Part Two

"You know," Robin said slowly, well after Beast Boy had left the room, "sending us food isn't exactly helping me assert my independence, Alfred."

Robin was unsure if he should feel bitter or amused by the underhanded tactics the man employed to get his way, but he decided it didn't matter the moment the video feed clicked to life, displaying a smartly-dressed and stern-looking gentleman with twinkling pale eyes. Judging by the jagged shadows and gloom surrounding him, Alfred was calling from the Batcave, and a sense of familiarity overwhelmed Robin, his heart twinging.

Robin hadn't realized how much he missed the old butler until right then, when he laid eyes on him for the first time in months. And dammit to hell, he certainly hadn't realized he could still feel homesick for a place he no longer claimed to call home until that moment either.

He hated that there was a lump forming in his throat. He hated that his eyes slid to the shadows, as though expecting…

"Well, you should have thought about that before you decided that updating your case files was more important than your health."

Robin snorted, returning his attention to Alfred. He placed a hand over his heart. "It's almost like you don't trust me to look after myself. I thought you supported me, Alfred."

"Oh, don't pull that on me, Master Dick," Alfred scolded. His tone was good-natured, and knowing Alfred wasn't truly angry, Robin smiled Dick's smile, bright and wide. "Ah, but it is good to see that smile. It's been rather bleak here without it to illuminate these dark halls."

Robin knew it was Alfred's way of saying I miss you, but it was hard not to remember the reasons he left Gotham, hanging like a thick curtain between them, and the words ended up stinging far more than they should have. He had to refrain from reaching for his shoulder, a habit he was trying to break now that the wound there was no more than a mere memory. Dropping his twitching hand, he sighed. Exhaustion settled deep into his bones, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the façade he'd been maintaining throughout the last few days crumbling to dust. "It's good to see you, Alfred," Robin said to the coffee table. "Really good."

"Likewise, Master Dick." There was a brief silence between them. "How are you?"

Robin swallowed, and he bit his tongue. It had been awhile since he'd been asked that, and it had been even longer since he'd considered an answer. Longer still since he'd given a truthful answer. "I'm fine."

"And you'd be able to look me in the eyes and repeat that honestly?"

Robin looked up, opening his mouth to argue that, yes, indeed he could, but he stopped short. Normally whenever Alfred called BS, there was a certain snarkiness about his tone, which was accompanied by a harsh frown and a you'd-better-not-lie-to-me-again steel in his eyes. Sometimes, he was more amused than upset by his charges' clumsy attempts to hide something from him, but this time was different. This time, Robin saw nothing to suggest the old man was frustrated or disappointed.

No. This was the true reason Alfred called. He was concerned. Worried.

The lump in Robin's throat grew, and after surveying his grandfather-in-all-but-blood for a moment longer, he reached up to remove his mask. The adhesive wasn't fresh, but it tugged on his skin. It was a familiar sensation, one he'd been dealing since the age of five, long before he'd ever heard of Batman or Gotham, and he yanked the mask off without a single flinch.

Blinking his blue eyes and rubbing at his stinging forehead, he looked Alfred in the eye and didn't have to say a word.

"Oh, my boy…" Alfred whispered. He leaned forward in his chair, hands rising as if he wanted to reach through the computer monitor to give his youngest charge a hug.

And Dick Grayson—for he wasn't Robin now and couldn't stand to be Robin now that the mask was off for what felt like the first time in a week—well, no matter who it was he claimed to be: he would have appreciated the hug.

"I was so close, Alfie," Dick muttered. "So close."

"So it is him, Master Dick?"

Suspicion had taken root the moment Robin had caught Red X stealing from him, and it had only solidified when he and Red X had fallen into a rhythm while fighting, a rhythm he'd only ever achieved with three other people: Batgirl, Batman, and the second Robin.

The second Robin, his adopted brother, who, with Dick's blessing, had taken up the Robin persona in Gotham when Dick had left for Jump, because despite everything, Dick would not leave Bruce to handle Gotham alone.

Jason, who…who had fallen. Months ago. By the Joker's hand.

At first he'd rejected the idea. Because that was crazy, right? His guilt and his grief were just rearing their ugly heads. No one could come back and certainly not after that.

Not unless…

Red X's had identity haunted him, and after a bit of crazed research, Dick had found his answers easily enough from the League of Shadows. He'd sucked up his pride—because when it came to family, there was no place for pride—and sent all his evidence to the Batcave.

Whose owner had yet to reply, to call, to do anything about what Dick had discovered.

"I've never been more sure of anything," Dick said.

Alfred leaned back in his chair, his composure faltering as he closed his eyes and released a slow breath.

"It's my fault," Dick muttered.

