Chapter Text
By the time Bruce and Alfred make it back to the cave, Jason and the others have already gone over all of the evidence half a dozen times.
The footage from the others’ masks and from his helmet. The uniform and the note. And two more videos Barbara managed to dig up.
The first is just a few seconds of Tim crossing a rooftop. According to his Red Robin tracker, he should have been at the safehouse on Mortimer at the time, but they know now that he’d already ditched that uniform by then. Jason recognizes the area, but the camera’s at a strange angle that shows the rooftop as a diagonal slope when he knows that it’s flat and level. Must have been knocked over some time in the past few days. That’s probably the only reason it managed to catch sight of Tim. He somehow avoided every other hackable camera in the city. Jason doesn’t doubt there are some piddly CCTV tapes out there with footage of him from a storefront or a home security system, but without an online connection, those are out of Oracle’s reach.
In the video, Tim lands on the rooftop just as he’s coming into frame, skids a little bit—probably his boots sliding on gravel or broken glass—and then he’s off again, racing across the length of the roof in seconds, leaping off the building and out of frame. Moving like he’s got hell on his heels. Like his life depends on it.
It’s dark and the camera quality is shit, but even so, when Barbara pauses the video—catching Tim just before he disappears—they can clearly see the R on his chest.
It’s his old Robin costume. Red, yellow and green. Close, if not identical, to what he’d have been wearing four years ago.
The second video contains shitty cell phone footage uploaded by some college kids on Twitter. They’d been up at 2am, noticed when communications blacked out and immediately went to the roof of their building to see if any part of the city was on fire or otherwise threatened by imminent destruction. True Gothamites.
The video starts just as a red flare arcs up from one of the highest skyscrapers in that part of town. The kids follow the light across the sky for a moment—idiots—before thinking to zoom in on the building where it came from.
It’s too dark to see anything for a few seconds. Then the white lights from the Tetrahedra’s ship appear in the sky above. They’re bright enough to reveal a small figure hanging onto the side of the building’s spire, his cape buffeted by the wind. Then the kids zoom out again, trying to capture a view of the massive ship hanging above the city, but the lights are too bright and the camera’s autofocus keeps fucking up the image.
When they finally manage to get the lighting right, the camera focuses not on the ship itself, but on a dozen pyramids now descending from the sky and heading straight for the tiny figure on the roof.
It happens quickly. By the time the camera zooms in again, still failing to focus, the blurry figure on the skyscraper is already gone and the pyramids are flying upward and disappearing back into the ship.
Damian was what Jay’s mom would have called spittin’ mad after they watched the first video and outright furious when they watched the second. “He didn’t even try to fight!”
What followed was one of the worst meltdowns the brat’s had in months. Lots of yelling in English and swearing in Arabic. A few destroyed practice targets. Tons of noise.
Still nothing, apparently, compared to some of the tantrums he’s thrown in the past, at least according to the stories Jason’s heard about Damian’s early months at the manor. But the brat’s been a bit more even-keeled lately and Dick’s apparently out of practice at calming him down. He manages it, eventually, but not until after all the racket’s scared off most of the cave’s bats and ratcheted up Jason’s headache from ‘pretty fucking bad’ to ‘damn near debilitating.’
He’s been sitting on a medical gurney in a corner of the cave ever since Stephanie stitched up his leg. She’s nearly as furious as Damian, but on her it looks a hell of a lot more like fear than anger. And while Damian’s ire is laser-focused on Tim right now, hers is directed at everyone and everything.
Cass must be in the cave somewhere too—he’d have noticed if she took the elevator up to the manor or left through the cave entrance again—but she hasn’t made an appearance since she and Nightwing got back.
Dick’s fraying around the edges now, though he’s hiding it pretty well. He’s gotten Damian to quiet down, isn’t taking the bait when Stephanie snaps at him, and hasn’t given Jason any shit for zapping him earlier and taking off with the brat. But Jason’s known him long enough to be able to tell that he’s freaking out. It’s in the way he keeps moving around, checking up on everyone else, never stopping or slowing down for too long.
Once Damian’s finally calmed down—and even cleaning up the mess he’s made instead of leaving it for Alfred—Dick handles Stephanie. They talk quietly for a moment, then she nods and pulls out her phone to make a call. When Jason catches her eye and draws a quick question mark in the air, she signs back D.P.
