"Your brothers are all at home this evening and were in charge of dinner. I apologize in advance if it turns out badly."

Jason rolled his eyes.

"I know Damian can cook some of the basics; I taught him those myself. But Tim and Dick surely know how to cook, don't they? I mean- Dick's nearing thirty, for crying out loud."

Bruce smothered a grin and shifted his focus to the wintery evening outside.

"Last time, the fire department beat us to dinner, Jason."

Dinner turned out to be a simple, but successful affair. Between the three of them, they made a basic fettucine alfredo with roasted vegetables on the side. Jason was impressed, not only because they didn't burn the house down or give anyone food poisoning, but they also improved on his own recipe without realizing it.

After they finished eating and Jason helped Alfred clean up, he wandered into the library to look for the book containing the poem he'd remembered while still at the hospital yesterday. Dick and Tim were set up at one of the tables with two laptops, half a dozen case books, and pages of notes and drawings between them. Bruce appeared from a side room with the micro fiche machine, studying a document he'd printed.

No one had noticed him enter, so he slowly crept upstairs to the poetry section. He trailed his fingers along the shelf, reading the authors' names on the spines until he came to Dylan Thomas. The name jumped out at him and he grabbed the book, flipping it open until he found the poem he was looking for.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

He made his way back toward the small staircase and stopped on the landing when Dick spoke up.

"How'd the talk with Jason and his doctor go yesterday? What did he decide?"

Jason didn't move, curious about what Bruce would say. Part of him didn't want to eavesdrop; he didn't want to know what they said when he wasn't around. But the larger part of him needed to know.

"It went well. But I think you should ask him. He can read you in on the details."

Tim put down a stack of papers and stretched his arms above his head.

"Can you at least tell us if he's going to go through with the transplant?"

Dick looked up at Tim before they both looked at Bruce. He shook his head. Bruce glanced up at him and smiled, beckoning him with a nod of his head.

"Jason? Your brothers have some questions for you. Care to come down and fill them in?"

Jason carefully made his way down the stairs, his legs shaking by the time he reached the bottom. He was out of breath and sat in one of the arm chairs. Tim rushed over and poured him a glass of water before he sat down across from him. Dick joined Tim on the couch, and Bruce stood nearby.

"I'm scheduled for radiation on the thirtieth and chemo on January second. A few days after that, as long as the side effects from chemo are being managed, the transplant happens."

Dick huffed a relieved laugh and hugged Tim to his side. Bruce watched Jason closely, trying to read his facial expression as he watched Dick celebrate. Jason hadn't reacted at all and Bruce wasn't sure what to make of it.

"We're obviously glad to hear that," Tim said carefully. "We know at one point you weren't sure what you wanted to do."

Jason stared at the book in his lap. He looked deep in thought, frowning at the cover as he ran his fingers along the spine. Dick glanced at Bruce, who merely raised an eyebrow in response while they waited.

"Roy told me about the meeting you guys had." He looked up at Dick, then at Tim, who were both looking away from him, their cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "It's okay. It was actually my idea."

The three of them looked at each other, then at Jason. He clearly enjoyed their confusion, if the small smirk he wore was anything to go by. It was obvious that Dick had questions, as he kept opening his mouth to say something, but would change his mind at the last second. Bruce took a seat in the chair to Jason's left.

Dick managed to get his thoughts together a moment later.

"From what he said, it sounded like you didn't want to go through any more treatment," he said, finally dragging his gaze back to Jason. "That's your decision, of course, and I'll support you whatever you do. But why the change of heart?"

Jason flipped the book open, back to the page he'd marked so long ago with the note from Alfred explaining the book was his as a college student. His eyes scanned the familiar words and he shrugged.

"Well, the only alternative is making another reservation at the Gotham Cemetery. Since I've been there, done that, I thought hanging around a few more decades was a much better option."

Dick winced at Jason's comment, as did Bruce. Tim scrubbed a hand over his face, dragging it through his hair with a sigh.

"What? It's the truth. If I don't go through with the transplant, I've got weeks, at best. Since I'm not exactly finished with my life, I thought I'd give it a shot and see what happens. I've got nothing left to lose."

That got him a glare from Dick, who was blinking back tears now.

"You've got a family, you ass. And we'll do whatever we can to help."

"I know that, I do." Jason nodded and scanned the page one more time before he closed the book. "Despite any evidence to the contrary, I don't want to die again, even if this route is easier than a bomb and a crow bar."

Dick dropped his head into his hands.

"Jesus Christ, Jay."

"Just listen to me for a sec before you get all squeamish." He took a drink of water and composed himself. He hadn't ever said any of this out loud and wasn't sure how it would go over.

"The first time I..." he paused, unable to make himself say the word. "That first time, I was in agony. I was scared, and I was alone. That's not the case now- I'm not fighting this by myself. So despite the idea that I am, in fact, terrified about what treatment will do to me, it's easier this time because I'm stuck in this god-forsaken manor with all of you."

