A/N: Whooo boy… back when I was finishing up this story, I was going though not only a physical move but also transferring over to a new PC. Somewhere along the way, the progress I had made on this chapter was lost and I never felt up to re-doing it. Recently I was doing some file-dusting and I came across it, so I decided to polish it up. So, to anyone who still has this on their watch list… here's our conclusion. Sorry for the wait.

The Lines We Cross

Chapter 3

2:45 AM

The only thing that Jason could hear was the steady drum of blood pulsing against his ears. It felt as if his heart itself was mocking him with each beat. You're alive. You're alive. You're alive, it said. For a little while, at least. They would have found Dick's body by now, it wouldn't have taken them long with the cherry bomb he had set off. He had imagined rather than seen the bright light shining up against the gray clouds that hung above Gotham. Calling himin to take his golden boy home.

Thirty seconds? Maybe sixty, since he would be distraught? That was how long Jason gave Bruce to deduce the identity of Richard Grayson's killer. His identity. Would it be or the cherry bomb he had used, or something else? Jason could only guess. But he would know. It was what he did. Track murderers and felons... Jason was one of those. He'd been one of those for as many months as he had been back from his wonderful trip in the green goo.

There had been parlays and pardons. He should have been back in jail so many times over that it hurt to even count. But the target on his chest was florescent now, lighting up all the shadows that he passed. Jason knew that in reality, he only had a certain amount of time to get out of the city. To leave Gotham- no, the country- in one piece. But it would only be so long before Batman caught up to him, as he always did with his rogues. Was it even worth running?

Jason had to wonder. Would it be this time that Bruce crossed the line, the one that he had chiseled into stone? Would it be this time that his anger overtook him, and the Batman killed? With this thought nibbling away at the back of his mind, Jason's feet pounded the pavement and he ran half-blind down the street.

Blood stained his chest and arms. He had tried to clean his hands off on his jeans, but the sticky reddness clung to the creases in his skin and highlighted his fingernails. Even the drunks that he dashed by gasped and turned for a second take. By the time their lazy eyes caught up with the gory figure he was already halfway down the next block.

The blood pounded against his ears. You're alive, it mocked.

Jason ran as if his life depended upon it, because it probably did. But he did not run for his motorcycle, or his hideout for a new gun. He didn't reach for the edges of Gotham, because from this there would be no hiding. There was only one thing that could be done.

6:00 AM

It happened faster than Jason imagined when Batman finally found him; he had expected at least an accusation first before the beat-down began. A strong, firm hand in a black glove wrapped around the collar of his leather jacket and yanked him back, away from the window he was gazing out. He hit the ground so hard that his helmet bounced on contact and left a ringing in his ears. A boot, and then a knee, was placed on his chest. His ribs ached. Hands were wrapping around the back of his helmet, feeling for a seam.

Jason felt a wave of panic as he stared up into the black face above him. He couldn't so much as see Bruce's eyes against the glare of the rising sun behind him, and imagined that was probably a good thing. It was all he could do to keep from lifting his hands to wrench the gauntlets away from him; and all too soon the protective red mask was being ripped from his face. Batman tossed it to the side, where it clattered away with several hollow clanks.

The fist connected with the side of his unprotected face once, then twice- and already, it was more than enough to have him seeing tiny bursts of light. The hands then gripped his collar, pulling him up only to push him back down again. Now the interrogation would begin, Jason thought, but a whimper in the far corner stayed the beast above him.

"Who is it," Batman demanded this tone gravelly but alarmingly even. If Jason didn't know better, he would have thought it was just any old night. No... Not night. On any old night, the Bat would be returning to the cave now; as the sun was rising over the bay, red and bright. Only, the cave was a morgue now.

"Who?" The voice was demanding this time, and accompanied by a thrust against the ground.

"If-" Jason had to pause to spit some blood out of his mouth- "If I told you that he was the one who shot- who shot him, would you believe me?" The only answer was silence, glaring down at him from the dark form that seemed to block out the light of morning. Batman looked even more like a shadow now than he did at night. Jason shook his head slightly, his ears ringing.

"I didn't think so." His own voice felt flat, too. Tired. "You're thinking that he'd be dead if that was the case, aren't you? That I would have taken care of it." Again, there was only silence. But the hands curled even tighter into his jacket, and Jason struggled to swallow a mouthful of blood. "I tried to do it. Shoot him. Put the blame on him. You'd rather believe that."

Batman stood, forcing Jason into a sitting position as his collar was dragged upwards. Over in the corner of the room, Batman could only just make out the form of a man hog-tied in the shadows. Halving the distance between the two groups was the discarded pistol. Batman began to walk forward, pulling Jason along by his side. The younger man scrambled to his feet to avoid being dragged forward, but he was sent quickly back downward with one quick throttle.

"That piece of FILTH is the last person Dick saved. Not some kid from a burning building, or a woman being mugged- a mother-fucking wife beater piece of scum!" Jason yelled, jerking one hand in the direction of the barely conscious man in the corner.