Day Patrol. One of her nicknames for the Signal, since that's all he's allowed to do so far. Duke’s only got a few months of training under his belt and seems to spend most of his free time trying to keep his newfound career a secret—apparently his cousin still hasn't caught on to the fact that he's got a metahuman vigilante living under his roof—so he’s not supposed to take part in bigger, more complicated operations. Though that hasn't stopped him from showing up whenever he thinks someone needs him.
He always greets everyone else on the team—from Damian all the way up to Bruce—as simply, "the night shift,” which Jason thinks is exactly the kind of irreverent attitude they all deserve.
Having Stephanie call him is a smart move. It keeps her occupied and lets her vent, and it saves Barbara from having to catch him up on the mess he probably slept through.
Dick’s good at that kind of thing. Dealing with all of them.
The only person he doesn’t come anywhere near is Jason. Probably too afraid of pissing him off.
Jason would be just as furious as Damian if he wasn’t already too preoccupied with pain and nausea. His head’s killing him, one of his arms is bruised to the bone, and the stab wound in his leg is gonna slow him down for weeks. But there’s no fucking way he’s taking any pain meds until he sees Bruce and finds out what the plan is. How they’re going to get the kid back.
They’re all just about ready to explode when Bruce and Alfred finally pull into the cave.
They’re not alone. They’ve brought Superman with them.
Objectively, that’s a good thing. Superman means the Justice League is already involved. But there’s something about them that feels off. Jason’s seen a lot of weird shit in this cave, including Superman more than once, so he can’t quite figure out why the sight of them feels wrong.
Alfred immediately comes over to check Jason’s condition and starts his subdued, British form of fussing—because of course he does—but Bruce looks like he doesn’t even see anyone else in the cave. He goes straight for the table. Oracle’s been keeping him up to date, so he’ll have seen it all already, but he still stops. Touches the uniform for a moment. Picks up the note.
That fucking note. Jason could tear it to shreds. Of all the cryptic, useless things to say.
It’s so stupidly Tim it almost hurts. The first two lines are written out neatly in block lettering. The kind of writing Tim uses when he’s labeling something or when he’s making notes that he’s going to share with other people. Jason’s seen it a thousand times on the case files he and Tim have been passing back and forth these last few months. Sorry. I have a plan.
The second half is nearly illegible. Scribbled down hurriedly, almost like an afterthought, in the chickenscratch Tim usually only uses when he’s writing for himself. Please trust me. Do not follow.
Like hell they won’t.
Bruce is still looking at the note and the uniform, frowning at them like they’re freakin’ puzzle pieces, and Jason’s just about ready to say something he knows he’ll regret the second it’s out of his mouth. He’s leaning toward, What? Already planning his memorial case?
Then Superman comes to stand next to Bruce and it finally hits him.
It’s Bruce standing next to Superman. He’s still in his civilian clothes.
Jason doesn’t like that. He knows it’s probably because Alfred wouldn’t let him change into the suit with his ribs still battered up. Knows that Bruce is still hurt enough that putting on the suit is a very bad idea, because once it’s on, it probably isn’t coming off again. Not until they find Tim. But he doesn’t like it. Seeing Bruce as he is. Looking like a guy who just lost his kid and not like the detective who’s going to find him.
“What’s the plan?” Dick asks, and just this once, Jason’s happy to hear his voice. Glad someone’s breaking the silence and getting things moving.
But Bruce doesn’t answer. Clark’s the one who speaks. “The Justice League is already mobilized. And we’re in contact with the Lantern Corps.”
“And?” Dick prompts.
“Dick,” Clark says, “if I knew where they were, I’d already be on my way. But without a direction—”
“The Watchtower failed to track their ship,” Bruce says. Jason expects him to sound angry or judgmental, but his voice is just flat. Empty.
“Every satellite and surveillance system on the planet failed to track their ship,” Clark says. “Apparently the tech in their corner of the galaxy is more advanced than we realized.”
Stephanie’s standing by Bruce, bouncing on her toes a little, clearly anxious, but it’s Clark that she addresses. “You said ‘where they are.’ What do you mean by that?”
Damian scoffs. “Clearly he means Red Robin and the people who took him.”
Clark sighs. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“Sorry,” Barbara says, her voice coming through the cave’s speaker system. “I need to catch you up on a couple of things.”
