It was the first call that started everything.

The Gotham City Police made the call at three in the morning, just when the Batman was turning in after a slow night. They had called to inform him that Jason Todd's grave had been robbed earlier in that night. Before leaving for the cemetery, Bruce checked the sensors on the coffin. They all remained silent up until ten minutes ago when the police started investigating the violated grave of his child.

How could he have been so stupid?

Alfred joined him in the cemetery. They both stood hidden from the icy cold rain under large black umbrellas. The old oak tree creaked and swayed in the wind above them, its branches bear except for one stubborn red leaf clinging desperately to the wood. Rotting brown leaves littered the muddy ground, hiding some grave markers from plain sight. A large black crow watched the humans with interest from its perch within the hollow of the old oak tree.

Alfred was in his finely pressed suit, his leather shoes splattered with mud and his skin paler than ever. His shoulders dropped under the weight of the jacket, his mustache limp and shapeless. Bruce had thrown on pair of worn jeans and a black rain jacket. So distracted by the phone call, he almost left the house without shoes before Alfred called him back. His stance was loose and tired but his eyes were sharp as he watched the police work. The crime scene investigators moved quickly under a large, white tent as they attempted to salvage what little evidence remained before the autumn rain washed it all away.

Bruce couldn't focus on the detective speaking to him. Eric Cohen, one of the more recent additions to the GCPD. His partner Andi Kasinsky was hovering over the investigators. Whatever Detective Cohen was saying to him wasn't registering in Bruce's mind. All he could focus on was the grave. The soil had been tossed around by the investigators long before he and Alfred arrived. They had pulled out shovels to begin excavating the coffin. The headstone remained untouched.

Here Lies Jason Todd

How could he have been so stupid as to let this happen? He couldn't protect Jason in life and he couldn't protect him in death. When it came to Jason, Bruce could never be strong enough. All he could do was fail miserably.

Alfred took over and spoke with Detective Cohen. If Bruce looked hard enough, he would see the strain at the corner of Alfred's mouth, the way his hand clenched the umbrella as if it somehow kept him grounded. Alfred couldn't let himself disconnect like Bruce did but he had to fight to stay grounded. But to see a child's grave violated like that, especially a child who had wormed his way into Alfred's heart like the charismatic rascal he was, made his heart break into a million tiny fragments.

"Come, Master Bruce," Alfred's hand was on his shoulder. Bruce couldn't get his feet to move.

Detective Cohen stepped in front of the grave, blocking it from his sight. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Wayne," Detective Cohen's words finally sunk in past his mind's barriers. "I want you to know that the GCPD will do everything in its power to find your son and return him to you."

"Yes, thank you." Bruce was on autopilot, his mind a mess. He let Alfred steer him to the car and sat silently throughout the car ride back to Wayne Manor.

It was several hours later after the second call that Bruce remembered Detective Cohen's unusual choice of words when referring to Jason Todd's body.

The second call led to a miracle.

It came almost 38 hours after the first call. Detective Cohen asked Bruce to meet him at Gotham General Hospital in the trauma wing. He refused to explain over the phone, he just said that it was relevant to his investigation and he needed Bruce's eyes.

Alfred drove him to the hospital. Bruce had gone for almost 56 hours without sleep. For over thirty hours since the first phone call, the Batman reviewed evidence the CSI's had collected and searched through surveillance footage from the area around the cemetery. He ignored Alfred's pleading for rest and plowed on in his investigation. Alfred, worried that his employer and friend's mental sharpness was failing, insisted he drive to the hospital. However, he used the excuse that he wished to be involved in the investigation as well. Jason was like a grandson. It's only normal that a grandparent wished to be involved.

Bruce was silent throughout the drive. The scenery blurred past as they drove. Naked trees morphed into soot-stained buildings which became towering glass buildings. Without the Batman to hide behind, he felt so exposed and vulnerable. When Jason's body was stolen, they had violated Bruce Wayne as well.

Upon arriving at Gotham General, the two men were directed to the fourth floor of building B where the recovery rooms for trauma patients were located. Detective Cohen and his partner stood at the end of the hallway. The light from the florescent bulbs bounced off the stark white walls and built on the sense of cool detachment that all hospitals gave. Alfred adjusted his gloves as the frosty temperature nipped at his exposed skin. The detectives nodded in greeting.

"Detective," Bruce's voice was even but cold. He did not appreciate the lack of explanation. "Why did you call me down here?"

Cohen recognized the steel behind the man's voice and quickly replied. "Sorry to bother you so early, Mr. Wayne. I heard from Detective Bartlett about a case he just got yesterday. An unidentified teenaged boy was found a few miles west. There was something he said before they induced a medical coma that made me think of you. I was wondering if you could take a look and tell me if you recognize this boy?"

Cohen jerked his head to the window beside door 418. A pale boy lay in the hospital bed. His eyes were covered with gauze and fresh white bandages were wrapped around his head, showing only a tuft of dark hair at the nape of his neck. There were so many wires, tubes, and bandages around the boy's face that Alfred couldn't get a good look.

"I can't tell," Alfred murmured. But Cohen was watching Bruce carefully. The taller man had gone still, his eyes trained directly on the figure in the bed.

"Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce pushed the door open and stepped inside to the chilly room. The two men watched as the tall, broad man picked up one of the boy's heavily bandaged hands and lightly brushed his fingers over the skin of the forearm. His fingers paused about halfway up and trailed the slightly raised skin of an old scar. Bruce's hands became frantic and he yanked at the collar of the green hospital gown. Detective Kasinsky yelped in alarm and barged into the room, Alfred and Detective Cohen at his heels.

Bruce shrugged off the officer's hands and skimmed his fingers over the boy's collarbone. That place triggered something in Alfred's head. It was a thought that he should know exactly why Bruce was searching at the collarbone.

Large pale hands gripped the bandage hand of the boy tightly. Bruce was hunched over the bed, Alfred and the detectives hovering around the room.

His head rose slightly and Alfred caught a glimpse of unshed tears in those sea blue eyes. For the first time in five months, Alfred saw the real Bruce Wayne. He saw the vulnerable man under the symbol with a shattered heart and a scarred body. But the look in his eyes was not sorrowful or angry or any of the many corrupting emotions the Batman was privy to. It was an emotion Alfred had not seen since before Master Bruce was eight years old and one night changed everything: hope.

"Alfred," his voice shook dangerously close to the verge of breaking. "Tell me you see what I see."

The older man gently pulled down the shirt collar. The boy remained quiet and still as Alfred scrutinized the boy's marred flesh. Just below the collarbone near the shoulder was an ugly raised scar that spread like spider legs across the pale skin. Alfred recognized the scar from how many times he tended that very same wound after the thirteen year old was shot taking down a gang in Gotham's East End.

"My word," his chest shook as he exhaled, holding in the sobs he so desperately wanted to release. "It can't be."

Detective Cohen observed the two men closely, taking in their reactions and facial expressions. Their reactions were too real. This was why he kept silent about the reason for calling Bruce Wayne to the hospital. He needed to know that these men were in no way responsible for burying the teenager alive. "He kept repeating one word before they put him into a medically induced coma," Cohen's eyes focused on Wayne, carefully examining the man's body posture. "He kept saying the name 'Bruce.' He said it was his father."

Bruce Wayne's breath hitched and his hand clenched tightly around the boy's cold hand. The detective's expression relaxed as he felt the air in the room change. As a detective in the Major Crimes unit, Cohen was used to tension, pain, sorrow and despair. The emotions in the room were different, warm and comforting. The desire for this sort of miracle was what made Cohen join the police force.

"It's just not possible. How can this be?" the old butler was arranging the blankets higher on the boy's chest. His hands were shaking as if desperate for something to do.

"That's what we're going to find out," Cohen reassured. "Of course, our main priority is catching the monster that did this. First though, we're going to need some physical proof. Would you have a hair brush or a toothbrush that might have some DNA? We just have to be sure he is who we think he is."

Alfred nodded sharply, not trusting himself to speak without breaking down. Bruce had a little more faith in himself.

"It's him," there was no doubt in his words or expression. The man was absolutely certain of the boy's identity. "I don't know how or why, but it's him. He's Jason Todd. He's my son."

Three weeks after being found collapsed on an isolated road 12 miles from the Gotham Cemetery; Jason Todd emerged from his coma. His identity was withheld from hospital staff and all but a select few of the GCPD. His attempted murderer was still unidentified so Detective Cohen and Commissioner Gordon masked the boy's identity to protect his life. They had hoped that upon waking he would be able to name his attack.

To the dismay of everyone, but especially Bruce Wayne, the damage Jason's brain had sustained was too severe. The nearly sixteen year old boy had completely lost the ability to speak. Furthermore, he had lost sense of the world in an autistic effect brought upon by brain damage. He ate, he covered himself when cold, and he could do the most basic of survival instincts. But his abilities to think abstractly and to feel emotions had been locked away, leaving the boy a shell of his former passionate, vibrant self.

At the end of his fourth week, Jason returned to the manor. Detectives Cohen and Kaspinsky dropped him off at Wayne Manor. It would create too much attention if Bruce Wayne or his butler picked up an unknown trauma victim from the hospital. The detectives left after promising to continue their investigation, one that both Alfred and Bruce knew would lead to dead ends.

Jason was settled into his old room, dressed in his old clothes, and bathed in his old shampoo. Yet his mind remained shut to the outside world. While Alfred tirelessly took care of the boy who needed near 24 hour watch, Bruce pulled away. He allowed Jason's silent presence in his office but avoided looking at the boy he barely recognized. He found himself unable to speak to a son who could not reply. Alfred tried his best, but he was a poor substitute to a boy who trailed after Bruce like a shadow.

"Master Bruce," the tall dark haired man maintained a steady gaze on the screen before him but paused in typing. "I need your help, sir."

"What is it?"

"I seem to have lost Master Jason, again."

Bruce exhaled heavily and pulled up a program he had been using rather often in the past week. The tracer Bruce had implanted under the skin of Jason's left wrist indicated that the teenager was still in the manor.

"He's still in the building, I'm sure you'll find him." Bruce stood up and tugged his cowl over his head. The cape swept behind him dramatically when he turned to the Batmobile. His footsteps echoed around the cave. "I have work to do. I can't keep chasing after him every time he wanders off."

