Death, in some form or another, is usually not far from my mind. Not to be weird or morbid, but it comes with the territory with both of your birth parents are fertilizing daisies and your shiny new dad puts himself in danger for the sake of the city. It's kind of hard to go too long without giving a thought to it. I just usually don't worry so much about my own death, but it occurs to me now as Bruce stares me down that this might be it for me.

Here lies Jason Peter Todd: mouthy little shit.

"Is this what your really believe?" he asks.

"I guess?" Shrug.

He doesn't even bat (heh) an eye at the shrug; usually he can't stand it. I've broken him. If only Bane knew you could break Batman by throwing one shitty pity party for yourself.

"Jay," he starts after a long breath, "you have to know…the thing is…."

"Yeah?"

He pauses again for what feels like hours, then gets that "batglare" look, squares his jaw, and rises to his feet.

"Get in the car, we're going for a drive."

"I know what that means," I say. "You're bumping me off."

"I'm not 'bumping you off'. Just get your coat on and get in the car." His tone leaves me little room to argue if I want to stay in one piece, so I get up and do as I'm told. I'm still surprised at how obedient I'm getting with just a few weeks around this guy. A few months ago, if you had told me I would be taking orders and, for the most part, following them, I would have thought you'd lost your damn mind. Now, I think I've lost mine.

In a few minutes, we meet up at the front door and he gestures me out with a quick nod of his head. Its the most I get from him straight through getting into the car, me in the passenger side as he takes the driver's seat, and us speeding through the outskirts of Gotham. At first the quiet makes me feel worse. I go over what I wrote a million times in my head, wondering what I should have worded different and how. I shouldn't have been so damn honest. I know I came across as a self-pitying punk. Any thought I could have, I had a hundred times over.

Then, Bruce rustles my hair, still not looking at me or saying a word, but it tosses the thoughts way. I relax against the leather seats of his Rolls Royce, taking in the scenery. Christ, the boonies were kind of pretty. I was born a city kid and had been damn sure I'd die there up until he lost his mind and picked me up. The most green I had laid eyes on were the stubborn trees that broke through the concrete sidewalks in that stubborn, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn way.

Yeah, I read it. Try me.

It's only been since I came to live with Bruce that I started to appreciate actual forests. Whole miles of nothing but wildlife. Untamed land that basically gives the middle finger to us spoiled humans. Before I thought nature was a lame thing, pretty in paintings but full of flowers and allergies. Now? Now it's badass.

"How are you feeling, kiddo?" Bruce suddenly asks, breaking me away from the lines of trees I'm staring at.

"Okay. I mean, still not sure you're not about to kill me, but fine for now."

"I'm not going to kill you," he insists again, resting a hand on my shoulder. "I just wanted you to see something."

"Does it start with pants in any way?"

The smile fades from his face and he abruptly stops the car, slamming the brakes so fast I would have knocked my head against the dashboard if it weren't for the seatbelt he's damned determine I wear."

I barely get my bearings when he pulls me back by the collar of my shirt, ensuring we're eye-to-eye. "Never, never make a joke like that again. I mean it."

"Yes, sir," I stammer.

He takes in a deep breath and lets me go. "You know that you never have to worry about a thing like that, right? I know that, in your life, you may have—"

"Bruce," I interrupt. "I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made the joke. I know you're not into… well, into that. You've been great. I swear. I know you'd never do anything that might hurt me. At least, in that way. You'd just make me do laps until I have to pass out."

He stares me down, but I stare right back. He has to know I'm serious. Know that I don't think he'd ever hurt me like others on the street threatened to, would have succeeded to if it hadn't been for me being a lucky scrapper and having a few sharp teeth. Still, I know my days before someone was faster and stronger were numbered before I won the lottery. Sometimes, the easiest way to deal with fear and trauma is to laugh at it.

After what feels like hours, he nods and pulls back into the street. "I'm glad you feel safe, Jason. Or, at least, you're getting there. It's important you know that you're not in danger of certain, well, situations in my home. Whether it be by my hands, Alfred's, or, God forbid, Dick's."

"Can we please talk to him about going by another nickname?" I ask.

Suddenly a hard flick connects with the top of my ear, sending a surging sting across the side of my head. "Ow! Bruce! You just said you weren't going to hurt me."

"You said that, and you know that was nothing. Lay off Dick's name. It was a family name and you know how he feels about connection with his family."

Fair. I don't say as much, instead just rubbing my ear, but fair. Unlike where Bruce got me, he happened upon Dick in a traveling circus. From what I've been told, my new pseudo brother was a part of the main attraction—the youngest member in a family of trapeze artists known as the Flying Graysons. They traveled everywhere, from San Francisco to St. Petersburg, until they performed in Gotham. Neither Dick nor Bruce tell me much about it, but I do know some mob asshat decided to make an example of his folks because the guy who used to run the circus, some stand-up old man, decided not to get involved in dirty money. Next thing you know, Dick's an orphan.

In spite of his name, Dick is a good guy. Better than me, for sure. So good he doesn't even rub it in my face that he is and will always be better than I am.

I love and hate it. Nice guy asshole.