Dick perks up like a golden retriever hearing the word walk. “You have something?”
“Not exactly. We haven’t figured out how to track Red Robin or the Tetrahedra, but we do have a trail of sorts to follow. And we can thank the League for cluing us in. Less than 20 minutes after the Tetrahedra’s ship disappeared from Gotham, the Watchtower detected the signal of something else leaving the atmosphere. A different ship in stealth mode.”
“One of theirs?” Dick asks.
“We don’t think so. Ten minutes after the shielding around Gotham went down, Helena Sandsmark received a voicemail from her daughter.”
“Sandsmark?” The name sounds familiar, but Jason can’t quite place it.
“Wonder Girl,” Steph says.
A picture appears on the big screen of the cave’s main computer: a grinning blonde that Jason recognizes from news coverage about the Titans. Last he heard, she was leading the team more often than not.
The audio begins: “Hi, Mom.” She sounds out of breath and there’s a roaring sound in the background. Like she’s standing in the middle of a windstorm. Or flying at high speed. “So, you’re gonna totally hate me for this, but, um, I’m not gonna be able to make it to brunch tomorrow. I know I promised and I’m really sorry, but I’ve gotta—something came up and—I know I also promised no more off-world stuff without warning you ahead of time, so, um, this is me warning you. I’ve got to go right now, I think it’s gonna be a few days at least, but maybe more, and I really, really have to do this. I promise, Mom, it’s really important. Don’t worry, I’ll be with the guys, we’ve got a plan, everything’s gonna be fine. So don’t freak out. And don’t call the Tower, okay? It’s not exactly a Titans thing. It’s not a League thing either, so please don’t bug Diana about this. If you could just not mention this to anybody, that’d be great. Again, so sorry. Love you, bye!”
“Dr. Sandsmark sent it to Diana immediately,” Barbara says. “And the Titans received a similar, albeit more cryptic call. Cassie formally handed over leadership of the team to Beast Boy and Cyborg, citing ‘some personal business’ that she needed to take care of. At the time, none of the other Titans were aware that Red Robin had just gone missing.”
“She mentioned ‘the guys,’” Jason prompts.
“According to Diana, that always means the same thing.”
The picture on the screen changes to four kids in civilian clothes: the girl, Cassie, is in the bottom corner of the photo, grinning widely, with one arm stretched forward to take a selfie and the other casually thrown over Tim’s shoulders. He’s grinning at the camera in a way Jason doesn’t recognize. Bigger and more open than the small smiles and smirks he associates with Red Robin. Behind the two of them is a tall broad-shouldered boy sticking his tongue out at the camera. Even in casual clothes, he’s the spitting image of Superman. The last kid is the smallest but somehow manages to take up the most space in the frame. He’s got one hand resting on Superboy’s shoulder and the other forearm balanced on top of Tim’s head. His feet must be dangling behind them or braced on someone’s back. Big golden eyes and a toothy grin.
Barbara continues, “Red Robin, Superboy, and Impulse.”
“Don’t you mean Kid Flash?” Stephanie asks.
Dick shakes his head. “Wally mentioned that he switched back to his old name a little while ago. He’s not really sure why though.”
“Well, it’s appropriate for this mission,” Barbara says. “Based on our current estimated timeline, Red Robin likely encountered Bezneetan during his Young Justice days.”
“Tim’s team before the Titans,” Steph says before Jason can ask.
“We think he got a message out to them before he was taken,” Barbara says. “Or, more likely, he set up a message to send out as soon as the communication blackout lifted.”
“Can you access the message?” Dick asks.
“No, whatever it was erased itself after they read it. Full Mission Impossible-style. Cassie’s voicemails are the best we’ve got. The Flash did find a handwritten note in his mailbox from Impulse, but all it said was that he’d be ‘out of town on business’ and would be back soon. There’s been no word from Superboy, but he hasn’t contacted anyone since before the blackout and his phone is currently out of service range.”
As far as Jason can tell, literally none of this makes sense. “So you’re telling me these three kids just dropped everything and took off to space? In hot pursuit of a ship that we can’t track? How the fuck would they even—”
Superman actually winces when he cusses, but Steph’s the one who answers. “They have a spaceship.”
“None of the Titans’ vehicles are missing,” Superman says. “They already checked.”
Steph shakes her head. “It’s not a Titans ship. I think it belongs to Impulse?”