"Perhaps," the disappointment in Alfred's voice echoed across the cave. "He would not feel the need to search for you if his father was around more often."

Alfred's words were like a parasite to the guilt he already carried following Jason's death. Yes, the boy was Jason. But he wasn't the Jason that Bruce remembered. Jason had always been so passionate; his emotions were painted across his face. When he wanted to talk, there was no stopping him. To see the proud and passionate boy so silent fed the growing sense of guilt in Bruce's heart. That was why he hid himself under the mask of the Batman. The Batman had no guilt.

However, sometimes even the Batman could not completely swallow his guilt. He was merciless on the thugs, taking out his inner pain on a physical opponent. Later Bruce would lament over his loss of control and the violence in which he dispatched the criminals.

A figure sitting on the black leather chair at the computer console caught his attention upon arriving back in the Cave. Jason's thin frame was dwarfed by the size of the chair he had curled up in. A fuzzy green blanket Bruce recognized from his bedroom was haphazardly tugged over his body. His son's face was relaxed, his mouth hanging partially open in his sleep.

His son.

He pulled back the cowl and gently picked up the boy, careful not to jostle him too much. Jason felt small in his arms. It hit him at that moment. The problem that had been nagging at the back of his head for the past month came to the forefront of his mind. Bruce had been struggling with where this new Jason fit in his life. Perhaps he feared adapting to the shell that had become his son and forgetting the vibrant young man he was becoming before death. He had taken the street rat off the streets to fly as Robin. This broken bird couldn't fly anymore. He couldn't be Batman's partner Robin. He wasn't a partner to fight beside anymore; he was a son to protect.

Later, when he reviewed the surveillance footage, Bruce would watch how Jason stumbled into the Batcave by himself, trailing the green blanket behind him. He would watch as Jason settled into the soft leather and stared at the computer screens as the live video feed from his cowl played. Then he would realize that to Jason he wasn't just Batman or Bruce. He was something more. That small, hopeful voice in the back of his mind that whispered the word he dared not say: father. As a father, he needed to be there for his son, to protect him as he could no longer protect himself. Jason was not the same boy he used to be, and they still had no idea what miracle or curse brought him back to life, but he was still Jason. The only thing different was that this Jason didn't need Batman at all, he just needed Bruce Wayne.

What Bruce didn't need was Alfred's "I told you so" look when he carried his son to bed.

It was the call from Dick Grayson that he ignored.

Of course, Bruce was completely unaware that the caller was Dick. Alfred was out shopping for groceries at the farmer's market. The irritating ringing of the telephone drifted through the glass doors to the indoor pool. Bruce ignored it. He had Jason floating on his back in the warm water. The boy was completely relaxed with his eyes closed and head tilted into the warm water with Bruce's hands lightly touching his back.

It was a rare sunny day during a Gotham autumn and the rays of light streamed in through the glass walls. The light darted across the rippling water like fireflies. When a patch of light drifted over Jason, Bruce noticed a slight turn of the lips. He had started to recognize Jason's stunted facial expressions after all the time he had started spending with his newly resurrected son. He had been putting off Wayne Enterprises and Batman work but the guilt was minor.

Some things were more important than others. Bruce had just started to realize that.

However, by ignoring the calls on the house phone, his cellphone, his business phone, and even the Batcave phone, Bruce had greatly worried his former ward. Not to say that Bruce and Dick were especially chummy. Since their argument in the Batcave a month after Jason's death, the two preferred to stay out of each other's way.

Dick was somewhat worried though. Batman hadn't been very visible for the past two weeks. In fact, he'd been downright non-existent. Bruce Wayne had also fallen off Gotham's front page. Dick could only come to two conclusions about the disappearance of Batman: either Bruce was dead or he was on his deathbed. Neither one was a pleasant thought. Taking a short leave from the Titans, Dick flew over to Gotham that very day.

"Master Richard!" Alfred's voice was mildly surprised when he opened the door for Bruce's wayward ward. "This is quite a surprise. I didn't expect you until 'Hell freezes over'."

Dick winced at the reminder of one of his worst moments. "Well, you know me Alfred. I have a problem holding grudges. Can I come in?"

"Of course." The entrance hall looked the same: spotless and impeccably decorated. It was nostalgic.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Alfred. I came by to talk to Bruce. Is he around?"

Alfred's eyebrow rose slightly in surprise, "Are you sure that is wise, Master Richard?"

Dick shrugged, "Nope, but it's time that we started working things out, right?"

"That is very mature of you. He is in the library. I wish you luck," Dick paused down the hall when Alfred called his name. "Please stay for dinner tonight. It would be lovely to have the whole family together."

"Sure," Dick agreed. He mulled over the emphasis that Alfred used in his request, but quickly discarded the thought when he arrived at the library doors. Bruce wasn't very fond of the library, perhaps something to do with his parent's love of literature, so it was unusual to find him sorting through a pile of novels at the reading desk. A fire roared behind him in the ancient stone fireplace, illuminating the room in an orange glow.

"Dick," Bruce's voice was frosty in his greeting.

The younger man winced but plowed ahead, "Bruce. We need to talk."