The butler leapt upright. "I don't want to hear that kind of talk, Master Dick. Nothing about this situation is remotely your fault. Nor is it—"

"But if I had been faster! Or more efficient! Or half as smart as he is...Alf, if I had been better, I would have been able to catch up to him and talk to him, and maybe then Jay would…"

"Master Jason—" Alfred's voice almost broke "—like you, was trained by Batman. If he doesn't want to be found, he won't be. And with his knowledge of the streets…if he wanted to lose you…"

"That's no excuse," Dick growled.

Alfred's expression became stern. "There are many admirable qualities Master Bruce has instilled into you, Master Dick," he said. "Your tendency to shoulder the blame for things that are beyond your control is not one of them."

The tension in Dick's shoulders loosened as he processed what Alfred was saying. He couldn't muster up any resentment at being compared to Bruce, not now. Besides, Alfred knew best, so Dick couldn't exactly argue the point, even if he wanted to.

"Why doesn't he want to talk to me, Alfred?" Dick asked instead. "Why not any of us?"

"Perhaps, Master Dick, he isn't ready to."

There was a hint of a suggestion lingering in air, and Dick's eyes hardened. "I'm not giving up on him, Alfred."

"I'm not asking you to, but perhaps—"

"I don't care what he's done."

I don't care about the guns! Dick had wanted to scream at Red X earlier that week. I care that you're back.

"I know," Alfred said soothingly, and in a distant sort of way, Dick was grateful that Alfred didn't judge or discredit his immediate forgiveness. His acceptance of Jay's mistakes. Or rather, his tolerance toward his misdeeds. "But Master Jason may not."

"But why? Doesn't he want to come home after what happened to him? I mean, I know we had our differences…"

That was putting it mildly. When Bruce had taken in street rat Jason Todd, Dick had felt as though he was being replaced in retribution for his growing rebellion. When Jason had suddenly found himself with an adopted brother he could never hope to compare to in Bruce's eyes, he'd very obviously resented Dick, too. Their less-than-civil feelings for each other fed a cycle of competitiveness that wasn't exactly...healthy, to say the least.

But that was at the beginning, before Dick realized he was projecting his anger at Bruce on someone who didn't deserve it. Dick had thought he and Jason had worked past all of it, cementing their newfound friendship and respect for each other when he allowed Jason to take his place by Batman's side. He'd thought…

"Dammit, Alfred," Dick gasped, wiping at his stinging eyes. "He's family."

It was the first time he'd said it out loud, but it didn't make it any less true. It was impossible to deny. When Jason died, Dick hadn't mourned a once-rival-turned-friend. He'd mourned a brother.

"I know it is difficult," Alfred said, "but take a moment to think about the interactions you've had with the new identity Master Jason has taken on. Red X, if I'm not mistaken?" He didn't wait for Dick to nod. "Just this last week alone, you've dogged his steps, unraveled his plans, done everything you could to stop him from doing whatever it was he was doing."

"But I had to stop him," Dick said aloud. "He was tangling with some nasty people, Alfred. People were getting killed."

"I'm not denying you did the right thing, Master Dick, but how does it look, from his perspective? That you stood against him so boldly, and with your team at your side?"

"Like I don't trust him," Dick answered immediately. "Like I don't think he can handle himself. Like I think he's the bad guy. But surely…?"

"Considering Master Bruce's notes on the Lazarus Pit, we can't be sure of anything," Alfred reminded gently.

Blood running cold, Dick grit his teeth and turned his burning gaze away from the monitor to look out the window. It was nearly impossible to hide the guilt in his voice as he asked haltingly, "You don't…you don't suppose it changed him, do you, Alfred?"

"I…don't have the answers, Master Dick. I sorely wish I did."

He wasn't disappointed by that answer, and that's when he knew he hadn't asked the right question. Besides, it was obvious something had changed in the last few months. Death, the Pit…whatever it was that had done it, there was something in Jason Dick didn't recognize and wasn't sure he wanted to acknowledge. Or accept.

Not yet anyway.

Restless fingers trembled on his lap, his palms clammy, and with jerky movements, he tugged his gloves off. He stared at the calluses on his palms, accumulated from years of practicing on the parallel and uneven bars, poor substitutes for the trapeze at times like these, when all he wanted to do was fly and leave earthly concerns behind. "Do you think he blames us after all?"

Alfred's gaze was sharp, cutting through Dick straight to the core. "Now that I doubt."

"Bruce was right there. Seconds away. I was gone," Dick pointed out. "And the Joker—" he hissed the name: the villain's transgressions against his family were far too vast to keep the hatred from his voice "—he's escaped multiple times since Jason's been gone. He's still running around Gotham like it's his personal playground."

