Alfred Pennyworth walked silently down the corridors that had seen so many little boys run around and grow with a feeling of helplessness taking over his old heart. Because what a joy it had been to raise those kids and feel they were his own but, oh, that dreadful feeling of desperation that had made him want to scream, every time they left that obnoxiously big manor, was unbearable at times.

He paused at the closed door of Bruce's bedroom. His little boy turned into a middle-aged man who dressed up like a bat to fight crime. Decades ago, before the army and the Waynes, Alfred's younger self would have been delighted to have the chance to meet such a character. When he had been performing Shakespeare on the stages of his beloved England and the tea and scones were almost everything he got to eat, with the humid air filling his idealistic heart with hope and the search for glory. Now, his stiff, wrinkled hands hesitated before knocking at the door that had not been opened since Master Jason's departure, four days ago.

In fact, the whole manor had been eerily quiet, everyone walking fast and barely talking. Alfred feared Dick would be overexerting himself, donning the cape until Bruce could react like a functional human being again. The youngest of the family had been away with the Titans for far too long, but again, his father couldn't bring himself to tell his son how that made him feel. Timothy was keeping Wayne Enterprise from collapsing and Cassandra was doing the excellent job she always did as Batgirl. And poor Duke was just confused because everybody refused to tell him what had happened.

The knocks echoed down the hallway where they faded again into the silence of the house. Alfred took his chances and opened the door; he wasn't prepared to wait until that grumpy man decided he needed something to fill his stomach. He left the tray on the bedside table and walked around the bed to meet the opened and hollow eyes of a haunted man. The old butler chose not to comment on how red and puffy those eyes looked. He picked up the bourbon bottle from the floor near the bed, dangerously close to the hand that peeked from under the bedding.

"Master Bruce." He cleared his throat and straightened.

"I should have known." Bruce croaked. He hadn't spoken in days, all alone with his thoughts. Sometimes he wondered if the swelling in his heart would ever ease. He rubbed his eyes with his hands, the bruises in his knuckles making Alfred raise his left eyebrow, and looked down at the as if he was searching for something that had once been there between his fingers. "When I saw the video. I should have known what was happening to him. I know how PTSD works, I- I've studied it, I've seen it."

"Sometimes we see what we want to see, Sir." Bruce flinched, watering eyes searching for the old man's.

"It was so easy to… and now he's gone." He looked so lost that Alfred started wondering if he was still under the influence of the bourbon. "He looked so torn." He drew a wavering breath. "Alfred, what have I done?"

"I believe the question might be what you haven't done, Master Bruce," The butler said sharply. That might have been harsh, as Bruce looked like he had been slapped, but what was done couldn't be changed. Only acknowledged and taken care of. "You have people at your charge, Sir, and I myself am too old to be raising children. Get dressed and meet us for breakfast. Then, you will be able to think of how you should proceed in this… situation."

Alfred Pennyworth was a lot of things, but impractical was not one of them. And it pained him sometimes, the fact that this grown man, who was his son, would need him to this point. That he would be the one to show him he had other responsibilities, that life became harder as years passed and that, sometimes, he would have to say goodbye because there was no other possibility.

Maybe Alfred was not talking only about Bruce. Maybe he was a bit harsher than necessary. Maybe he was crumbling inside because he had failed not one, but two of his beloved boys.

Maybe he was too practical to take a stand.

Because that would break him in half.

ᴥ

Madrid's streetlights lit up the ancient alleys and sidewalks where a cold rush of wind touched Jason's sweaty skin. It was spring and it was hot. Dozens of citizens walked down those streets when the sun had already set and even more stayed in the terraces of the bars drinking and eating without a care in the world. The laughs traveled through the city and the soccer matches, playing in too many TVs, could be heard everywhere.

Jason smiled and enjoyed the contrast. In Gotham you couldn't walk alone when darkness had fallen, and if you did you were just plain stupid. Or a tourist. Jason's city had been too hot or too cold, which had been a real problem when he was living on the streets. So Spain had been a nice change.

It was a bridge between Africa and Europe. It was hot and it was fun, it had art and cities built centuries ago with intricate alleys and streets that went on forever, snaking through the whole city, mapping their way. People were bold and straight-forward. Jason liked it.

It had been months since he had gotten out of Gotham with Talia. They spent some time in Metropolis, Talia doing Lex a favor (he really didn't want to know about it or their relationship, thank you very much). Waller contacted them eventually and after what seemed to be some kind of nasty fight between her and Talia, they concluded that they could do with him freelancing for the government. Which was good, in some twisted way.