"It can wait until later," Bruce continued flipping through the books. Dick's eyes wandered over the titles and covers, they were all young adult adventure or mystery books. Why was Bruce sorting them?

"It's waited long enough," Dick's tanned hand slammed down on the worn cover of one of the Harry Potter books. The sound echoed throughout the silent room. "We can't keep doing this. I need you to stop avoiding me so that we can work this out."

Bruce straightened to his full height and glared down at the acrobat, "I am not avoiding anyone. I had plans today. You are interrupting them."

"Plans?" Dick scoffed. "Are you delivering books to the public library? Reading to children?"

Bruce's sea blue eyes stared past Dick to a silent figure standing in the shadows of the book racks, "No, just one."

"What-?" Dick jerked around in surprise and stumbled into the desk at the shock of figure standing behind him. The inky black hair was shorter and a thin line had been shaved just above his forehead, but it still had a slight curl. The nose was crooked at the exactly right angle. The shoulders slouched in precisely the right way. The height, weight, skin tone, eye color were all the same as they were last time he saw Jason Todd. There was just something different. Something his tunnel vision wouldn't let him see.

"Ja-Jason?" Dick gasped and stumbled forward, clapping his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Jason? Is that you?"

The boy stared at him blankly.

"Yes, Dick. It's him." Bruce's voice was fuzzy and distant in his head. All he could focus on was the younger boy. This was his brother who was once dead and buried. The boy who was a brother only on paper. The brother he never got to know. He pulled the boy into a crushing hug, sobbing into his hair.

Dick didn't realize that Jason never hugged him back until Bruce pulled him off the younger boy.

"Bruce! What's going on? How is this possible?" Dick reached out to grab Jason again. His fingers itched to run over Jason's face and make sure the boy was alive and well.

"I don't know," Dick's fingers paused in their twitching at the admission. His sky blue eyes gazed up at his mentor in confusion.

"Wait … You don't know? Tell me everything."

So Bruce did. How he got the call from the police about his son's grave being robbed. How he arrived at the hospital after another call to find his son's body breathing again. How during Jason's recovery in the hospital, Batman worked tirelessly on the case. With he and Alfred feeding them false information, the police concluded that the body buried six months ago was not Jason Todd. Instead, Jason had been held captive by terrorists who tortured and attempted to kill him by burying him alive in his own grave. There were giant, gaping holes in the story, but it was the most logical explanation the detectives could come up with until new evidence came to light.

"And the truth?"

Bruce's eyes were tired and worn. He had been mulling over the truth for many sleepless nights. "Five months after he died, Jason crawled out of his own grave and walked twelve miles until some concerned citizens found him. I've done all possible tests, Dick. Whatever brought him back didn't leave a trace on his body."

"Did you ask Jason?" Dick gestured to the shorter boy who had been unusually silent throughout the conversation. Jason didn't even blink when Dick's fingers waved too close to his face.

"Jason can't talk, Dick." Bruce's tone of disappointment wasn't directed at either of his sons but at the situation. "The brain damage from the Joker's beating and suffocation in the grave was too great. Modern medicine can only do so much." Neither man noticed how Jason's fingers twitched at the mention of the Joker.

"No …." Dick's heart clenched and he staggered forward to Jason. His hand's held the boy's scarred face still and Dick leaned forward until they were nearly touching noses. "No! Jason has to talk! He has to be fine! Come on Jaybird! Say something!"

At first, Dick thought Jason was staring right at him, challenging him like normal. But when the silence pressed on, Dick realized that the boy's eyes were seeing through him.

"No! It's not fair!" sobs tore from his throat and he embraced the motionless boy again. Thick salty tears stained the collar of Jason's dark green shirt. "Jason has to talk …. He loves to talk!"

"Yes, he did." Bruce's massive hands rested on both of his son's backs. It was comforting, but Dick didn't miss the use of past tense. "But Jason also loves swimming and listening to adventure stories. I was just about to read to him."

Dick pulled back and stared at the novel Bruce held in his hands. It was Peter and Wendy by J. M. Barrie; a fitting story about a young boy who would never grow up. Dick joined Jason on the sofa and Bruce settled into the soft armchair by the fireplace. Gently coaxing Jason to lie on his back with his head on Dick's lap, Dick lightly brushed his fingers through his brother's inky curls. Bruce's voice washed over him in comfort, lifting his mind into a quiet and dulling fog. Dick wanted to forget about what he had just learned, but Jason's head felt like a lead weight on his legs, grounding him in reality.

It was the call at the door that released the hidden rage.

Dick remained at the Manor for a week. He and Bruce were slowly regaining the comfort they used to have in each other's presence. However, Jason was their main focus. Bruce had a lineup of the world's most qualified brain surgeons parade through the house. Each and every one left with the same news.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne," they would say. "There is nothing we can do to bring your son back to normal."

Bruce labored over medical textbooks, MRI scans, and brain function tests late into the night, all in an effort to find anything to improve his son's condition. Dick wandered the hallways of the Manor and the streets of Gotham. His excuses for disappearing became increasingly more bizarre, but he couldn't stand the thick tension with Bruce and Jason's ghostly stare.

