Strangely enough, Jericho had always hated silence. Perhaps it came from the knowledge that whenever it was silent when he was little, something had gone terribly wrong. Perhaps it came from the knowledge that silence always brought forth memories he would rather forget. Perhaps it came from the knowledge that it was in the silence that he swore his father would come for him. Whatever it was, he would always be eternally grateful for his guitar.

The Honorary Titans had been invited to spend a few nights at the tower after the defeat of the Brotherhood of Evil, and although there had been plenty of conversation in the beginning, most had wandered off to inspect the quarters assigned to them for the duration of their stay by now. To distract himself from the growing silence, Jericho had taken to his guitar in the hope that the melodies would ward off any bad memories.

His fingers moved along the frets with no conscious effort from him, and he leaned into the sofa, allowing his eyes to slip shut as the melody consumed his thoughts. Lilting and soft, the notes swirled around him comfortingly, pulling him away from reality back to his isolated mountain top where he had been safe.

Now, he was back in the world where he was sure his father would like nothing more than to hunt him down and turn him into a tool for his own use just like he had done to Rose. Now, he was vulnerable. Now, he was a target.

He kept playing, honing in on the music to distract him from the thoughts that rose, unbidden, in his mind. But they were still there. Ignoring them wouldn't make them go away.

"Daddy!"

No. Not now. Not here.

The blade against his throat—

Now was not the time.

—cutting off his oxygen supply.

He needed to stop this quickly.

"Joey, I'm so sorry."

Why now? Why here?

Suddenly he was choking.

His breath caught in his throat.

He was drowning in his own blood.

Jericho's eyes snapped open, his hands flying to his neck. His guitar clattered to the ground, forgotten. The figures surrounding him morphed into men clad in black, their gentle hands on his shoulders became rough grips with malicious intent behind them. He scrambled back, falling over the edge of the couch in his haste to flee. Clambering to his feet, he did the only thing he could think of: run.

Footsteps pursued him, spurring him to pick up the pace. He rounded a corner and stopped dead in his tracks. In front of him was a window, and in it, he saw his father. Instinctively, he dropped to his knees and stared up at the image of the man who decided his moral code was worth more than his own son's life. His lips parted as if in silent question.

He reached out to the figure, halting only when his fingers were less than an inch from the glass pane. He didn't want to know if it was really his father standing there. He didn't want to face the reality, whatever it was. Both options were equally horrible.

Then there were people kneeling in front of him, cupping his face and telling him that he was safe. They made no move to get him back to his feet, only reassuring him and stroking his hair.

"Friend Jericho, what has frightened you so?" Starfire. That was Starfire's voice. The black-clad men began to fade away, leaving only scared and concerned Titans in their place. "Please, we cannot aid you if you will not tell us what is wrong."

Still, the image of his father remained.

Robin gripped his shoulders, shaking him lightly. "Jericho, whatever you're seeing in that window, it's not real."

"Yeah, man. There's no way anyone could get in the tower without us knowing. I should know. I designed the security systems myself."

'Dad.' His lips formed around the word clumsily, as if he weren't used to saying it anymore, but no sound passed them. The image shifted, until his father was crumpled on the ground with both hands clutching at his right eye. Jericho opened his mouth to scream.

No sound.

"Oh, Joey. Joey, baby, I didn't mean for you to see that."

It was all a memory.

His face pressed into her chest as if it would make him forget what he saw.

He hoped it was a memory.

His father moaning and whimpering like little Joey never thought he could.

"Robin, his pulse."

"I know!" There were fingers scrabbling at the collar of his turtleneck, pulling it down. "I'm trying- Oh."

"What 'Oh,' Robin? What villain is causing friend Jericho such distress?"

"It's… It's not a villain, Star. I think he's having flashbacks."

"To what?"

"I'm sure he'll want to tell the story himself, Raven, once this is all over." Robin pulled him close and slipped one arm around the back of his knees, hoisting him up in a bridal carry. "For now, though, let's just get him to the Infirmary."

Jericho could feel his body shaking, feel his hands grope blindly at the front of the Titan leader's uniform, but he didn't seem to be in control of the movements. His lips were moving, spelling out words he would never have the chance to say. He knew that the other Titans were speaking, but it was just noise to him now, really.

It felt like an eternity before Robin put him down on the padded table and shooed the others out of the room. "Listen, I may not know what happened to you or why, but I want you to know that I understand what's going on in your head right now." A gloved hand moved to grasp his own. "It's like a switch in your brain's been flipped, and you're running on instinct. The only thought you have is to survive, so you run. You run, and you keep running until you've left the memories behind." The young crime-fighter gave his hand a squeeze. When Jericho didn't react, Robin kept talking. "But sometimes the memories catch up with you, and you've got nowhere left to hide, so you're stuck reliving them over and over, until you learn to stand and fight."

Blood.

"Do you hear me? You've got to fight them. They're memories—that's all."

Pain.

"You can't let memories defeat you, Jericho. Stand up. Fight back."

Tears.

"You'll be okay. Nothing can hurt you in here. I promise."

Slowly, as if not sure his fingers would respond properly, Jericho squeezed Robin's hand back. He shook his head and propped himself up on one elbow. 'I scared you,' he signed, pulling the hand Robin had been holding back to his body.

"Well, yeah, a bit. But you're okay now." Robin took a step away, placing his arms awkwardly at his sides. "That's all that matters."

'I'm sorry.'

"Don't be."

Jericho brought a hand up to massage his temples. He hadn't had flashbacks this bad in a while. 'I should sleep.'

"Good idea," Robin murmured. He paused, looking the other up and down before offering a hand to help him off the table. "Do you get nightmares?"

Unsure of what to sign, Jericho simply nodded.

"Come on." Hooking his arm across the blonde's shoulders, Robin began to lead him down the hallway. His steps were slow and deliberate; he clearly wasn't sure if Jericho was quite steady on his feet yet. "You can bunk with me tonight."

When they reached Robin's quarters, Jericho immediately settled into a corner, by now accustomed to unconventional resting places. No sooner had he closed his eyes than he felt a hand on his upper arm tugging him back to his feet. Allowing a question to twist his features, he cracked an eye open to look at the hero.

"I have a cot. You take the bed."

Though hesitant, Jericho let Robin guide him over to the bed and began to pull the sheets back. He slipped under them after pulling off his tunic and boots.

While he was preoccupied with that, Robin had set up a cot on the left side of the bed. "Anything you need?" he asked, the sincerity clear in his voice.

'Robin?'

"Yeah?"

'Don't let it be quiet.'