Tears were running freely down Dick's cheeks now and Tim dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve. Bruce subtly swiped at his own eyes with his fingertips.

"Gee, love you too, Jason," Tim said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Jason grinned. When none of them made a move to get up, Jason grew self-conscious and managed to climb to his feet.

"Yeah, so, this is awkward. I'm gonna head upstairs. Good luck with your case; I'll catch you guys later."

Once the door closed behind him, Dick let out a relieved sigh and Bruce returned to the table where they'd been working.

"Let's get this organized. Once we finish the timeline, our night off can begin."

Several hours later, everyone except Tim was situated comfortably in the den. The only light was the soft glow of the Christmas tree and the light of the fire, the flames making shadows dance on the wall. Tim's phone rang so they paused the movie, resorting instead to trying to predict the ending.

When Tim returned a few minutes later, he was breathless and pale, clutching his phone in his right hand. Their mellow night off to spend time together as a family before Jason's transplant turned tense in an instant. He spoke to everyone in the room, but looked only at Jason.

"Turn on the news- I think you'll want to see this."

Jason frowned at the uncertainty in his voice, while Bruce grabbed the remote and turned on GCN.

"In breaking news this evening, we've received unconfirmed reports the Joker has died. Jack Ryder joins us from Arkham Island with more-"

The screen went black and everyone sat in shock as Bruce put the remote down. He and Alfred shared a quick look before all eyes went to Jason.

He closed his eyes, knowing everyone was looking at him. But as he searched deep within himself for a reaction, all he found was an empty, hollow space.

"Jason? Are you okay?"

A few seconds later he opened his eyes and glanced at Dick, who was now perched on the edge of the couch. His breath caught at the look in Dick's eyes, knowing Dick was hoping he could finally find some kind of peace.

The fact he didn't feel anything at all overwhelmed him with guilt, and he had to fight the urge to bolt from the room. He could feel everyone else's eyes on him now, waiting with bated breath for some kind of reaction. Finally, he plastered on the biggest smile he could muster and pushed everything else down.

"I guess it's a Christmas miracle, Charlie Brown."

There was a moment of silence before Dick's bark of surprised laughter, and the tension in the room dissipated somewhat. Jason fought to keep smiling as Dick kneeled in front of him and enveloped him in a crushing hug. He leaned his forehead wearily against Dick's shoulder while Bruce's hand rubbed gentle circles across his back. He could hear Tim and Damian discussing ways to confirm the news.

He understood why they were all happy, and he wanted to feel the same; but there was something deep within him, a tiny voice in the back of his mind telling him peace was out of his reach because what Joker did to him was too awful, too traumatic to heal from.

Bruce's voice brought him back to reality and away from the emotional cliff he was close to tumbling over.

"Let's give him some space. I'm sure we all want to celebrate, but we should give him some time for this to sink in."

Alfred ushered Tim, Damian and Dick out of the den, suggesting they find something to snack on before they re-started the movie, leaving Bruce sitting next to Jason.

"This might seem like a silly question, but are you okay?"

Jason stared at the floor, looking at nothing in particular.

"I have no idea. Harley mentioned he'd never wake up, but—" he sighed and shook his head. "I've never thought about what life would be like if and when this happened."

Bruce slid off the couch and crouched in front of him, gently putting a hand on each of Jason's knees until he looked up at him.

"Whatever you're feeling, just know that it's okay. So is not feeling anything."

Jason studied Bruce's face, feeling some of the guilt and despair melt away at the understanding in Bruce's eyes.

"Thanks, B."

Bruce nodded, but didn't move.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Jason immediately shook his head, causing the tears he'd been holding in to slide down his cheeks.

"Not really."

Bruce frowned, and against his better judgement, he gave in and stood, reaching down to help Jason to his feet.

"I know we haven't always seen eye to eye. And I can't possibly understand what you might be feeling, but I'm always willing to listen. You know that, right?"

Jason took Bruce's hand and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet, unable to meet Bruce's concerned stare.

"Yeah, I know."

Bruce helped him upstairs and to the doorway to his room before heading back down to the den. He shut the door behind him and crawled into bed, burying himself beneath the blankets. His phone chimed on the bedside table and he sighed when he saw Roy's name pop up, watching the messages as they popped up in quick succession. There were so many he had to scroll up to see them all.

Today, 7:14pm
I just heard the news- are you okay?
Do you need me to come over?

Today, 7:15pm
Jason?

Today, 7:17pm
Dude, you know I'm a worrier..

Today, 7:18pm
Are you alone at the manor?

Today, 7:19pm
If I don't hear from you in two minutes, I'm coming over and I'll break the door down if I have to.

Biting his lip, he sent a message back.

Everyone is home. I'm ok.

He held his breath as Roy replied, the dots blinking as he typed.