"Master Jason would not blame you or Master Bruce for what happened to him," Alfred repeated, his belief in the statement ringing through every word. "You know how fiercely protective he was of his right to choose. He took responsibility for his decision to become the second Robin."

"You didn't say he wouldn't blame the Joker."

"Master Jason wouldn't be so foolish as to go after the Joker. Not alone."

"Maybe not, but he was always…reckless."

"Never vengeful."

Point: Alfred. Dick dropped the line of thought, not sure why he felt so uncomfortable, or so afraid, of what was to come. The unknown usually thrilled him, fascinated him, but this premonitory feeling was almost nauseating in its intensity, disturbing in its hold over him.

Jay had always told him he worried too much.

"…it doesn't make sense," Dick muttered, and suddenly, part of him almost wished Bruce was there. There was no one better to bounce ideas off. Not that Dick wasn't grateful for Alfred, but Bruce…he was Dick's partner, once. They understood each other in a way few others could. "What was his goal in Jump, then? To screw with our heads? To…"

"To…?" Alfred prompted.

"It was strange, Alfred," Dick said slowly. "When we broke through the inner circle of the gang, I don't think he cared. He wasn't angry."

"Well, I would certainly hope not."

Dick shook his head, and the thing that had been bothering him all morning finally broke free, its clarity nearly blinding. "Right and wrong has nothing to do with it. I thought, maybe, he was working undercover for the Shadows and had gotten in too deep, but…that isn't it at all. He wasn't invested. He didn't care that everything was falling apart. It was almost like…he was doing this to see if he could."

Dick and Alfred sat in silence, musing over the implications of Dick's observations and wondering what it all meant.

"This is fucked up, Alfred," Dick said eventually, not quite liking where his deductions were taking him and despising the encroaching storm his gut was foreshadowing for him.

"Language."

Dick's lips twitched into a humorless smirk. "This is really, really screwed up, Alfred."

"It's not a normal situation by any means." Alfred rubbed his eyes, red and lined with exhaustion. "What do you mean to do?"

"I'm not giving up on him," Dick repeated, and if there was a barb shot, aimed through the darkness at his absent mentor, of course it was intentional. The emotionally constipated ass-hat. "I'll keep searching. Covertly. My team doesn't need to get involved any more than they already have been."

"Well, I'm sure I don't need to tell you this, Master Dick, but everyone needs a reminder, now and then: don't push your friends away. You need them, as they need you."

Lingering guilt from his previous mistakes with Slade made him wince, and he murmured, "I won't forget, Alfred."

Alfred smiled, and it was a special sort of smile that reminded Dick of his first months in the manor, when he didn't understand why his parents had to fall, why Zucco was still free, and why Bruce was always gone whenever he had a nightmare; when Alfred would squeeze his shoulder and nudge a mug of hot chocolate heaped with whipped cream and cinnamon into his hands. "I trust you won't." Leaning forward, Alfred said, "Now on the topic of your friends. Tell me of what has transpired the last few months. I've heard the most interesting rumors."

Grateful for Alfred's thoughtful navigation into brighter waters, Dick grinned and teased, "Not like you to take much stock in the rumor-mill, Alfred."

"Normally, I wouldn't have to."

Dick flinched under Alfred's piercing gaze. "Ouch. Okay, I deserved that. But honestly, it's not like Bruce hasn't already been creeping on us. I know him."

"Believe it or not, Master Bruce respects you and your decision to act as Robin in Jump City, even if he doesn't agree with it. He would not resort to such measures unless it was integral to one of his, or the Justice League's, cases."

Giving Alfred a blank look, Dick crossed his arms. "…you've already given him a lecture about it, haven't you?"

Alfred blinked and straightened his waist coat, the image of propriety and professional aloofness. "I did nothing of the sort."

"Really."
"I didn't tell him anything he hadn't already begun to realize himself."

Dick's brows rose, and his gaze skipped across Alfred's face, an inkling of hope sparking within. Despite what he might have screamed at Bruce about being incapable of change, about his complete inability to admit he was wrong about anything, on his way out the door…

Dick had always been the optimistic one.

"…How is he?" Dick asked before he could stop himself.

Alfred frowned, and Dick's heart sank. That frown spoke volumes. It spoke of long nights, frustration, harbored fears that Batman wouldn't return home that night. It spoke of carelessness on patrols and injuries that could have been avoided and wild parties in which Brucie the Socalite would lose himself over and over again.

It spoke of a father watching his son slowly destroy himself and knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it.

So Dick, channeling his inner performer's charisma and cheer, put on a smile and chattered about everything and anything else. He told Alfred about his team, about how much they've grown. He told him about some of the training regimens he developed and how excited he was to try them out. He updated Alfred on the cases they had solved and the villains they had faced, laughing about the team's more foolish mistakes and reminiscing on the lessons learned.