Waller would call him to train her men and go on missions, every time giving him more responsibility in their actions. When he was finished he could spend some time in the compound or go with Talia, who would medically test him more often than not, so it was balanced. He had freedom to travel abroad, with his brand new birth certificate and official papers thanks to the two ladies currently in his life. It was really scary, sometimes.

He felt as if he was walking around time bombs, always wary and alert.

Talia lied and refused to give him further explanation. Besides her presenting Jason as her son, to an astonished Lex Luthor when he demanded to know what he was doing there, she hadn't said much to him. Jason wanted to trust her but, man, it was becoming more and more difficult as days and weeks and months went by.

She had her own lab at LexCorp's building (which annoyingly reminded Jason of WE). Talia was there whenever she wasn't training or sleeping, which didn't help Jason's feelings of unease. Neither did the fact that everything she learned about him and his DNA was going directly to Lex's database.

He didn't want any of that, it reminded him too much of when Bruce fired him and refused to talk. Sure, he would feed him, and keep him around in the manor but he couldn't even look at Jason. Not when he thought he had killed Felipe Garzonas. Even Alfred had seemed wary around him, which had been the worst. The butler had been the constant, unfazed at his outbursts when he had first arrived and nothing but supportive when he knew Jason wasn't comfortable doing something or struggled in any way. Bruce had been his Dad, but Alfred had been so much more. Alfred had been his hero.

Jason knew he hadn't done anything to piss off Talia. She had been the one hiding stuff. But that's how mental diseases worked, they weren't rational. That disgusting feeling set in his gut while he followed Talia around with his eyes, trying to figure out what he had done wrong, how he could fix whatever was broken.

Metropolis hadn't helped, either. It was too bright, people were too nice. The sun seemed to never set. Even at night, it looked like it was daytime. With the sparkling street lights and people laughing and walking. The air had been too clean, the sky too blue. And their resident superhero had done nothing but make it worse. Where Batman's costume was designed for him to blend in with the shadows Superman's was designed to stand out, to be seen when he flew past buildings. Giving hope, painting it against the clean walls that were his canvas with the sun in his face as he smiled and to all the mortals.

He was everything Jason had never known. He was everything Jason would die to know.

So, Talia observed him, she knew he'd been wallowing in his misery and she sent him to Europe, bought tickets for him to go to a concert and relax for a few days. He loved it. Europe was everything he dreamed of when he was a kid, reading whatever Alfred recommended for their book club and falling in love with the classics. Of course, he had already been in England, but now he had no bomb to defuse and had actually done some touring. In France, he remembered the scandal in Madame Bovary, in The Phantom of the Opera. In Denmark he read Hamlet for the hundredth time; the angst, retribution tugging at that certain spot in his heart. Here in Spain he bought Blood Wedding and The House of Bernarda Alba, hoping for some feministic acclaims.

The reading and the concerts eased his mind, the restlessness gone and replaced by a peaceful feeling that made him think of summer days lying in the grass while Alfred took care of the garden. Here, sitting in the balcony of the apartment he was staying in, he could almost hear the sounds of Alfred's spade digging in the soil, the swift noise of leaves being cut. Those times, Jason would hum a melody with his eyes closed and Alfred would join in if he knew it. Some days, Bruce would come out, not finding either of them inside. He would come near Jason and block the sun that had been resting on his eyelids, making Jason glare, not really upset. Some days, Bruce's mouth would tug at the corners, taking in the dirt on his face and the lack of shoes and Jason would pull out some wisps of grass and throw them at him.

Some days, a happy lifetime ago, Bruce would sit beside him and Jason would feel eyes on his face while he would carry on enjoying the sun's warmth on his body and, with the happiest of smiles, he would start humming the new melody Alfred had chosen.

ᴥ

Jason found out on the street, when he was walking towards the bookstore on the corner.

He was having a good day. Talia called to keep tabs on him, he read all the books he'd bought on his travels and he had eaten pizza for breakfast. Life was just smiling at him. A beautiful girl winked at him when he was walking and he definitely hadn't blushed. Nope.

He had almost reached the bookstore when he saw a news-stand and decided he could buy some newspaper or something. And then he saw their faces on the front page of, not one, but five different magazines. Their expressions weren't happy, per say, but they looked… satisfied. They looked wonderful, as always, and their clothes were worth more than Jason was comfortable spending in a year.

Bruce's hand was around Selina's waist in the photograph. And he looked… normal. No fake smile, no tension around his eyes, no Brucie Wayne shit going on. Rumors confirmed. The wedding of the year.

ᴥ

Three days later, the city of Helsinki met him with cold, open arms. And just hours after it left him battered and bruised.

