Author's Note: Hello again, everyone! First of all, I want to again say thank you for all the wonderful reviews I've received for this fic's predecessor, "The Changeling" and also for "Deluge in the Wasteland." I'm very proud of both of those, so your support is highly appreciated. Second, I'm going to be at the NYC Comic Con tomorrow :) So if anyone wants to hang, let me know!

A few words about this fic:

* The idea and title of this fic is kind of the reverse of "The Changeling". The first story was about Jason and Damian's return home, the question of which of them is the real son/brother. Of course, the answer is 'both'. Jason was the big bother, the protector. In this fic, since it starts out with Dick and Jason, we have a bit of a roll reversal and see how Jason deals with being the younger one. Of course as the story goes on, we'll get more and more characters.

* It takes place about 6 months after "The Changeling" so everyone is still kinds of adjusting. Some ideas/decisions for this fic actually came to me while I was in the middle of writing its predecessor. Most of those are centered around what secondary characters are alive or not and when in the old DC-timeline does this take place.

* There are a few italics sections that are either dreams, flashbacks, or thoughts. It's easy enough to distinguish.

* This fic will borrow elements of two major DC events and I may take others. Most of those are general JLA stories. Some will impact the Bat-family more than others, but all will be told from their povs. And on that note, I'll also say that some characters will not come off in the greatest light, not because I don't like them, but because if it's told from Jason's pov, he has some very strong oppinions based on personal history with either the person or the topic.

The Guardian

By:SilverSpider

It's a different version of the dream, but somehow the same. Always the same...

There's darkness, deep and penetrating, and cold dampness everywhere. Jason tries to scream but his lungs are filled with fluid – or maybe there's just no air, he doesn't know – and the scream dies.

This isn't supposed to be happening. It's not! Not again.

A light appears in the distance, and Jason wants to run, even crawl, any way to get to it. It glimmers, winks once then dims. It's about to go out, trapping him forever in this dank hell.

"No!"

Jason sat bolt upright, cold sweat covering every inch of his skin. He almost fell back down immediately. The covers were tightly tucked into the mattress, confining, constricting. He pushed at them, panting, but they didn't budge enough. With a cry of frustration, he tore at them, and finally – finally! - he was free. Why were they like that? Alfred knew he couldn't stand that tucked in feeling. Not anymore.

"Jay?" A light on the bedside table went on.

His head jerked sharply to his left, pulling a muscle painfully. Dick was getting out of a bed only a few feet away from his. A deep frown creased his brother's forehead, and Jason had to again wonder what was going on. First the sheets, now Dick... why was Dick in his room? His brother pushed his own covers aside, swinging around to sit on the edge of the bed. Jason blinked at him, bewildered, and then it started to come back to him, slowly, in pieces.

They were in a hotel room, somewhere near the Texas border, if he recalled correctly. Road trip... right, now he remembered. The sheets were so tight because that's how the hotels always prepared the beds, and he'd forgotten to pull them out all the way before falling asleep this time. That explained the nightmare.

Dick was still looking at him worriedly, then rose, went to their duffel bags by the door and pulled out a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and walked back handing it to him. Jason made a face and pushed his hand away.

"'m fine."

"Have some water anyway," Dick nodded at him, annoyingly patient. "It's hot in here. You'll feel better." As if to prove his point, he took a long swallow too and held the bottle to him again. Jason sighed, but took it this time and drank. It helped a little.

"I'm fine," he repeated with a little less malice this time. "Seriously, Dick. My big brother doesn't need to get up every time I have a bad dream. It's stupid. 'm not five."

"It's not stupid," the older man objected, then tossed his cell on Jason's bed. Dick went to to pick up his jeans and a shirt. "I'm going to see if we an check out a little earlier. Be back in ten."

Ten minutes was too much time just for going to the front office and back, but Jason knew what he was not-so-subtly doing. He appreciated it, appreciated Dick not saying it out right and saving at least some of his pride. Leaning back onto the pillows, wide awake now, Jason picked up the abandoned phone and dialed 1 then send.