Alfred was the only one who seemed content with the situation. Of course, having the old Jason back would be best, but the old butler wasn't bothered by the changes. There were small pieces here and there when the old Jason would surface. Alfred could see it in the way his body leaned forward when sports were on the television or how he hovered around the kitchen when food was being prepared. Jason was still there, he was just more subdued and quiet then before.

They were in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Alfred had just finished mixing up a batch of pumpkin cookies. Jason was sitting at the breakfast bar, watching with glazed eyes as Alfred dropped globs of orange batter on a cookie sheet. Alfred jumped and nearly dropped the tray when the doorbell echoed through the entrance hall. He quickly put the tray in the oven and set the timer.

"Please mind the cookies for me, Master Jason." The request came out as a reflex. Some old habits never seem to disappear completely.

Alfred left the kitchen and opened the front door to find a young boy standing on the doorstep.

"Can I help you, young man?"

"I hope so," the boy's accent was upper class Gotham with fine and clear pronunciation. He was well dressed in expensive brand label clothing. His glossy dark hair and baby smooth skin gave the impression that the boy was well cared for regardless of his small, thin stature. "I'm looking for Mr. Wayne. My name is Timothy Drake."

"I'm afraid Master Bruce is unavailable tonight." Aka, he's parading around Gotham dressed as a giant bat.

"Hmmm …. He's out early," the boy murmured to himself. Alfred blinked at the oddity of the statement. "I really do need to speak with him. Is there any way I can get in touch with him?"

"I can leave your message for him and he will be able to respond to you tomorrow morning."

"I kind of need to talk to him now. It's about his night job."

Alfred's butler training was the only thing that kept him from taking a step back. "I am afraid that I am unsure of what you speak of. Now, if you please leave your number-"

"Who's at the door, Alfred?" Dick was still in his workout clothes when he wandered into the entrance hall.

"Oh, wow! Richard Grayson!" Tim Drake rushed passed Alfred and skidded to a stop in front of Dick. "I've wanted to meet you forever! Of course, we've already met but that was a really long time ago and I figured that you forgot. Not that I can blame you-"

"Whoa! Hold up there kid! Explain slowly, please."

"Right," the boy looked rather small and skinny next to Dick's form. "My name is Tim Drake and I guess that I should ask you now since you're here and all. I wasn't expecting this. Anyways, you need to be Robin again!"

The room was silent. The only noise came from the whistling of the wind outside and the creak of the trees as they swayed back and forth outside the large glass windows. Alfred's face was white as a sheet and Dick looked like he was trying to swallow a lemon.

"I have no idea what you're on about," Dick's laugh was jerky and forced. "I think you should probably go."

"I know that you were Robin and now you're Nightwing," Tim stood his ground against the tension in the room. "I met you that night at the circus. The night your parents …" Tim trailed off at the look on Dick's face but plowed on with his story. "Anyways, you got adopted by Bruce Wayne. Then a Robin who can do a quadruple somersault – a move only three people in the world can do, including Richard Grayson – appears. It wasn't really that hard to figure out."

Dick crossed his arms over his chest, "What do you want again?"

"Exactly what I just said. I'm worried about Batman. He's so angry all the time. He needs Robin to be his light. He needs you."

"I've put Robin behind me," Dick's eyes narrowed at the bright-eyed, bushy-tail look that Tim Drake had. "It's someone else's mantle now."

Tim deflated at Dick's icy response, "I know about Jason Todd. But Robin can't just disappear. Robin is a symbol, just like Batman. Gotham needs Robin too."

"Like I said," Dick shrugged in nonchalance but his eyes were sharp and focused. He clearly did not care for the topic of conversation. "Robin doesn't belong to me anymore. It's not my decision. Why bother me about this now?"

Tim seemed upset by Dick's frosty attitude, "Because Batman is walking into Two-Face's trap! You need to help him!"

Dick was studying the young teenager in front of him while mulling over the boy's words. The lull in conversation allowed Alfred's nose to alert him to the sweet scent of pumpkin spices wafting in through the kitchen door. The clock in the hall showed that the cookies had been done several minutes ago.

"My goodness!" Alfred scurried back into the kitchen, fretting over why the oven timer didn't sound. When he got to the kitchen, the tray of perfectly baked cookies was cooling on the stovetop and the timer turned off. Alfred turned to the boy sitting at the breakfast bar, "Master Jason did you …." The oven mitts were still on Jason's hands.

Alfred swallowed thickly and gently slid the oven mitts off Jason's hands. The boy's interest was further past Alfred, through the kitchen and out the front door. Jason's mind was somewhere that only he could go. Yet, every now and then Alfred would get a sign that perhaps the boy wasn't as far gone as everyone thought he was.

Several minutes later, leaving Jason to watch over another batch of cookies, Alfred found the entrance hall empty and quiet.

"Master Richard?"

There was no response to his call and Alfred searched the rooms one by one. He paused in the doorway of the office and studied the grandfather clock before following his instincts. The roar of a motorcycle bounced off the cave walls and Alfred hurried down the last few steps.

"Master Drake!" Tim Drake was balanced on one of Dick's old motorcycles wearing a Robin suit that Jason outgrew when he was twelve. Tim either ignored the butler or didn't hear him over the machine's rumblings. The boy was awkward and dwarfed by the machine but he still managed to steer the motorcycle out of the cave. The only traces of Dick's former presence in the Cave were a trail of tire treads leading out and the missing Nightwing suit.