Blood was dripping from his head and he was limping. He was sure he had been shot but he couldn't focus enough to tell where. The arm that had just healed weeks ago was trembling and his hand was shaking as he climbed to the windowsill of his small and messy rented apartment. He clutched at his chest in a desperate attempt to make the tremors fade.

This shouldn't have happened. Helsinki had a very low crime rate but luck seemed eager to spit in his face. There was a trafficking ring trying to smuggle underage girls into Russia. They had to go.

He kind of remembered finishing the job, the girls running in all directions as he broke kneecaps and shoulders and the sirens approached the warehouse. Jason hadn't been thinking. He wasn't Red Hood anymore. He didn't even have proper gear, just his guns and his yet-to-test regeneration. So when he was shot and falling from a building in the expanse of just a few minutes, he wasn't really surprised.

He woke up shivering on the floor of the apartment, not knowing how long it had been since he had managed to climb his way through the window. His hand was shaking again and he felt feverish. He had the feeling that his wounds were infected.

A bitter laugh escaped his mouth, and then the tears came in between his hysterical laughing. It all came crushing down on him: his illness, his hate, his act. That little part of himself who desperately wanted Bruce to miss him as much as Jason missed them. He wanted to feel how he felt, to hurt, to be completely lost and feeling insignificant.

"I'm a whiny bitch," he cackled.

Bruce was getting married. He was living the great life, finally accepting his feelings for Selina. And Jason was drowning in sorrow, seeking ways to detach himself from his life. Going against trafficking rings unprepared.

Testing his luck.

He knew he should stand up and patch himself up. He should shower so his wound wouldn't get more infected. He should eat.

He stayed there, looking at the pattern on the wallpaper, ignoring how his shaking hand stood in the way of his line of vision. If he stared at it long enough he couldn't even tell if he was dreaming, or if the wallpaper was the one in his apartment or the one at the manor's kitchen.

The next time he woke up it was light and judging by the position of the sun it was evening. His eyelids felt far too heavy and they felt like they would burn his eyes. His hand wasn't shaking anymore but rather jerking in spasms every few seconds.

Somehow, this felt right. Jason thought it was a nice representation of how he felt inside. The rational part of his mind was screaming for him to crawl his way to the bathroom and do the smart thing but there was always the other side. The side that told him to give up and let the sadness take over, the self-loathing, the part that assured him that nothing was ever going to be alright because it was all his fault.

He'd gotten himself into this. He'd gotten himself killed. It was his fault that his mom stuck a needle in her arm. Of course Sheila sold him to the Joker. Of course Bruce would never love him like he loved Dick. Jason was sure that he had been a burden. He was sure even Talia would be relieved that he wasn't around anymore. And just when he left Gotham, Bruce started to be happy. It was logic.

So Jason circled his arms around himself and just let the pain wash over him. Exhaustion made it difficult to think straight so he closed his eyes again and let the city noises lull him to sleep.

Screams woke him and when he gazed around the room he discovered that the screams were his own. He was curled into himself, surely reopening wounds that had already closed. He felt his hand clutched around something. He eventually discovered it was his phone.

Jason brought it to his face. The shaking of his hand was now faint. He unlocked it and stared blindly at the screen, as if he had suddenly forgotten how to make use of it. He opened his contacts and scrolled to the bottom and back to the top a couple of times.

He felt tired. He didn't know if he could call someone. That task alone felt like the most difficult thing he would ever do. He went through his contacts again, from Alfred to Zatanna Zatara. He didn't even know who to call.

He couldn't bother Alfred with his shitty estate; he was surely planning a wedding and running a house filled with jerks. It seemed unfair. He could call Talia.

Or not.

She would chew him out and maybe continue to ignore him afterwards. He didn't feel up to it. He stared down at Dick's name for an awfully long time. He knew he would come, even if just driven by guilt. But Dick would also ask things he wasn't prepared to answer right now.

So he dialed the name just below Dick's and waited.

"Jay?" He sounded confused.

"Hey, Duke." Jason's voice was frail. His breathing was short and shaky.

"Are you okay, man? Where are you?" Duke sounded worried. Jason was starting to regret calling the teen. He was only sixteen, he didn't need this bullshit on his shoulders.

"I just…" Hanging up felt like something very difficult right now, even more because Jason had to focus on easing the lump in his throat. He felt like an unstable bomb, waiting for the right time to explode and fuck up everyone around him. "I'm on the floor."

"What?"

"Yeah." There was silence for a minute and Jason felt like breaking down sobbing. "I should be dead, you know?"

"Jay, man, what are you talking about?" Duke sighed. "Listen. Do you want me to call Bruce? Does this have to do with you somehow vanishing?"

"He didn't tell you." Jason guessed. But why would he? It's not even relevant to him. "Look, Duke, I'm sorry for bothering you."