Today, 7:26pm
Thank god. Look- just say the word and I'll be there. We don't have to talk about it. Whatever you need, I can do.

Jason stared at the ceiling for a moment, considering Roy's offer. But at the moment, the last thing he wanted was someone smothering him with empathy or pity. He just wanted to be alone until he could figure out how he felt.

I promise, I'm fine. I wanna be alone right now. If I need anything, I'll let you know.

Moments later, Roy's reply came through.

Today, 7:28pm
I don't like the idea of you being alone, but I get it. I'll check in with you tomorrow.

His reply was simple, but he meant it.

too, man.

Feeling a little better, he put his phone back on the nightstand. What he really needed was a distraction, anything to keep him from sitting around and getting lost in his head. He decided to find something that didn't require his attention span, much like the movie they'd been watching downstairs.

The first thing to come up was Channel 9 News, and he immediately changed it, landing on yet another airing of Home Alone. He changed the channel again, this time to GCN. But before he could turn it to something else, Vicki Vale appeared on screen, standing in front of a crowd of people.

"This is Vicki Vale, reporting from Robinson Park, where one of many groups of Gothamites have gathered to mark the passing of one of Gotham's most feared criminals, the Joker."

He wrapped his arms around himself. A hideous laugh echoed somewhere in the back of his mind and a shiver ran down his spine.

"During what would ultimately be his last crime spree after breaking out of Arkham, he wreaked havoc across the city, leaving nearly two dozen dead and fifty-six injured."

The camera panned behind her, zooming in on the still-empty high-rise across the river. Jason's mouth went dry as memories of what happened started to come back. He remembered entering the lobby of the building, the scent of sawdust mixing with recently-poured concrete. There was a gun in his hands, and he was sweeping the lobby when someone wrapped an arm around his throat from behind and jabbed something sharp into his neck.

On the screen, Vicki continued talking.

"Thanks to an anonymous tip, officers found him lying unconscious at a construction site in the Diamond District. You can see the building behind me, still un-finished and scheduled for demolition after funding was pulled and permits revoked for fear of the building turning into a shrine in the event Joker died."

He covered his eyes with his hands as events from that night began to surface.

He woke up hanging by his arms from a steel support beam. His hands and wrists were killing him, and a headache was building. He managed to support some of his weight, but with his toes barely touching the ground, it didn't help much. A cold gust of wind ripped at the plastic sheeting that covered the construction equipment. As he came to his senses, he realized someone was with him. Managing to turn his head slightly, he saw a tall, lanky figure leaning against a pallet full of bags of concrete.

"Nice of you to wake up, Red Hood. Or should I call you Robin? How about… Jason?"

Jason's breath caught in his throat and he gasped, trying to control his breathing as the memories overwhelmed him.

Joker approached slowly, sticking to the shadows in Jason's periphery. All he could see were the legs of the orange Arkham Asylum jumpsuit when he got near enough. Joker's chuckle died in the wind and he waited until he was closer before he spoke.

"It's not every day a guy gets to murder someone a second time." He held something in his right hand, and once he stepped in front of him, Jason could see it was a knife. Joker flicked his wrist and it opened, locking into position and moonlight glinted off razor-sharp steel.

Jason tugged at his bindings, swinging back and forth as he struggled. But between the medication and the fear coursing through him, he got nowhere. Joker continued circling him until he stood behind him. To Jason's surprise, Joker remained mostly silent. There were no jokes, no quips and no comments about waiting for Batman to show up. It was unsettling and somehow, so much worse than his usual non-stop chatter.

Without warning, Joker loosened the rope and Jason dropped to his knees, his arms still hanging above his head. The impact on the concrete bruised bone and Jason cried out, more from surprise than pain, though it still hurt. Joker kneeled behind him and hooked an arm around his neck, poking the knife through his jacket and in between the plates of his armor. The tip of the blade pricked his skin and Jason flinched, but Joker held firm.

"You see, Jason, in that warehouse all those years ago, I made one mistake. Well, several mistakes, actually." He chuckled and his warm, putrid breath ghosted Jason's ear and nearly made him gag. "But the most important mistake was that I beat you too much, too soon. I didn't take nearly enough time to make you suffer first."

Jason tried once again to wrench himself free from Joker's grasp, but between the arm around his neck, the knife to his side, and Joker using his weight to prevent Jason from moving, he was stuck.

"I remember how you cried the first time; you wouldn't beg me to stop, but oh, how you cried! You wailed and sobbed and screamed- it was music to my ears!"

He twisted the blade a little and Jason tensed, preparing himself for a stab wound. Instead, Joker continued.

"I don't have a crow bar this time, so this knife will have to do."

Another twist, but the knife didn't go any further.

"You know, Daddy Bats went bat-shit crazy after I killed you. I've never seen someone so angry- his brutality was such a beautiful sight to behold. It was like he had a death wish. But eventually, he wasn't fun to play with anymore because he had no buttons left to push."

