Jason's day had gone from bad to worse. When he'd agreed to help the Batman he'd thought 'what's the worst that could happen?' He should have known better than to ask questions like that.

He'd wasted no time in bringing Bruce back to the Manor. Alfred had called Leslie Thompkins to help. Now Jason sat on the front steps of Wayne Manor. Leslie had told him to get some rest, but he was still too hyped from adrenaline and maybe something else he would never admit to. Besides, there was someone he had to talk to. Jason lit a cigarette. He blew out a puff of smoke, savoring the burn of tobacco on his tongue.

Dick still hadn't shown, but it was a long drive from Bludhaven. Long enough, anyway, that Jason had been able to finish four beers while waiting. Maybe he'd be too out of it by the time his brother got there; he wouldn't have to deal with him. He didn't think he could handle it if Dick was as disappointed in him as he was in himself.

He saw headlights as a car turned into the driveway. Dang it. Jason opened another beer. The car stopped at the bottom of the steps. The porch light shone on a familiar figure as he got out.

"Jay?" Dick Grayson's voice wavered with fear. His face turned upward toward Jason. His usual smile was gone. He mounted the steps and sat down next to Jason.

"How is he?"

"Don't know. Leslie and Alfred are with him now."

"You know, I remember…" Dick started reminiscing, his coping mechanism. Jason instinctively tuned him out; like he usually did.

Dick put his arm around Jason. Jason shifted away from his predecessor's over-affection. Dick ignored the movement and went on his cigarette to his mouth to hide his smile and tried again to ignore his brother's rambling.

Why was he still hanging around this place? He'd done what he was supposed to, he'd brought Bruce back here. Heck, he really shouldn't have even agreed to come back and help Bruce. That's what had gotten Bruce shot in the first place.

Dick suddenly stopped talking for a moment and then he asked, "What happened?" as though it had just occurred to him to even ask.

Jason sighed, took a swig of beer, and began to relate the story. As he got to the end, the memory of it, again, dredged up fear from before. His voice caught and he stopped speaking. Dick gripped his shoulder and leaned forward to stare into his face.

"Are you okay?" Jason looked away and tried to shrug off Dick's hand. It didn't matter. Nothing from back then mattered anymore. Jason had learned his lesson there. So why did he feel this way? It wasn't like Bruce had ever really cared about him.

"I'm fine," He said, ignoring the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach and the tightness in his shoulders. His heart hadn't felt that much in a long time and he still bore the scars, both physically and emotionally, from the last time it had. Jason had been the victim before when this had happened, when the mask and the larger-than-life reputation had been stripped away to reveal that the legendary Batman was nothing more than a mere man. Dick's hand gripped harder.

"Are you sure?" Dick asked, unbelieving of Jason's statement.

"Yes, I'm fine!"

"Jason. For once in your life, just tell me what's wrong!"

"Dang it, Dick, just leave me alone!" Jason rose then leaned unsteadily against the door frame. The beer had gotten to him more than he'd thought.

"Jay." Dick's voice was cautious, "I'm sorry," Jason turned.

"No, Dick, I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at myself. I guess I didn't think I'd be the one wishing I'd taken the bullet for him. I haven't thought that in years."

There was a silence; then Dick rose too and said, "You should get some rest."

Jason realized that it'd been a long time since he and Dick had had that kind of heart to heart, and surprisingly it felt good to finally open up to someone after all these years. Dick had always been there for him. Whether he'd seen it that way or not, his brother had always just wanted to help. He realized this now and was grateful. Whatever their differences, they were family and Dick wasn't the only one that was true about. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't too late to set things right.

Jason awoke with a pounding headache and a dry mouth. He heard voices in the hall and turned over to look at the clock on the bedside table. He'd only been asleep an hour. He got up, wondering if something was wrong. Leslie was talking to Dick quietly outside the master bedroom door.

"If anyone can pull through this, it's Bruce," she was saying, "but I wouldn't count on it," She turned to Jason, "He wants to talk to you."

Jason entered the master bedroom. He tried to blame the nauseous feeling he had wholly on the hangover rather than any possible nervousness.

Bruce lay on the bed, his shoulder swathed in heavy bandages. He turned to face Jason as he crossed the room. Sweat stood out on his forehead.

"Jason…" Bruce breathed, his chest rising and falling heavily. In that moment, Jason knew it really could be now or never.

"Bruce, I'm really sorry," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed, "I should have stuck to the plan. This is all my fault." Oh gosh, he sounded like Dick, but this needed to be said, so he pressed on. "It should have been me. I sorry-"

"Jason, no, it's not your fault. I had to do it."

"Why, Bruce? I deserve to-"

"No…you don't."

"Bruce-"

"Jason…I care about you…I couldn't bear the thought…of losing you… not again."

"…Bruce… I… I'm sorry…I-" His mentor gripped his hand. It was a weak grip. Jason's vision blurred. Why were the words so easy for them now? Now that it was too late.

The next morning, Jason entered the library. Dick and Leslie were talking.

"Well?" Jason asked.

"With anyone else I'd be surprised, but Bruce stopped surprising me years ago," Leslie said, "He's going to be fine."