"Oh dear," Alfred groaned

Alfred was waiting down in the Batcave when Nightwing roared into the cave, followed closely by the Batmobile. Jason was out of bed again, no doubt lurking about the cave as he did nearly every night Batman went out. The old butler tried not to worry too much, the tracers still had him in the Manor's area and the boy tended to stick with his patterns.

Both doors of the car opened and Tim Drake, still dressed as Robin stumbled out of the passenger side. Nightwing was smirking at Tim's shell-shocked expression but busied himself with removing a destroyed motorcycle from the trunk of the car. Batman ignored both young men and hung up his cowl before moving to the computer.

Tim trotted after him, "Mr. Wayne, please! I know that I can be of help to you. Just give me a chance. With your training, I know that I can really make a difference!"

"No!" Bruce snapped. Alfred had to give credit to the boy; he didn't cower under the force of Bruce's glare. "I will not allow another boy to be hurt. Take off the uniform."

"Batman needs a Robin!" There was a sense of desperation in Tim's voice that made Alfred sigh. Perhaps the boy was right and Batman did need Robin. Unfortunately, Batman was rather picky about his birds and Bruce was rather sentimental about his sons.

"Batman has a Robin!" Dick frowned at Bruce's response and Tim took a slight step back. "And he will need that uniform when he's ready to wear it again."

"Bruce, I hope that you're not talking about me," Dick put his hands on his hips as if to make the blue bird more prominent on his chest.

"No."

"Good, cause that makes total sense. You're talking about the other Robin who – wait, you're not seriously thinking…" Alfred glanced up in alarm, catching on to what Dick was implying.

"No! Of course not!" Bruce's exasperation at the situation was reaching maximum levels. "I'm just keeping the option open."

"For what? If he gets better?" Dick snapped, his hands waved wildly to emphasize how insane he thought the man was. "Bruce, did you not listen to any of the doctors? He's not going to get better! It's already a miracle that he's alive, why do you have to expect so much from him? Look, Tim's got skills and talent. He really did help you out there. He doesn't have to be Robin; we can come up with a new name."

Tim frowned in confusion as the two men argued. Things weren't making any sense. Who else would Mr. Wayne have selected for Robin? Maybe his information wasn't as recent as he thought it was. Batman had been somewhat absent for the past two weeks, perhaps he was training someone? Obviously, Dick didn't approve of whatever Mr. Wayne was doing. Their argument was getting more heated and Tim thought that Mr. Pennyworth might step in. Instead, the older man was staring at Tim with wide eyes. Something tugged on his cape.

Tim turned around to face a tall, handsome teenager gripping the edge of the cape. Conversation in the cave died and Tim could feel the stares of the other occupants on them. Even the Batman watching him couldn't shake Tim from the distorted reality he had found himself in. He knew this boy. He had seen him in a tux at Gotham's elite parties and flying over rooftops dressed in red, green, and yellow. He had the same high cheekbones and untamed hair. This was Jason Todd. That couldn't be possible though, because Jason Todd was supposed to be dead.

Tim's sharp eyes picked up on something being completely wrong with the boy. Although well cared for, his face was gaunt and hollow like an insomniac haunted by nightmares. His stare was unfocused, his eyes glazed over. The scarring on his face and at his temple told the story and Tim's keen mind put the pieces of the tale of Jason Todd in place. The teenager was physically in the cave but not altogether there as brain damage had chased away his mind. But the grip his large hands had on the yellow cape was surprisingly strong; Tim couldn't tug the material out of Jason's hands.

"Jason?" Dick's voice was soft and mellow, cautious to not provoke the mysterious boy. "Let go of the cape."

The scarred hands tightened around the material, the fabric bunching in his grip.

The first Robin moved slowly towards his successor and reached for the hand gripping the yellow cape. He was so focused on watching Jason's body language that he didn't bother to look at the eyes. However, Alfred noticed the unusual sharpness and clarity that shone in the teenager's normally dull eyes. He noticed the way they focused on Dick's hand.

"Master Richard, I don't think you –"

It happened in a flash. Jason's elbow caught Dick right in the stomach and knocked the breath right out of him. Taking advantage of his winded opponent, a leg flew up in a roundhouse kick to catch Dick in the side and sent him soaring several feet. Batman moved hesitantly, unsure whether to help Jason or stop him and more than a little overwhelmed by his son's familiar movements. Jason's hands twisted around the cape's fabric and he spun his body, swinging Tim Drake right off his feet.

Batman jumped back to avoid Tim's legs and stepped to the side in Jason's blind spot before gliding forward. Tim was gasping for breath as the collar of the cape tightened dangerously around his windpipe. Dick, having caught his breath, noticed Batman's movements and jumped forward to clutch Jason's arms. Bruce wrapped his arms around the second Robin's chest and trapped the boy's arms to his sides.

Jason struggled wildly as Dick and Bruce worked to free the Drake boy from his grasp. His head thrashed from side to side, his eyes bright and frantic. Dick cursed when a well placed kick found the gap between the armored padding over his shin. Finger by finger, Dick slowly pried the yellow cape from his brother's grip.