I shake off my mixture of appreciation and disgust only to catch we're driving again. The terrain has gotten more wild and hillier, my stomach flipping as we go up and down large slopes. I try to be patient, to let him take me wherever he sees fit to take me, but my feet start to twitch with nervous anticipation.

Then, just as I'm about out of my mind, he pulls the car into a small, hidden lot and parks. "Here," he says, in case the stopping wasn't obvious.

"Where is here?"

"You'll see."

Together we get out of the car, and I follow him as he treks through pebbled paths, winding in all different directions.

Then, I see it.

In the middle of this dense, wooded area is a rock cliff that juts out, well over the valley below. We inch closer, and from here I feel like I can see everything. I mean, everything. The lights of Gotham in the distance, the mountains that brush the clouds in the distance, rivers and waterfalls, who knows how much more of God's green earth that I'd only read about in books. Everything.

Bruce reaches out and taps my mouth shut, and only then I realize it's been hanging open all this time. "You like it?"

"Like it? Hell yes! Who the heck knew this was so close to Gotham? Jeez!"

He chuckles and pats me on the back, careful to be gentle. "Pick a place. We'll sit and talk wherever you feel comfortable."

"You brought me out here to talk?" I ask.

"Just pick a place, Jay."

Though his words sound short, there's a light humor in his tone, and more of the clenching in my chest relaxes. I find a smooth patch near the cliff, though not too close in case I test my luck more, and take a seat. He follows, and I'm half surprised he sits on the ground in his designer suit that probably costs more than most people make in a month.

"So, why here?"

"This," he starts, looking out over the cliff, "is where I came after my parents died."

"By your self?" He nods. "All the way out here?" Another nod. "Dude, how?!"

"I basically did what you did. I stole one of the motorcycles in garage and just… left. I needed to clear my head and at the time I didn't care what happened to me. I just needed to leave, and that felt like the best plan of action. So, after Alfred put me to bed for the night, I snuck downstairs and it all went downhill from there. I nearly crashed a few times, and the last time I stalled on one of these hills. Fed up, I wandered a while until I found this place. It was dark out, but it was a full moon and it reflected off everything, allowing me to see everything below. After losing my parents, I didn't think I'd ever appreciate anything again, And then I found here. I sat here for hours, well into the morning when Alfred found me. When he did, I swear I thought he was going to toss me over the cliff. Instead he pulled me into a hug and held me.

In that house, I didn't feel comfortable saying much, but here I was able to talk to him, man-to-man, about how I felt. I cried until I was hoarse and could barely whisper and told him how I felt like everything was my fault and how I wished it was me that had died instead of them. He just listened until I was finished, and then he told me something I'd never forget."

I tear my eyes away from the view and look at him, straight into his blue eyes that look so weirdly like mine. "What did he say?"

"He told me that we cannot change where we come from or what has happened to us. The past is the past. Dwelling on it can drive a man insane. More than that, he said that what happened to my parents wasn't the fault of a child who was scared of a film, but the fault of the man who pulled the trigger, and only those that do harm to others should he held accountable for the havoc they wreak. He said that my life wasn't over, just that it had changed, and I needed to be brave enough now to allow myself to see where it took me."

"So," I start, looking around, "you brought me here for a reason. What is it you want from me?"

"The same thing, Jay."

"I don't know anyone who pulled any trigger. My mom accidentally offed herself and I don't have a damn clue what happened to my old man, but whatever it was he probably deserved."

Bruce shakes his head, resting his hand on my back. "I mean that I want you to know that the past is the past. What happened to you? That's over. As much as you and I would like to, as much as even Alfred and Dick would like to, there is nothing we can do to change where you came from or what has happened to you. Dwelling on it is only going to make everyone miserable or drive us crazy wondering how we could have helped earlier. I understand how you're feeling, Jay. At least, I can try to understand it and hope you can help me comprehend the rest, but I need you to be brave enough now to move forward. I need you to be brave enough now to know that you're welcome with us. You're in Wayne Manor for a reason. And, unless you want to leave for a valid reason, you're stuck there. I want you to realize that, and to know that, as strange as it is, you have a family now. If that's too much, then at least you have friends now. You're cared for."

It takes a while to realize I've stopped breathing. I feel a stupid, betraying tear fall down my face, and Bruce pretends not to notice.

"This place is sacred, right?" I ask, hating how damn weak my voice sounds.

"Right."

"So, whatever I say here stays here, right?"

"Right."

I heave a sigh and let it out slowly. "I don't really know what it's like."

"What what's like?"

"To have a dad." I stumble over the words, realizing how much I've friggin said. "I mean, you know, someone who kind of acts like one. For once."

"Look, Jason, I won't promise to be perfect. Ask Dick. We've had plenty of arguments and I've made plenty of mistakes. Arguably more than he has, though don't tell him I said that."

"And inflate his ego more? Never."

Bruce laughs, continuing, "You're not here only until you prove you can or cannot handle or want to be Robin. Regardless, you have a home now. And, while I understand you're going to doubt that from time to time, I want that thought to get pushed further and further into the back of your mind. Can you try to do that?"

I look back out to the valley below and at all the damn sacred nature around me. After forever, I nod. "I can at least try."

"That's all that I can ask."