Purpose

Stand

"Jason?"

Jason stands at the doorway, "Good morning, Alfred," he greets pleasantly. The butler gives him a polite, welcoming, yet confused look. In answer, Jason says, "I'm just picking up some extra cargo."

Alfred smiles, and furtively looks over his shoulder. He turns back to Jason, speaking before anyone can interrupt them. "I'm very glad to hear Master Damian is in better hands." The butler looks away, embarrassed and ashamed, "I'm afraid in my fretting about  Bruce, I failed young-"

Jason cuts Alfred off. He's done with everyone in this family blaming themselves instead of moving on. "Damian will be okay," Jason assures, meaning it. "Your charge is Bruce." Jason has no idea what's going on with Bruce, but he trusts that Alfred can get him through it. Alfred's eyes harden in determination, and he nods. Jason says, "I've gotta be quick. I don't trust the kid not to run away."

Alfred chuckles, and opens the door wider, "Come in, Master Jason. Is there anything I can help you gather?"

"Actually yes," Jason replies, moving inside. "A suitcase of Damian's clothing, please."

"Anything in particular?"

"Normal clothes-nothing fancy."

Alfred nods and the two split ways, the butler heading upstairs and Jason leaving in search of Titus. He finds the large dog in the living room with Tim, who's reading on the couch. The dog has his head on his paws as he lays on the rug and he, quite frankly, looks distraught. When Jason walks in Tim stands, "Jason."

"Yes that's my name, thank you." Jason bends down and gets his arms under the dog, who must weigh at least a hundred and fifty pounds. Tim watches his older brother lift it like it's nothing. Titus doesn't squirm.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"The prince desires his pet," Jason says.

Tim's eyes widen, just now remembering that Damian has been staying with Jason. "How is he? Is he okay? Where did you find him? What's-" Jason's glare silences Tim.

"You don't get to ask questions." The rage in Jason's voice surprises Tim, and the latter shuts his mouth immediately. "Where's the big guy?"

"Right here." Bruce is standing in the doorway, a white tank top and dark pants on. His hands are shoved in his pockets, shoulders that were once strong and sturdy are now curved forward.

"Shouldn't you be at work?"

Bruce's expression pinches, marginally. "My son went missing."

"Ran away," Jason interjects.

Bruce sighs, "Believe it or not I've been worried about him."

Jason stares. "And what is it that's wrong with Damian again? Oh that's right. You didn't even know anything was wrong until after I called you." 

Do it. Shoot me.

The words haunt Jason, echoing around in his head. His blood boils, and he knows his glare shows it, though he sees nothing except red. Something twists in his stomach, a twinge of loss that, thankfully, he doesn't have to endure for real. "If I had been there just a minute later-or hell-a second later, he'd be nothing but brains on a wall." Fear spikes down his spine. Jason told Alfred he was afraid Damian would run away, but what if the boy finds the knives in the kitchen, or the guns in the closet? Did Jason leave a handgun on the dresser? He can't remember.

Jason shoves the thought from his mind. His eyes flicker to look at Tim, then back at Bruce, who are both calculating possible answers in their minds. They only know the limited information Jason has given them. How did Damian almost die in an alley? The lines are drawing between their thoughts, and confusion clouds them all.