Dick’s eyebrows shoot up. “Someone gave a spaceship to Impulse? Wally definitely would not have approved that.”
Steph shrugs. “I don’t know where they got it, but they had it when we invaded Zandia.”
“I’m sorry,” Dick says, “but did you just say you invaded a foreign country made up entirely of supervillains?”
Stephanie puts her hands up in front of her and says, “Look, I don’t really know the full story on that one. It had something to do with the new girl. Empress, I think? And I was just helping out, okay?”
Clark cuts in, “Even if they had a ship, we have no idea how they’re tracking Red Robin. They could be heading in the completely wrong direction or—”
“No,” Bruce says. “They know where they’re going.”
“How?” Dick asks.
Bruce touches the keyboard. The audio rewinds, then Wonder Girl’s voice is saying, “Don’t worry, I’ll be with the guys, we’ve got a plan.” And Bruce is still holding the note.
“Tim,” Cass says. She comes slinking out of the shadows to stand next to Bruce. Puts a hand on his arm. He’s got his back to them all and is still looking at the picture on the screen. Tim, and the three kids he called to save him.
“He’s got a plan,” Dick says.
Stephanie frowns. “And we’re not part of it.”
Jason pushes himself off the gurney and heads for the locker room, grimly ignoring his own limp and the alarmed and angry looks Stephanie and Damian are shooting at him. It’s clear that there’s no plan, not really, not yet, and even if there is, he already knows he’s not going to be invited onto this rescue mission. Not with his head and leg fucked up. Not with his shitty track record.
He’s still gonna stay. He’s already decided that much. He hates the idea of it, but the second he leaves the cave, he’ll be out of the loop.
He’s been back in the cave a few times in the last year. Usually just dropping off evidence or whichever injured Bat begged a ride off him after a bad fight. Never staying long if Bruce was around, but Tim’s always been good about letting Jason know when the coast is clear. He’s also broken in a few times to use the computer and has stolen enough equipment that Alfred’s started leaving him passive-aggressive notes about “manners” and invitations to come upstairs for tea.
Alfred still treats him exactly the same as he did before—before everything went wrong. Meanwhile Jason can’t have a single conversation one-on-one with Bruce or Dick without it turning into a screaming match.
It’s okay, sometimes, if the others are around to serve as a buffer. If they only talk about business and nothing personal. Leave the past behind them, just for the space of a mission. But mostly he’s avoided them and stuck with just Red Robin whenever possible.
He knows the others think it’s strange. Suspicious.
When he first returned to Gotham, he’d hated Tim. Hated him in a way you could only hate someone you didn’t know. The way he felt about Bruce and Dick was mixed up and messy. He loathed them. He loved them. He couldn’t stand to be around them.
In comparison, hating Tim had been easy. Clean and uncomplicated.
Then Bruce “died.” And after the battle for the cowl, Tim disappeared. Just dropped off the map completely.
That left Jason feeling itchy between the shoulderblades for months. He kept waiting for the kid to pop back up. To seek revenge for being stabbed and left for dead. It’s what Jason would have done.
The few times he ran into Dick-as-Batman had been awkward and painful. They’d fought each other more than once, but never the way they had before. Like their hearts weren’t in it.
When Bruce had been around, Jason had been trying to get their attention. With Bruce dead, he changed strategies. He knew how the Bats operated—how they think, what they look for, who they prioritize—which meant he knew how to stay off their radar. With Tim gone and Dick trying to take care of the brat as well as the whole rest of the goddamn city, it really hadn’t been that hard.
He kept things quiet. Embedded himself more firmly in the city’s criminal underworld. Killed off his targets when they were out of town or while the Bats were distracted by some other crisis.
He wasn’t hiding from them. He was plotting. Cleaning up the city his way. The smart way. Not nearly as satisfying as the dramatic confrontations he’d set up in the past, but it was working. He was making a difference.
And maybe part of that newfound restraint could be blamed on Bruce’s apparent death. Without him around as a target, Jason found it harder and harder to summon the same white-hot rage that had been driving him forward for years. There were days when he couldn’t do it at all. Had to hole up in his apartment with books and booze and wait for the doldrums to pass.
At some point, when he was having more and more of those bad days, and fewer and fewer days where he was out in the city working, he realized that he needed to make a decision. Needed to decide if his crusade had ever actually been about fixing the city. Or if it had always, always been about Bruce. About all the ways his would-be father had failed him.