He turned the knife once more and Jason held his breath for a moment, hoping Joker would continue talking and not hurt him yet. When Jason exhaled, Joker's voice dropped lower, full of absolute glee.

"But then he brought that new kid in, a new, smaller, but smarter Robin, and suddenly? I had my Bats back. It was like you never existed."

Despite knowing that wasn't what happened, Jason's heart sank at those words. Joker used the distraction to his advantage and jammed the blade in to the hilt. Jason screamed, his vision going white as the pain consumed him. He felt Joker rip the blade out of him and he cut the rope holding him up. Now on his back on the floor, Joker loomed above him, holding the knife to his throat, his own blood dripping off the blade onto his neck.

"Any last words before I slit your throat and spill your guts all over this floor?"

The dim light behind Joker kept his face shrouded in darkness, but Jason could see well enough to watch the grin spread across Joker's face as he nicked the skin along Jason's carotid artery.

"Hey, you demented, son of a bitch! Lay off him!"

Before Jason could blink, Joker rolled off him and stood up. He was laughing excitedly, thanking Harley for coming. He couldn't see her in the darkness, but he heard a loud crash followed by a sickening, wet crack. Joker was knocked off his feet and landed on his back, coughing up blood with a wheeze of laughter. She stood a few feet from him holding a sledgehammer.

"Harley! You missed the first act, but the second will be glorious! Hand me that drill, won't you?"

Jason rolled and pushed himself to his knees. He needed to get away from the two of them before things got worse.

"Fuck you, Mista Jay. I'm done. And so are you."

Whatever happened next, Jason didn't see, but he heard it.

"You won't do it, Harls. You don't have it in you."

"Wanna bet?"

Joker laughed at her and the sound was cut short when she hit him again, knocking him out the unfinished window. As he fell six stories to the dumpster below, his laugh echoed through the winter night. It ended abruptly with a loud clang, and then there was nothing but silence.

Panic flowed through him and his vision darkened further as he struggled not to pass out. But between the blood loss and his mind trying to shut down to protect itself, it was a losing battle. He made it to a maintenance stairway and began stumbling down.

Jason crawled away from the screen, his back hitting the headboard with a thud. His heart raced and his breathing sped up, and he was unable to turn off the TV.

"Many believe the Joker wasn't alone that night and whoever was with him is responsible for what ultimately happened to him. One of my sources has confirmed the presence of a crime scene on the sixth floor of that building after blood evidence was discovered. Further details about the crime scene have not been released by the GCPD."

The camera's focus returned to the peaceful crowd in Robinson Park before it stopped on Vicki.

"Whatever the case may be, I'm sure all of us here in Gotham are going to sleep a little easier tonight. Back to you in the studio."

He blinked back tears and willed himself to grab the remote, but it fell to the floor when he reached. His legs tangled in the blankets and he fell forward, knocking his lamp off the bedside table with a crash. Seconds later, footsteps pounded up the stairs and down the hall. His door was thrown open and Bruce, Dick and Tim came running.

Bruce took one look at the television and figured out what was going on. He immediately turned it off and turned on another lamp. The overhead light was too bright at the moment, but Jason needed something to distract him long enough for Bruce to assess what to do next.

"Jason?"

He was trembling and still breathing heavily, but he managed to make eye contact with Bruce. He blinked and tears spilled from his eyes. Tim grabbed Bruce's arm.

"Do you want me to call Leslie?"

Bruce hesitated, knowing Jason wouldn't want that, but they couldn't handle this on their own, either.

"Just call and tell her we might need her later."

"What should I tell her?"

Bruce continued watching Jason. Dick was picking up the pieces of the lamp and Jason still crouched at the head of his bed.

"Tell her Jason is reliving some past trauma. What that is, we don't know yet."

Dick carefully stood and took the trash can full of broken glass with him, and Tim followed him out. Once the door closed behind them, Bruce sat down at the foot of the bed.

"Jason, can you hear me?"

He nodded and managed to sit down, a pillow clutched to his chest. His breathing began to slow and some of his color returned, though he was still clearly affected by what he'd seen.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Another nod and a choked sob.

"How can I help?"

Jason looked at him and more tears came. He shook his head and buried his face in the pillow before he answered.

"You can't."

Two hours later, Bruce walked Leslie out to her car. They stopped in the foyer and Bruce leaned against the doorway.

"Thank you for coming, Leslie."

She nodded and turned to face him.

"I'm glad you called. I'm obviously not a psychiatrist, but I know survivors of serious illness or injury, such as cancer, frequently struggle with posttraumatic stress disorder. In Jason's case, I don't believe that's a major contributor to this episode. Whatever he experienced as a teenager was compounded by what happened to him a year ago. To protect himself, he repressed as much of it as he could, but the news tonight triggered memories he didn't know he had."

"What can we do to help?"

Leslie paused, pursing her lips.