Tim gasped for air and stumbled against the Batmobile, warily eyeing the teenager. Jason had gone limp in Bruce's arms but his eyes remained fixed on the uniform Tim was wearing. The first Robin had backed away and placed himself firmly between Jason and Tim.

"Master Drake," Alfred murmured, gently touching Tim's elbow to grab his attention. "Perhaps it is best if we get you out of that uniform."

Tim released a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping when he realized that his life was no longer in danger. He was disappointed that the uniform had to come off but the stare boring into his head stopped him from protesting. The intensity in the formerly-dead Robin's eyes raised the fine hairs on his arms and neck. Tim wiped his sweaty hands on his thighs and nodded at the butler, following him into the changing room area.

The second that yellow cape disappeared the tension in Jason's body seeped out of the boy's muscles, leaving him slumped against the Dark Knight. Dick hesitated before completely backing away. He could still see a flicker of intensity under the foggy glaze that had been pulled over Jason's eyes.

"Well," Dick sighed and gently pulled off his domino mask, rubbing at the spirit gum that still stuck to his skin. "That was unexpected."

Bruce didn't respond. Instead, he gently spun Jason around and scanned his son's face. His eyes had lost focus and the muscles in his jaw were had slackened. Yet there was intensity to his stare that Bruce had not seen since before he buried his Robin. But the intensity was directed beyond Bruce, beyond the Cave, perhaps even beyond the physical world. Bruce couldn't be sure where exactly Jason's mind had hidden itself but here was proof that he wasn't completely lost.

"Bruce?" Dick leaned around Jason, trying to see what had captivated his mentor.

"It's nothing," Bruce gripped the shorter boy on the shoulder and steered him towards the stairs leading up to the Manor. "Make sure the boy gets home safe. I will put Jason to bed."

Ignoring the stare of his first protégée, Bruce directed the second one up to the Manor. Still dressed as Batman, he stepped lightly and silently over the old hardwood floors. His sharp ears picked up the silence of the boy beside him. Jason matched each step in complete and perfect silence, echoing the training he had received years ago. His muscles were relaxed and loose but there was alertness to the tilt of his head as if he was waiting for movement.

Reaching Jason's room, Bruce pulled back the green duvet and waited for the boy to snuggle down into the mattress. He pulled off one of his gloves and gently ran his hand through the boy's shaggy curls. Jason's eyes slowly closed and his breathing evened out as sleep overtook him.

Jason was still there, trapped within his body. There were so many bits and pieces that Bruce was starting to recognize as things that Jason used to love. He loved reading and sports; he had a habit of helping Alfred around the house and making consistent visits to Bruce's office. But beyond everything else, Jason loved being Robin the most. Tonight had proven that the real Jason was still there, trapped somewhere under his outer shell.

The only problem was how to get him out.

An unexpected call from the Middle East provided a solution for his problem.

Bruce was preparing to leave for Gotham when the call came in on his computer. The sun had set many hours ago and the scum of the city were filtering out onto the streets into the safety of the shadows. Jason was in bed, for however long he stayed asleep before moving down to the Cave to watch the Batman's live feed. Dick was out with Barbara Gordon and Tim Drake. Barbara had agreed to train Tim in computer surveillance after Bruce requested her assistance with the boy. She had agreed with Bruce, to Tim's dismay, that another Robin would be foolish.

Dressed and prepared for his night job, the Batman was ready to leave when the computer indicated an incoming call from a blocked number. Well aware that the ones who had his number would never block it, Bruce was able to narrow the caller's identity to a very small and selective club of resourceful people.

"Hello, Ra's."

The immortal's face was smoother and fresher than the last time he had faced the leader of the League of Assassins. The cracked leather skin had cleared up and the sagging wrinkles around his eyes and mouth were gone. Ra's al Ghul had recently made use of one of the many Lazarus Pits that he controlled around the world.

"Detective," Ra's greeted. His eyes took in the fully dressed Batman. "I see you are going out tonight."

Bruce didn't hear a question. "What do you want?"

"Straight to the chase as usual. I wish to make a deal with you."

"What about?"

"I heard that your partner had been killed several months ago," Bruce's finger hovered threateningly over the keyboard. "I also have heard from my sources that he has returned to life, but damaged."

The League of Assassins had spies all over Gotham City and Bruce suspected that at least half of them were to keep an eye on his family. "What about him?"

"I have been having some … negotiation problems with Lex Luthor. I seek to rectify these problems and I don't want you interfering. In exchange for you not getting involved I am offering you the use of one of my Lazarus Pits."

Bruce was silent, the wheels of his brain turning at super speed. Ra's had just offered one of his beloved Pits to be used on Jason. To make such an offer, he must have desperately wanted Batman out of the way. Whatever Ra's and Luthor were planning had to be big and dangerous. He was aware of a team up between Luthor and the League but he was unaware of how much the agreement had broken down. People could get hurt. Cities destroyed in an act of revenge. As Batman, he knew that he should reject the offer.

But Jason, what about Jason?

Shortly after his son's death and smothered under his own guilt and sorrow, Bruce had considered putting Jason in one of the Pits himself. Worried that his injuries had been too much for a complete recovery, he discarded the thought. Now, with the real Jason trapped behind the scarred tissue and damaged nerves in his brain, a Lazarus Pit might actually finish the job of whatever it was that brought him back.