If it was all about Bruce, all about getting back at the Batman, then how was Jason any different from the other Bat-obsessed whackjobs roaming the city, unable to leave, always coming back home again?
That had been a bad night. A night of sitting and thinking instead of moving, planning, attacking. Eventually he’d had a drink, and then another, and by the time dawn broke he was well and truly plastered and willing to admit that he’d been chasing revenge and not much else ever since he’d come back.
If you would revenge yourself, dig two graves. One of those old cliches with no real provenance. The kind of thing they discussed in English class while reading Hamlet. Back when Jason was alive and in school and still got into arguments with people about books and literature and the meaning of things.
He’d been more than ready to put them both in the ground if he had to. But in the end, Bruce had died. And Jason had lived. And he’d had to decide just what he was going to do after that.
He did believe in the crusade. God help him, but he did. He sat on the roof of his safehouse, watching the sun rise over the slums of Gotham with the worst hangover of his life just a few short hours away, and he knew that he wasn’t going anywhere. This city was his. Gotham would be his gravesite someday, but until then he was damned well going to clean it up. Kill the people who needed killing. Make it a better, safer place.
Still Bruce’s impossible crusade at its core, even if his methods were far more pragmatic than the Batman’s had ever been.
But then Red Robin came back to town. Set up shop in Crime Alley. Hit the streets with renewed vigor.
Jason made a mistake then. He thought the kid would need time to reestablish himself. Figured he could lay low for a little while and see how Red Robin handled himself now that he was, for the most part, a solo act. Then he’d figure out his next moves from there.
The damn kid tracked him down in less than a week. Showed up at one of Jason’s most secure safehouses—which he’s pretty sure the punk did on purpose—and told him that Bruce was alive.
It was the same dumb move the kid had made before. Coming to Jason, alone. Just like when he let Jason out of Blackgate. Just like when he told Jason about Bruce’s will.
Insane, doing the same damn thing over and over and expecting a different outcome.
But this time something was different. Tim didn’t ask him to rejoin the fold. Didn’t even mention Jason’s work as the Red Hood, although the fact that he tracked him down at all meant that he had already gathered a hell of a lot of intel on the Red Hood’s criminal enterprises. Just came to tell him that Bruce was alive.
It should have pissed him off. The news itself, the messenger, all of it.
But he just couldn’t find that fire he had before. The screaming rage that burned him up and pushed him to power through every godawful thing that had happened to him since he woke up in the Lazarus Pit. Couldn’t even find his old, comfortable hatred for this kid who replaced him. It was a moot point. Tim wasn’t Robin anymore. He’d been replaced as well.
It wasn’t a cordial meeting, but it hadn’t ended in attempted murder, which was pretty good for the two of them. From then on, Tim made it abundantly clear that he was keeping tabs on Jason, but he never interfered with Jason’s operations except when he was planning to kill someone. Those targets started ending up in jail or witness protection before he could get to them.
It ought to have turned into an extended game of cat-and-mouse that ended with another one of their dramatic bullshit confrontations. But the truth was, Jason was getting tired of that game. Plus by then he’d figured out that Tim had Oracle monitoring him too. And it just wasn’t worth trying to outmaneuver both of them. So he stopped killing people. Just meant to take a break, get some other work done in the city, accomplish a few things, and lull Tim into a false sense of security. But then they started working together. And then Bruce really did come back. The damn kid had been right all along.
Jason figured that was the end of his little ceasefire with the Bats. But Tim never went running back to the manor. Didn’t really change the way he operated, although Jason could tell the kid was giddy with relief those first few months. And instead of telling the Bat all about what Red Hood was up to, Tim started giving Jason intel on Bruce. Mostly just enough information that they could comfortably avoid each other. And an occasional warning when he thought Bruce had been brooding more than usual and was likely to show up at one of Jason’s hideouts and try to talk to him about his mental fucking health again.
Jason didn’t manage to avoid all of those bullshit come-to-Jesus talks, but he’d have been caught out a hell of a lot more if Tim hadn’t been helping him.
The damn kid was the only person on the team dumb enough to trust Jason. And somewhere along the way, Jason started trusting him back.
Stupid in retrospect. The kid literally told him that they needed to trick Dick and Damian, but somehow Jason thinks he’s exempt from the same? That there’s no way the kid’s playing him as well?