"Alfred once mentioned he knew of a psychiatrist who specializes in combat trauma- treating military personnel and veterans."

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"Alfred and I were going to have you speak with him, but you refused any help." She gave that a moment to sink in before she continued. "If he still has that contact, it would be a good idea to call him for a consult once Jason's well enough."

"Understood."

She stepped closer and squeezed his arm.

"He's stubborn like the rest of you, but he's also incredibly vulnerable. Be patient and willing to listen. If he wants to, he'll talk."

"And if he doesn't?"

She smiled ruefully.

"I have a feeling he'll want to talk, but I'm not sure you'll like what he has to say."

He frowned.

"You're a fixer, Bruce. When someone comes to you with a problem, you immediately want to fix it. It's one of the things I admire about you. You can't fix whatever's going on here, but you can help him through it."

She turned and opened the door, her parting words delivered over her shoulder.

"He's hurting and he feels alone. Reassure him that he's not."

Jason sat in the bay window in his room, the myriad of thoughts in his head swirling like the snowflakes on the other side of the glass. Visiting with Leslie had been helpful, if only to the extent he could finally breathe. That, and he could shove aside the urge to take off and hide somewhere far away from Gotham. He still felt panicked, pissed off and overwhelmed, yet strangely numb and empty at the same time.

Glancing at the small table off to his left, the sedative, glass of water and mug of cold chamomile tea sat untouched. He'd turned down the sedative outright and initially refused to explain why. But when Leslie told him she needed an actual reason, he gave her a brief summary of the events with the Joker that night, and how being under the influence of anything like pain medication or tranquilizers made him feel trapped and not in control of his own safety. He braced himself for an outpouring of sympathy from her, something he wasn't ready to deal with. Instead she said she hadn't known that's why he always declined narcotics whenever possible. She made a note to herself to update his chart and left it at that.

There were footsteps in the hallway and from both the cadence and the volume, Jason knew it was Bruce. Normally you couldn't hear him coming unless he wanted you to; Bruce trained them all to be light on their feet so they wouldn't give themselves away on patrol. That lesson carried over into their day-to-day lives and as a result, every single one of them had to remember to make noise when they were out so they wouldn't scare people. The idea Bruce was making sure Jason could hear him coming put him at ease in a way he hadn't felt in a long time.

Bruce stopped in the doorway and seeing he was awake, knocked on the door frame.

"Can I come in?"

Jason nodded, though he didn't turn his head. He drew the duvet from his bed tighter around his shoulders and continued staring out the window.

"What did Leslie say?"

Bruce approached, but gave Jason a wide berth. He leaned a shoulder against the wall on the opposite side of the window, arms crossed over his chest. Together they watched the snow fall outside while Bruce studied Jason from his periphery.

"She said you're hurting. That you might be feeling vulnerable, and how you might want to talk about it. If not with anyone here, with a psychiatrist trained in treating combat trauma. Alfred knows someone."

Jason stared at his reflection in the window and his scowl turned to curiosity.

"That was surprisingly honest. Why?"

Bruce looked at him, clearly confused.

"Why what?"

"Normally with stuff like this, you tell us what to do and that's the end of it. What changed?"

Bruce pursed his lips, realizing Jason was right, even though his motives for telling his children what they should do came from a place of care and concern. Some of the yelling matches with Dick calling him bossy were starting to make more sense.

"It's your health, Jason. Your life. And you're old enough to make the decisions that are best for you. You have been for quite some time and I should have realized that a long time ago."

Jason's mouth fell open as he stared at his father in disbelief. Seconds ticked by before he managed to gather his thoughts.

"Oh-kay…" he trailed off with a shake of his head. "What if I can't do it alone? What am I supposed to do when I need help?"

"All you have to do is ask."

Jason turned back to the window. His shaky breath fogged the glass and he used a corner of the duvet to clear it. He was clearly stalling and they both knew it. But he wasn't used to asking his family for help in general, just like he wasn't used to feeling like he could.

Bruce took a seat opposite him in the large window. He drew one knee up and stretched the other leg out, gently nudging Jason's foot with his own.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Jason shook his head. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk about it- he didn't know how. There was so much that hadn't been said, so much that needed to be said, and he had no idea where to start. There were questions only Bruce could answer, but he was so afraid of what the answers might be, it prevented him from asking.

An all-too familiar tingle began in his face and he bit his lip. But Bruce's calm, deep voice grounded him, pulling him away from the panic rising within him.

"That's fine. Do you mind if I sit here with you?"

He shrugged and leaned his head back against the wall. Before he realized what he was saying, words began to spill from his lips and there was no stopping them.

"He said I never mattered to you, that Tim magically "fixed" you after I died. I know a lot of what Joker said that night wasn't true. I do. But it still eats away at me because even though I know it's all bullshit, I believe him. I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it."

Looking at Bruce, he immediately felt guilty at the expression on his face. Before he could say anything, Jason changed the subject.