He even mentioned a few of the solo missions each of them had had, lingering for some time on what Starfire had seen in the future.

He actually talked a lot about Nightwing, about the bedtime stories Uncle Clark had told him long ago, ones he'd forgotten up until the moment he heard that name again.

Most of all, however, he spoke of his friends, of their selflessness and their goofiness, of their compassion and all their quirks.

"You care a great deal for them," Alfred commented.

Dick hadn't felt the need to respond with more than a simple, "They're a loyal team."

When it was time to say their goodbyes, Dick felt as though he hadn't told Alfred half as much as he wanted to, and with a vague sense of disappointment and nostalgia, he promised to call more often.

This time he meant it.

Alfred gave Dick one of his rare smiles and wickedly reminded him to take care of himself and to keep an eye out for the parcels he'd be sending before finally, the call disconnected.

An hour later, Robin emerged from the main room, his nose a little pink and eyes scratchy behind his mask, to catch whoever it was the security system announced was at their door.

Beast Boy, in cheetah form, raced past Robin halfway to the front door and beat him there. The others, nosy as they were, followed Robin and hovered as Beast Boy answered the door. A delivery woman with a dolly loaded with insulated Styrofoam chests stood there.

Because of course Alfred would have prepared the meals and sent them well ahead of his call to Titan Tower.

Robin's lips quirked into a smile, which slowly broadened into a full-blown grin as the others crowed and whooped, swarming over the ice chests and peeking into them with a great deal of curiosity, glittering eyes, and drool.

Though the delivery woman's eyes were hidden by a pair of huge sunglasses and the shade of an ugly brown visor that didn't quite agree with her red hair, Robin could tell she was amused too.

"Hey," he said kindly, offering his hand. "Thank you so much."

The woman looked at the hand, a slight smirk on her lips, and Robin's hand faltered. That smirk…

Barbara Gordon lowered her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and winked. As Robin's eyes widened and jaw started to drop, she put a finger to her lips and flipped open her storage clipboard, drawing a letter and a flash drive from within.

"This is a letter with instructions about the food from A," she said brightly. "And this—" she pressed the flash-drive into Robin's palm with particular care "—is from the Big Man. Encrypted, but he didn't trust it with anyone else."

Heart throbbing, Robin closed his gaping mouth and slowly closed his fingers around the drive. It could only contain one thing.

He hasn't given up on us, Robin realized, and some of the dread that had been pooling in his gut started to drain away. He's…he's trying.

"Robin!"

Barbara and Robin turned to Beast Boy, who bounced on the balls of his feet, eyes wide and hands clasped under his chin. "Think we can get on this? Like, now? Pretty please? It's dinnertime already!"

"Yeah, of course," Robin said distractedly, "just give me—"

"Lezzgoooooooo!" Cyborg shouted, balancing two of the insulated chests across his shoulders and booking it to the kitchen. Starfire and Beast Boy were too excited to take any of the other chests as they raced after Cyborg, so Raven was left rolling her eyes and levitating the rest of the food behind her.

Robin watched them go and turned back to his surprise visitor. "It's good to see you, Babs."

Looking him up and down, she pushed her aviators back up her nose and said, "It's good to see you too, Dick. Or what's left of you at any rate."

"Oi, c'mon now. I just got lectured. By Alfred. I think I've met my quota of lectures for the next week at least."

Barbara laughed, and her gaze slid behind him, where the others had disappeared. "You've got a good thing going here, Dick. I didn't think so, at first, but I was wrong."

Pride swelled within him, and his legendary smirk grew across his face. "I'm sorry, but what did you just say? Did you just admit you were wrong? I don't think I heard you right."

"Oh, shut up, you troll." Poking him in the chest with a viscous jab, she added, "Just don't forget you've got people cheering for you in Gotham."

"I'd never."

"Hm." Barbara took a step back and wheeled the empty dolly around. He was almost sad to see her go, though he should have expected she wasn't going to stay, considering she was undercover as a delivery girl and not in her full Batgirl uniform. "See you around, Boy Wonder. Call me, okay? And read that letter!"

Robin, his attention back on the pristine white letter, stood in the doorway for a moment and waved absentmindedly to Babs as she returned to her rented boat and began her trip back across the water to mainland. After tucking the flash drive into a hidden slot in his utility belt, he ripped it open.

Immediately, a white card slid out from the pages of Alfred's neat handwriting, and Robin crouched to pick it up. He brought it, trembling in his suddenly clumsy fingers, up to his face.

On one side, in the neat but distinctive script of a well-seasoned businessman, read: "Be safe –B."

And on the other: "And for God's sake, Dick, eat."

That night on patrol, for the first time since the Joker had put a bullet in his shoulder, Robin's cackle was heard echoing through the streets.