"No. No." He groaned. "I'm sick of everyone acting like someone died. What happened, Jason?"

"Don't worry, kid." Jason realized how detached he sounded. He was silently crying. "I just needed to make sure this was real. I needed to feel real."

"What the hell does that even me-" Jason hung up before Duke could finish.

I'm just an attention-seeking little shit.

He let the phone fall from his hand and looked over to the wallpaper again, the pattern already blurring. I'll sleep a little more and then I'll go to patch myself.

Even in his head, that promise sounded fake.

ᴥ

He was being dragged. That was the first thing he noticed when he regained consciousness. Someone had him grabbed by his armpits and was dragging him through the apartment. And if the groans meant anything, the person doing it was having some trouble moving Jason's thick ass. He tried to laughed but just groans came out.

"Stop complaining," a voice said through gritted teeth.

After what felt like an eternity he was hauled inside the shower and cold water was freezing him to death. Maybe the person was trying to end him, not help him. Jason wouldn't be surprised. A sob escaped his mouth. He sounded pathetic.

"Pathetic." The voice agreed with him. "You have a fever and an infection. You should have died days ago."

Jason hummed. He tried to remember something about his body. About healing fast. Talia's face in his mind telling him something. Ugh.

"-stupid and reckless. You should know better." It seemed the voice was keen on talking. Did the person sound nervous? Jason couldn't tell.

Now he was being stripped. And he tried to help, he really did, but the cold water touched his bullet wound, that was in his left side and he couldn't help but howl at the searing pain. That helped wake him a bit more and he finally opened his eyes, trying to stare at the person that was torturing him.

It turned out that he couldn't see well through the water running into his eyes. He isn't proud to say he hissed and recoiled as if it burned him. The other person made a t.t noise. He froze and turned his head slowly at the person's direction.

Wait.

"Damian?" He whispered just above the sound of the water.

"What?" the teen bit out.

Jason scoffed in disbelief. His little brother got closer, rubbing Jason's body with a sponge and soap. He ignored the yells and the sobs and just kept rubbing until the older one was completely clean.

Jason felt drained and honestly, he had felt that way for far too long. He was lost and vulnerable and his little brother was taking care of him like he was a baby. He felt insignificant. And worthless. His shoulders sagged in defeat.

"Hey!" Damian smacked him in the head.

"What the fuck?"

"You're torturing yourself." The kid pointed to his head. "You're relapsing."

"What do you care?" Something hateful took over Jason. "Go back to daddy and leave me alone." That was the best he could do for the kid. He was just a burden. A liability. He needed to make the kid go.

"I've been studying your illness." Damian nodded to Jason like he had just given what he wanted. "Some people react passively when suffering depression, but aggressiveness and irritability are also a possibility."

"Damian, please. Just go."

"It's very normal to suffer a depression relapse into the months after the first episode. People experience an average of five episodes through their lives," the kid recited, drying Jason with a towel.

"How did you find me?" Jason looked up as Damian focused on drying his hair, rather roughly, if you asked him.

The kid froze for a second, obviously debating whether he should lie or not.

"Mother called," he said softly and resumed drying Jason's body.

"How?" How did she know.

"Duke informed Father of your call. She found out." Damian shrugged, indicating it was just a matter of time. The silence stretched between them as he helped Jason get out of the bathtub. They walked to the bedroom after patching Jason up. He should've died days ago. But he didn't. That didn't mean he wasn't feeling like shit physically.

Jason slid under the sheets and bit back a yell of agony. He thought for a moment about what he had to do. Obviously he needed to rest but then he'd have to get back to Talia so she could chew him out. He had to call Waller. And convince Damian not to tell anyone in the family about this.

He stopped that train of thought when he felt Damian get in the bed beside him, getting his shoes off with a thud sound when they fell on the ground. The kid laid face up on the bed, hands resting on his belly. He looked like the male version of Wednesday Addams.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Jason asked, his eyes wide in disbelief.

"Preparing for bed," he deadpanned.

"I can see that." Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. "But why are you staying here? I thought you hated me."

"You are ill." The kid looked right into his eyes.

"No shit," he spat.

"I'm staying with you until you get well again," Damian said, like he was a especially dull-witted child.

Jason made a horrified face.

"That could take months." Surely Damian didn't know what he was doing. He wouldn't get himself into something like this.

The kid only hummed.

"Well," Damian gave him a sadistic little smirk. "You've proven to be incapable of taking care of yourself. You can't imagine I would let you to your own devices, can you?"

In that moment Jason saw Talia in his eyes, the glint of the devil coming to the surface. And he started to ask himself if this wasn't Talia's punishment for being a self-destructive ass.