"Did you really go off the rails after I died? He said you got reckless, like you were trying to get yourself killed."

Bruce stiffened. In no way did he want to answer that question, but since Jason was baring his soul, he should do the same. It was time for both of them to stop suffering in silence.

"I was hurting, after I lost you. I was so angry that I put myself in danger for stupid reasons, perhaps as punishment. But I was grieving your death and I couldn't think straight. Joker knew that and he used it to his advantage more than once." He swallowed hard and looked at Jason.

"And as a result, I almost killed him."

"So that's what he meant by pushing your buttons."

Bruce nodded and stared at his hands in his lap, taking notice of the scars on his knuckles. Several in particular were the result of breaking most of Joker's front teeth.

"After that, I backed off. I did as much as I could to stay away from him because I wasn't sure I could stop myself if he came at me again."

Jason shivered and pulled his hands into the blanket. With the weight loss and vulnerability on display, he looked a lot younger than he was. It made Bruce's heart ache.

"He said you weren't fun anymore."

Bruce heaved a deep sigh and flexed his hands.

"In some sick way, I imagine I wasn't. I stopped taking the bait and soon after he backed off, finding other ways to hurt people."

There was another pause, this one full of guilt and regret.

"I'd ask what happened next, but I think I already know."

Their eyes met and Bruce nodded.

Barbara.

When he couldn't get a rise out of Batman any longer, Joker went after Commissioner Gordon and his family instead.

A gust of wind outside sent snow tumbling off the roof into the yard below. The only other sound was the grandfather clock in the hallway and the steady ticking began to grate on Jason's nerves. His thoughts drifted to the rest of the family and how despite everything they'd been through, they were all remarkably well-adjusted and happy, Barbara included. They all hung out fairly regularly, going out as civilians on their nights off. Dick dated a little, as did Barbara. Tim and Steph had been dating for quite some time now. And Damian spent more and more time with Jonathan Kent, something Jason was grateful for. His friendship brought out the kid in Damian.

When he thought about his own life outside of the Outlaws and vigilantism, there wasn't much to think about. He and Isabel didn't work out, though it was nice while it lasted, and he hadn't dated anyone since. His social life was non-existent, and even before Bruce kicked him out of Gotham, he hadn't spent time with any of his family. It was unfair and pathetic, but most importantly?

It was lonely.

He hadn't realized he'd started thinking aloud until Bruce asked him to repeat himself.

"Looks like I started a trend with coming back from the dead- all of you have done it and everyone seems to be fine. Dick died, though he was brought back immediately and returned to his normal charming self in no time. And you," he said, glancing at Bruce for a moment, shaking his head. "You got lost in time, for fuck's sake! You made your way home and have been kicking ass ever since."

He sighed and his voice got quiet.

"Mine included."

Before Bruce could interject, Jason kept going.

"Damian literally died by his own sword and now goes to school, has actual friends, and wears the Robin uniform proudly. Tim was kidnapped, actually zapped out of existence. He fought a future, evil version of himself, and now runs Wayne Enterprises with you when he's not being the best crime fighter out of all of us, save maybe for Cass."

He abruptly stood, dragging the duvet with him, unable to sit still any longer.

"And then there's me. The family fuck up- the cautionary tale for the Robins who came after me. Sure, I died and came back, but I came back worse. I came back wrong."

Bruce waited, watching Jason carefully. He practically vibrated with pent-up emotion, and he could see Jason was still holding back. He knew he had to be careful with his next words, or Jason might clam up and he'd never be able to help.

"What do you mean you 'came back wrong'?"

Either Jason forgot he was pouring his heart out to Bruce, or he had so much to say he didn't care who he was talking to.

"There's this…I have all this anger I can't get rid of. I've tried, believe me, but no matter what I do, I can't seem to let it go. The earliest memory I have from when I came back was waking up feeling nothing but hate and anger, with no explanation as to why. And it's followed me ever since."

He kept pacing, the duvet trailing after him. Bruce caught himself before he leaned forward to grab it, not wanting Jason to trip.

"Sometimes it's focused on someone or something, like you. Or Dick, Tim and Damian. I mean, I don't hate them- I don't resent them. At least, not really."

Stopping in front of the window once more, he sighed.

"I mean, we're kinda the same. Tim and Damian didn't really have childhoods, just like I didn't. But then you came along and that changed, for all of us. I became Robin, got to go to school and grow up here, safe and happy. After Tim became Robin, and once Talia brought Damian to Gotham, they both finally had a chance to be kids. A chance to be whoever they wanted."

He trailed off and turned away from Bruce to resume pacing. Bruce had a feeling, a gut feeling, there was more to what Jason was talking about. That he wanted to say more, but held it back for some reason. He could see Jason was finally opening up and hated the fact he felt he had to censor himself in front of his father.

"Jason, can you look at me for a second?"