Even if Bruce did not deserve a second chance with his son, did Jason not deserve a second chance at life?

Ra's was waiting, his face impassive as the silence stretched on. Finally, the Batman's head rose and he nodded once. "Give me the coordinates."

The Demon's Head smirked.

Five hours later, Batman was gently lowering a teenager out of the Batplane. They were deep within the Black Forest of Germany, just outside a crumbling, abandoned stone cottage. The wooden door and roof had long since rotted away but beneath the remains was a long stone staircase that disappeared into the darkness deep under the earth.

There was a buzz in his ear as his comm unit was hacked and turned on.

"What the hell are you doing, Bruce?" Dick roared into his ear. He could hear a feminine voice murmuring in the background. Dick and Barbara were there, possibly Tim Drake as well. "You made a deal with Ra's al Ghul? And seriously? You're going to use a Lazarus Pit on Jason? Are you on something?"

"My mind is perfectly clear," Bruce growled. They were wasting precious time.

"You do remember that anyone who comes out of the Pit ends up a little crazy right? And Jason wasn't exactly the definition of sane to begin with."

"Shut up," Bruce hissed. Jason was shivering in the cold wind. He needed to get the boy out of the weather now.

"What? It's true! Be honest with yourself, Bruce. Jason might just turn against you."

Bruce could see it. The possibility had been eating away at his mind for hours. He mulled over what he would do if Jason came out of the Pit insane and foaming with rage. It took him some time but he came up with an honest answer.

"If he does, I would never regret it. I would rather have a hateful and insane Jason than one who is an empty shell."

The comm was silent. "I don't understand," Dick admitted.

"One day, Dick, when you have children of your own, you will understand how far a father will go for his son." Bruce pulled out the comm and crushed it between his fingers. No more distractions.

Bruce pulled his son down the steps, Jason trailing after him in a pair of black sweatpants and a thick red sweater. A green glow crawled up the passageway from the very bottom and the detective found a deep pit of glowing green water the size of a small yacht. Stalactites the length of a car hung from the ceiling of the cave, drops of moisture running down each stone formation to drop steadily into the green liquid. There was a shuffle in the darkest part of the room and a slight squeak of protest from the colony of bats that had made their home in the cave. No sign of human life. Perhaps Ra's may have actually been truthful.

Bruce quickly stripped out of his suit down to his black silk boxers and did the same to Jason. The icy cold of the room seeped into their veins and Jason shivered violently. Before his death, Jason would have loudly complained about the temperature and asked what the hell where they doing so far from civilization. At the time, Bruce had found his comments endearing, if sometimes irritating as the boy couldn't focus on the task at hand. But as the silence dragged on and Jason's voice remained unheard, Bruce's resolve hardened.

He scooped up his son into his arms and stopped right at the edge of the Pit and knelt down. His arms strained from holding out the weight of a body but he ignored it. "This is it Jason. I'm going to be right here with you."

Jason gave no indication that he heard.

Bruce dunked him under the green water. His legs and arms flailed wildly as the boy struggled to reach the surface but still Bruce held him down. This would be the only time he ever held his son down. He tried to swallow down the lump in his throat as the guilt ate away at him. But this wasn't about him. This was about giving Jason a second chance.

The struggling slowed and Bruce relaxed to pull Jason up. Suddenly, a hand reached up and wrapped around his elbow. Bruce nearly lost his balance but he leaned back and dragged the arm with him. A head, torso, and legs followed the body out of the Pit. Bruce didn't even have a couple seconds to catch his breath after pulling his son out of the Pit before the boy attacked him.

It was all nails and teeth, raging like a feral dog trapped in a corner. Bruce grunted when a knee caught him in the solar plexus and reached for the flailing arms, ignoring the pain of the scratches and bites that marked his skin. Jason's eyes were wild and bright, his lips pulled back into a vicious snarl. His nostrils flared and he growled in rage when Bruce immobilized his arms.

"Jason! Jason, calm down! It's me, it's Bruce."

He paused slightly and there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. Taking advantage of the pause in movement, Bruce reached up and pulled the boy into the smothering hug he had learned from Dick. Jason's long, bony fingers dug into the flesh of his arms and his body shook with tension, but Bruce still held on.

"I'm here, son. I'm here. It's going to be alright." Bruce ran a hand through the dark sopping hair plastered against Jason's head.

The hot puffs of breath against his shoulder slowed and the tension seeped out of his son's muscles. Jason slumped against him, exhausted from his struggling. The cave was quiet except for the steady dripping of water into the Pit. The green glow was slowly fading and the room darkened as the light source dimmed. Still, Bruce did not move for several minutes. He waited for a sign that the boy in his arms was whole. A sign that everything he had done was not in vain.

The head pressed against his shoulder turned so that his cheek was resting right against Bruce's chest, his ear listening for the heartbeat. There was a small sniffle and a hitch in breathing before Bruce received the sign he needed.

"Dad?"

Uh ... so that was an 18 page monster of a one-shot. Big shout out to McNineSpike for helping me out with this even though she was super busy!

Do leave a review please and tell me what you think. I'd love to hear from everyone!