There was only one ring before... "Hello?"

The voice washed over him like a wave of warm air, wrapping around him like an embrace and finally Jason felt at peace.

"Hey, Dad."

"Jason." He couldn't detect any surprise in his father's voice, but then Bruce was the world's greatest detective. That and like Dick, he was helping him maintain some dignity. "How are you?"

"Okay." It was the truth now. At this moment, he was alright. "We're almost to Texas now."

"Yeah?" He thought he heard the smile in his voice.

"Dick's got his heart set on the Dallas. I'm just here for the Mexican food."

This time the amusement was unmistakable. "How's your brother?"

Well, he's gotta put up with my crap, so I don't know. But instead he said, "Fine. Hogging the wheel of my new car."

"Is your new car still as... new as before?" The question was posed carefully.

"Nothing but fifteen hundred extra miles."

"Are you sure this is it?" Bruce looked doubtfully at the blue-black Dodge Charger pulled up in front of Wayne manor. Next to him, eight-year-old Damian was also frowning, head tilted slightly in a perfect replica of his father's expression.

"Yup!" Jason announced happily, leaning on the roof at the driver's side. "What d' you think?"

On the other side, Dick who had come with him to pick it up from the shady dealer on in the East End, simply shrugged at Bruce as if to say that he'd tried to talk him out of it. He had, but Jason had been adamant that this was his car.

"It's old," Damian piped in. "And beat up."

It was true. The shiny black paint was marked with chips, scratches, and dents that would have to be hammered out. The entire car would have to be repainted, the wheels changed. The air conditioning and radio were d.o.a.. Hell, from the sound of it, Jason might even have to replace parts of the engine.

He didn't care.

"It's a classic," he told his little brother. "I had my eye on this car since I was younger than you."

He didn't mention the fact that back then it was already well past its prime. It was a 1968 model which might have made it a classic in the right circles and if its previous owner had been from somewhere more affluent than the East End of Gotham. Damian wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"Can't you afford anything better?"

Jason had to remind himself that Damian had no real concept of where he'd come from and how sensitive the subject of money could be in general. He might be Bruce Wayne's son, but he'd never forget the first twelve years of his life on the streets of Gotham. The fact was that back then this – specifically this – car was what he dreamed off.

Bruce put a hand on the boy's shoulder to stop him from speaking, but he was looking at Jason. "We can find something newer," he told Jason. "Or maybe you want the Infinity..."

"No, Dad," he shook his head. They just weren't getting it. "I don't want something new. I want something to..." He looked at his hands as if the right words would be there, and they were. "I want something to tinker with, to fix, and I dreamed about this car since I was a kid."

"I'm just..." Bruce paused, eying said Dodge suspiciously. He looked like he wanted to say that it didn't look safe, something Jason found hilarious, all things considered.

"I already made him promise it won't leave the garage until it's fixed." Dick chimed in. "We're going all Fast and the Furious on this thing."

Bruce shot him a look. "Not a comforting mental image."

Inwardly Jason rolled his eyes but on the surface he nodded helpfully. "Family project."

His father sighed, shaking his head. "If that's what you want. Let's get it into the garage."

Jason yawned. The anxiety of the nightmare had ebbed, and now his body was remembering that it was one in the morning and he was tired because they'd been driving all day. His father, hearing it, pauses the questions. They weren't really important. He just needed an excuse to hear his voice, and Bruce knew that.

"You should sleep." His father suggested mildly. "We can talk tomorrow."

He nodded, then on impulse asked, "You going out on patrol?"

t was a stupid question. Of course he was going. He always went. So Jason was a little surprised that there was almost a second-ling pause. Finally his father said, "Yes."

"Major case?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure yet."

"Care to share?"

"No." This time there was no hesitation. "I'm not going to give you more nightmares, Jason."

"That bad, huh?"

"I don't want you to think about it. Try to get some rest."

"Yeah." He knew once Bruce made up his mind there was little that could change it. "Night, Dad."