Jason glanced over his shoulder, dragging his eyes up from the floor to Bruce's face.

"Whatever's on your mind, go ahead and say it. You've got a free pass to say whatever you're thinking, and you'll get no judgement from me. I promise."

He held up a hand and watched Jason bite his bottom lip. He was still holding back and it broke Bruce's heart that he couldn't get him to share whatever burden he was carrying. In that moment, he realized what a terrible role model he'd been for his sons, always keeping things to himself.

"Let it out, Jay. Please. I'm here to-"

"It's not fair."

He stared at Bruce and tried to steady his voice. Bruce didn't say anything, waiting for him to continue and dreading what he was about to hear.

"It's not fair," Jason continued, putting more force into his voice. "Every time I had something good going, it was taken from me. You found me in that alley and took me in. I had a roof over my head, got to go to an actual school for once, and I finally had a family. Then Ethiopia happened and it was all ripped away from me."

Closing his eyes, he took a calming breath before he continued. His voice grew angry despite his efforts.

"Talia threw me in the Pit before turning me into a pathetic shell of a human being." When he opened his eyes, he looked right at Bruce. "Lazarus chemicals burn like acid, you know. It hurt almost as much as the beating Joker gave me."

He continued pacing.

"Before you know it, poof! Another huge chunk of my teenage years are gone. Instead of going to school, dating or fighting crime, Talia had me trained to kill a man in dozens of ways without getting caught. Fast forward a few more years to when I found Roy and Kori, then Artemis and Bizarro. I'd finally found another family, a group of people who loved me for me, and they were taken, too."

Bruce listened as Jason continued talking about his time spent with the Outlaws and how much good they did together. From the sound of it, he and Roy had saved each other and in the process, had developed a friendship stronger than anything either of them had ever had. It was no wonder Jason only admitted he was struggling while talking with Roy. In the last five years or so, Roy had been the only one Jason could depend on.

The tone of Jason's voice changed, having gone from anger to something akin to self-consciousness. It caught Bruce's attention and he studied him more closely.

"I don't know if you remember this, but when I came back to Gotham almost two years ago, you and I were actually getting along. We didn't really talk about what happened and I never dealt with what I was feeling because I managed to shove it down and lock it away. And for the first time in a while, I was doing okay, or so I thought."

Bruce knew where this conversation was heading and as much as he didn't want to hear it, he knew he needed to.

"That night, after he got out and we all split up, you could have sent Dick or Tim or even Cass into that quadrant. Despite the fact we didn't talk much about it, you knew how I felt about him. You knew, and you still sent me. He's one of only two people I've ever been afraid of, Bruce."

Though the room was dark, save for the moonlight coming in the window, their eyes met, and Bruce could plainly see the hurt and betrayal in Jason's eyes.

"How could you do that to me? I saw your case file on Ethiopia with my autopsy report, so you knew what he'd done to me."

Bruce didn't have an answer, but couldn't have spoken anyway because Jason continued. He tore his gaze away from Bruce.

"Because of my screwed psychological state, one of Joker's guys got the drop on me and injected me with a sedative. When I woke up, I had no idea where I was or what was going on until he appeared from the shadows like the plague he is. He said some pretty awful things, but the one that stands out most is that he liked how I screamed, how I cried. Said it was music to his ears before he tried to gut me and slit my throat."

He stopped, touching a hand to his side where the scar was. Lifting the hem of his shirt, he showed Bruce the scar just below the left side of his rib cage. Bruce's shocked gasp caught in his throat.

"Had it not been for Harley, you guys would have found pieces of me all over that room. But that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part came when you blamed me for trying to kill him before you pushed me away. Before you kicked me out."

Jason's voice cracked and he swiped an angry tear from his eye. He wearily dropped down onto the end of his bed.

"The thing is, despite how angry I am, I want to let all of it go so I can move the fuck on. Part of me knows I can't hold onto it anymore, but I can't seem to get rid of it. It's chained to me, it's dragging me down and I'm so tired of fighting it. I'm tired of being the odd man out, the one who doesn't belong. I can't be the angry outcast anymore."

He stopped talking and looked at Bruce, who remained motionless by the window. He studied the pattern on the rug beneath Jason's bed as he gathered his thoughts.

"Don't do that, B. Please say something."

When Bruce started talking, his voice was very matter-of-fact. Jason immediately recognized it as his way of keeping his composure when he didn't want to let his emotions get the better of him.

"Damian still has phantom pains in his chest that keep him awake at night, most often after patrols involving knife crime. Tim has insomnia and a penchant for being hyper-vigilant, which is a sign of his own PTSD. Dick didn't speak to me for the longest time after I came back because he hated me his decision to wear the suit in my absence. And he occasionally has flashbacks and panic attacks that are a direct result from being held captive and strapped to a bomb."

Bruce looked up at Jason's stunned expression, allowing him a glimpse of the pain he carried.