Now he’s not sure who he’s more pissed at: Tim for tricking him, or himself for letting it happen.
He only gets five minutes to himself before he hears footsteps enter the locker room. He would have heard them way before they got that close if the pounding in his skull hadn’t ramped up as soon as he didn’t have voices to distract him anymore. He’s sitting on a bench, head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, and he doesn’t look up.
“You all right, Jay?” Dick asks, cautious. Too cautious. Like he’s talking to something wild and not a person.
Jason manages to bite out, “Fuck. Off.”
“I’m gonna take that as a no.” There’s a scuffing sound right in front of him. Way too close. He knows, without looking, that Dick’s crouched down in front of him. That if he looks up, he’ll see Dick’s stupid face painted over with concern.
“Stop pretending you’re not pissed at me,” Jason says. He keeps his head in his hands.
“For what? That stunt you pulled with Damian? It was a stupid move but—”
“For letting the kid just throw himself away like that.”
“Tim didn’t—”
“He handed himself over to alien mercenaries that the fucking Justice League can’t track. And I let him do it.”
There’s a pause and then Dick says, “You couldn’t have known.”
Jason looks up then, incredulous. “Did we listen to the same conversation? He was clearly up to something when he called me and I—”
“Tim is always up to something,” Dick says. “And when he’s made up his mind, it’s nearly impossible to stop him. Jay, he didn’t—he’s clearly got some kind of plan.”
“Of course he has a plan,” Jason says. “And it worked. He made a sacrifice play for the brat.”
Dick flinches. “He has more of a plan than that. Something beyond just getting captured. We have to trust him.”
“He lied about stopping the ship,” Jason says. “He could be lying about the plan too.”
“His friends—” Dick starts to say.
“They might be chasing after nothing. He might have sent them a goodbye, and they decided to go after him anyway—which is exactly what we should be doing.”
“And we will,” Dick says, slowly, patiently. Like he’s talking to a damn child. “As soon as we have a solid lead.”
“He said he’d never ask me for anything ever again,” Jason says. He played that conversation over and over again on what was left of his helmet while he was waiting for Dick and Cass to get back to the cave. He can still hear Tim’s exact words echoing in his head. “That sound to you like someone who thinks he’s coming back?”
Dick grimaces and shakes his head. “Oh, Jay, no. He didn’t mean that. He was just getting frustrated with you. He’s said that kind of thing to me a million times. ‘Just do me this favor and I’ll never hack your phone again.’ He doesn’t actually mean it.”
“You sure about that? The kid’s always been a little screwy. And he’s downright stupid when it comes to Robins. You know he is. How many times did he come to me after I tried to kill him?” Dick closes his eyes at this, like he just doesn’t want to hear it, but Jason keeps going. “If he was ever going to make a dumb mistake, it’d be something like this. Saving the brat by sacrificing himself.”
Dick doesn’t say anything for a moment. Can’t. He has to know that Jason’s right about this, even if he’s not ready to admit it yet. Finally, he says, “He wouldn’t do that to Bruce. He knows—he’s seen what happens when he loses one of us.”
The fact that he’s even referring to Jason’s death is pretty fucking serious. Because that’s not something they talk about anymore. Not since the truce. Bruce brings it up occasionally, but Bruce is a goddamn masochist and also the most emotionally stunted person Jason’s ever met.
But even Bruce at his worst has never been quite like he is now. Silent in a way that’s not angry or disappointed. Just brittle and sharp.
“He has to have some kind of plan,” Dick says again. Like a kid making a wish. Or a politician repeating a lie again so it’ll sound more true.
He looks so forlorn that Jason almost feels sorry for him. Because Dick’s the one who’s going to keep things on track if Bruce goes off the deep end. And the others are going to need someone to hold them together.
If Jason were anyone else, he’d agree just to make Dick feel better. But this team already has too many people who indulge in idealism and comforting lies. Jason’s the closest thing to a realist they have.
Still, the hard truth clearly isn’t what Dick needs right now. And Jason’s trying to get out of the habit of kicking people when they’re down.
With both the truth and lies ruled out, there’s not much else to say. So Jason just lets his head fall back into his hands and allows the silence between them to lengthen. When Dick puts a hand on his shoulder, he’s just too damned tired to shake it off.