Jason almost added 'be careful' but that would have been redundant. He just repeated the 'good-night' and closed the phone, tossing it haphazardly on Dick's bed, before plopping face down onto the pillows of his own and turning off the bedside lamp.

The comforting warmth that he always felt during these calls was seeping away, but this time he was tired enough to at least attempt to go back to sleep. Jason kicked the covers completely off the bed. The air conditioner was going at full blast, but he didn't care. He couldn't be confined again, not even by a blanket, not tonight.

The door slowly open and Dick walk back in, but not really up for explaining himself, Jason pretended to sleep.

He awoke completely when the sun was bright in the window, far later than most of the time. The table by the door was covered in plates of bagels, two omelets, and bowls of fruit. The scent of bacon wafted passed his nose, and his stomach automatically growled.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty."

The door opened, out of the corner of his half-closed lids, he saw Dick come in caring two cups of coffee, one of which he sat on the table by the door. The mattress sank at the edge under his brother's weight, and he felt the heat of the coffee cup in front of his face. Jason wrinkled his nose and burred his face deeper in the pillow. Dick grinned and patted his back. It occurred to him that it similar to the way he used to wake Damian when they were running to Gotham.

"Up and at 'em, Little Wing. Long drive ahead."

"Time is it?" he groaned.

"Almost ten. Come on. I got breakfast."

"Ten?" Jason sat up and swung his legs over the edge just as Dick rose. "What happened to getting on the road early?"

"Jay," his brother gave him the kind of sympathetic look that made him want to punch him. "You were sleeping. Actually sleeping, not tossing and turning. Want to talk about it?"

"What?" By that time, Jason was already up and reaching for a plate of eggs and bacon. "Oh, the nightmare!" He snapped his fingers as if suddenly remembering. "That's right. You were in it. Something about... running around Gotham in your underwear. Pink panties, I think."

"They were green," Dick corrected without batting an eyelash. "You had a pair, and don't change the subject. If you don't want to talk about it..."

"I don't." Jason cut him off. "Not that you ever listen."

"Okay, fine, fine." Again, he's surprised and for some reason annoyed how easily Dick let the whole thing go. "Breakfast, then driving. It's your turn."

"No shit, since it's my car."

"Grouchy." Dick popped a slice of bacon from his own plate with a grin. "Who logged all those hours helping you getting that piece of scrap road-worthy?"

"That's the only reason I ever let you pick the music."

"The driver picks the music." His brother objected. "Everyone knows that. It's a law of the universe. This universe, anyway."

"Oh, good," Jason finally grinned. "It's Linkin Part time. Just downloaded the latest album."

"Joy." The first sign of annoyance finally flashed over Dick's face. "Heavy metal in the morning."

"Better than your old man eighties crap." Jason was about to correct him that Linkin Park was not metal but thought better of it. "So what are we looking at in Dallas?"

"I'm thinking... White Rock Lake Park? They have bike trails, canoeing, hiking..."

"Are we on a road trip or are you reciting your online dating profile?"

Dick threw a piece of hash-brown at him. "Alright, well what do you want to do in Dallas?"

"Go to clubs, eat a lot of Mexican food, drink mojitos..."

He almost added 'go to gun ranges', but even at this distance it felt disrespectful. In preparation for his tenure as Robin, his father had taught him how to work with almost every conceivable weapon, including fire arms, no matter how distasteful he himself found them. And Jason had been good; he knew that. He also knew that Bruce had gone through the no-doubt emotionally painful exercise because he thought there was a chance the knowledge might one day save Jason's life.

It hadn't, but that was not really the point.

Until his return, Jason hadn't really understand why his father felt the way he did about fire arms. Alright, so Thomas and Martha Waynes had technically been killed by bullets from a gun, but then John and Mary Grayson had fallen to their deaths in the circus. That hadn't stopped Dick from jumping across rooftops at night or even returning to the trapeze every once in a while.

But now, years later, Jason finally understood.

It had taken seeing his father's face when he had a gun pointed at himself, but he understood.