"And it takes everything I have not to follow all of you around on patrol because of everything that's happened to you. If it were up to me, all of you would take on a role like Oracle and never leave the Manor."

Jason rubbed at his chest, the revelation they were all as screwed up as he was leaving him reeling.

"You all seemed fine," he said quietly. "I always felt like I was the only one who couldn't get it together."

With a pained chuckle, Bruce shook his head.

"None of us are fine- not even close. We're all working on it, but we do a good job at hiding it for some reason."

He gave Jason a moment to allow it to sink in. Something between them had changed and he wasn't sure yet if it was for the better, or if it was the end of things as they knew it. Since he might not get another chance, he decided to take the risk and keep going.

"I'm sorry, Jason. I'm sorry for the way that night went- for not believing you, for sending you after Joker, for failing to make you feel like you belong in this family. Because you do- we aren't complete without you."

There was no reaction from Jason, which he interpreted to be a good thing, so he pressed on.

"We aren't alone because we have each other. And you have us. You always have, and you always will. We can carry you when you can't make it on your own."

Jason sucked in a breath and slammed his eyes closed before dropping his head into his hands. When he looked up again, his eyes were glassy.

"Why do you all still care? Why do you still want to help me? I'm so far beyond broken; I'm not worth the effort. I'll just disappoint you anyway because it's what I do."

Bruce shook his head and Jason ignored him.

"Don't you see? It's better for all of us if I just keep my distance. You all have your own shit to deal with- you don't need mine, too. And that way I don't get my hopes up only to get let down because nothing good in my life ever lasts, anyway."

Carefully, Bruce stood and made his way closer to Jason. He stopped when Jason crawled away from him and got up, putting the bed between them.

"I don't know how to fix this," he said, gesturing between the two of them, "but I want to try. It's all I've ever wanted. I'll do whatever you need me to do."

He took another few steps closer, stopping again when Jason backed up.

"You're allowed to have hope and you're allowed to want a life of your own, whatever that looks like. You have a right to get back what was taken from you."

Jason stood there staring at him in shock.

"I don't deserve any of that, B, not after what I've done to all of you. Not after what I did when I came back."

Bruce shook his head.

"We all know that wasn't you."

"Damn it, Bruce! Don't excuse what I did! I did those things and that's on me! It's not on you to make up for that." His cheeks reddened and the outburst left him breathing more heavily. Bruce held his hands up in acknowledgement.

"I'm sorry- I didn't intend for it to come across that way. If that's what you need to do, you can do that. It's fine."

Jason was still trembling, but it was no longer from the exertion of their argument. Bruce could plainly see he was trying not to fall apart in front of him. Jason shook his head as if he already regretted what he was about to say.

"If I make it through this, I want to try and work past all of this," he said, waving his hand between the two of them. "I can't promise much, but I wanna try to be the person you always thought I could be, before I died."

Bruce stepped forward, reaching a hand toward him, but he backed up as if Bruce getting too close would hurt him. Bruce knew what was coming; it was the dance they always did. Whenever Bruce got too close, whenever Jason was ready to let himself need his father, he lashed out and pushed him away.

Which was exactly what happened. Jason dropped the duvet and stalked back toward the window to put some distance between them. Once again he wrapped the anger around himself like a shield so he wouldn't get hurt first.

"Don't," he warned. "I don't want your pity. What do you see when you look at me? A failure? A mistake? Someone who's broken beyond repair?

Bruce didn't move, only shaking his head sadly.

"I see someone I let down, someone who needed me, and I did everything but help him. I see someone who's overcome so much, someone I'm very proud of."

Jason looked away, swallowing hard. Bruce closed the gap between them, putting his hand against the side of Jason's neck.

"I see my son."

Jason looked at him, shaking his head, still trying not to cry.

"Don't… I'm not-"

Bruce nodded and gently brought him closer.

"You are, Jay."

Jason put his hand on Bruce's chest, stopping the hug. As he shook his head again, tears dripped to his cheeks, and his voice was so soft Bruce almost couldn't hear him, despite how close they were.

"Please, don't give up on me. I can't take that again."

Once he'd said his piece, he let Bruce pull him in for a hug and he returned it. It was tentative, at first, as if he thought Bruce would push him away.

"You won't have to- I'm not going anywhere."

At hearing the words he'd longed for ever since he could remember, the last of his defenses crumbled. Jason collapsed into Bruce's arms, his fingers tangling themselves in the back of his shirt as he sobbed.

"Never again, Jaylad- I promise. I'm here."

Medical Terms You Might Not Know:
palliative care: also called "comfort care", it's an approach that focuses on quality of life for people with serious/chronic medical conditions, such as treating pain, supporting the patient/family emotionally & spiritually, and is often used with other treatments (such as chemo)
hospice care: also called "end of life care", it's an approach to make the patient comfortable after treatment for an illness has stopped because the condition is terminal