"Is that what you're angry about, Jason? That the last person he protected wasn't worthy?" Batman had stopped walking again. He stooped, and Jason prepared himself for another punch. But when the glove connected with his face this time, it wasn't with force. The flat of his hand pushed Jason's face to the side, and he found himself staring at his own once favored weapon several inches from his face. His lips curled back into a snarl, and he tried to look away. The hand on his face forced his gaze to remain.

Jason tried to focus on the wood grain under his cheek instead of the gunmetal inches from his nose. He could smell the oil he'd used to clean it only earlier that night, mixed with residue of its recent firing. It smelt only bitter now.

He closed his eyes when he found he couldn't turn. The glove moved away from his face, and the next thing he heard was the slight grating of metal dragging along the floor. Silence, and then the weight of the gun being pressed down against his chest. His stomach twisted. So this was it. He forced himself to look forward again, opening his eyes. The room seemed so much brighter; the sun was rising fast outside. He had to squint to see at all, and for a moment wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

Batman had stood, and was stepping away from him. The gun still rested on his chest. As he sat up, it slid down, landing in his lap.

"Pick it up."

"…What?" Jason asked, looking up at the man.

"Pick up your weapon." Batman seemed to bristle under his cape. His shoulders grew more tense, and his hands clenched into fists. There was a slight tremor in them, and Jason couldn't tell if it was from the tension of his coiled muscles or something else. Maybe it was both.

Jason looked away, and then twisted so that the gun fell out of his lap before getting to his feet. He staggered slightly, and lifted his hand up to wipe away some of the blood streaming down his nose. As the sun rose over the bay, the room gradually brightened even further. The only sound in the room were the unfacilitated whimpers from the man in the corner. Jason longed to knock him out again.

"I'm not picking it up. You're going to have to kill me without it," he said, raising his eyes to look back at the man. "Because that's what you're-"

Jason didn't get to finish. Batman had dove for him again, and the two were rolling in the dust on the floor. Jason fought back this time, parrying punches and throwing blows of his own, as his instinct for survival kicked in. No punches were pulled this time. Jason could feel each knuckle as it lanced across his ribs, could almost make out the pattern on the bottom of that god-forsaken bat-boot as it hit dead center on his back and sent him sprawling. He landed on his stomach and slid several feet, his outstretched hand hitting something cold. Lifting his head slightly, he saw the gun once again inches from his face.

His salvation. He could use it and be out of here- try the running plan again. His hand was already curling around the grip, as if urging him on this path.

No.

Jason stood, the pistol in his hands. But he didn't turn it on his opponent, but instead, whirled around and threw it with all his strength. It crashed through one of the nearby dusty windows, where it would drop several stories before plunging into the bay.

"I'm not going to do it!" He roared, as he turned back towards Batman. He bent forward slightly with the effort behind his yell. "I'm not- I'm not using that again!" He fell onto his knees and reached up to cover his ears with his hands. He could still hear the echo of the last time he'd used the weapon rattling around his head, already haunting him. He remained on his knees, head bowed, as he waited for the blow that would end the ringing in his ears. But it didn't come. His hands eventually lowered to the ground, where he splayed them against the wood.

"You brought him to the rooftop. You could have left him, had hours on everyone. You could've been outside the city. But you're here."

Jason looked up at the sound of his voice. Lit from the front now, Batman looked less menacing. Less like a shadow, and more like a man. Even his voice was quieter. Jason looked down again.

"I… couldn't leave him like that," He whispered, his shoulders hunching forward. "He didn't deserve that."

"Do you know where we are?" Jason asked, not lifting his head for an answer. "Nightwing helped me take down a drug ring here. Back- back... before everything happened. When I was still a kid. I was in over my head. So close to getting my head blown off, when he showed up." Jason gave a dry chuckle. "He promised not to tell you anything," he said, lifting his head slightly to look over at the man standing several yards away from him, batarangs still notched between each finger on his right hand. Ready, Jason thought, just in case he had decided to use the gun.

"… I bet you knew anyway, though, didn't you? The way you know everything that goes on here. The way you knew I wasn't going to shoot you five minutes ago." He lowered his head again.

"It was an accident," Bruce said. Jason's gaze snapped up.

"I killed him! It doesn't matter what it was, he's DEAD now because I shot him!" Somehow, Batman- Bruce- voicing what had really happened made it seem even worse. Pointless, even. Dick had been killed for nothing, by accident, protecting a lowlife. He deserved some sort of revenge, didn't he?

The sound of footsteps drew his gaze up again. His jaw fell open as he saw Batman walking towards the exit, his boots sending hollow reverberations through the floor.

"Where are you going?" Jason yelled. "What are you doing? You're leaving me?" No, no, this wasn't how this was supposed to work.

"Get out of Gotham, Jason." He had paused in the doorway, and turned to look back at the criminal huddled in the middle of the floor. He looked more like a man than ever now, his hands hanging limp by his sides. As he turned to go, Jason made out some final words before the room fell quiet again to only his pounding heart.

"That man in the corner wasn't the last person he saved."