Another round of illusions, Jason tells himself, but no longer as sure.

Dick's face remains the same, but the lifted corners of his mouth are frozen, his eyes blank - a badly-made wax statue. Not only that, but this statue is accompanied by several colourful clowns in tights. For a moment, Jason thought he'd landed in a circus.

Perhaps Dick's circus was like this? To wake up without pands fighting a bunch of drag queens, and then be locked up while swaddled in in a straight jacket, a lunatic thrown into an asylum.

At this thought, Jason chuckles, gaining volume until he laughed out loud. What a hilarious dream. And here he thought he'd seen all that could be offered by humans' sick imaginations.

The prison cell has been carefully furnished; the little table and bed have their corners tapered, the walls padded. It was almost identical to the examination room in the League of Assassins. For a moment, Jason could even smell the same scent - a mix of dust and sulphur.

Maybe he was back at the League? Or Talia had taken in Dick? Did she save him? Wait. What happened before he fainted? Dick killed him countless times, and he killed Dick.... No, before that, he must have done something, or something was done to him.

The thick metal door slams open, the hinges creaking. Jason stifles his trail of thought and studies the newcomer. A child with black hair, blue eyes, and of an age when he should have been running wild in the neighbourhood with other kids. No one would take him for an ordinary child, however, for he emanates a brooding atmosphere, as if an adult has been trapped in the body of a child.

Oh, Dick's helper. The tiny one in the tights that hit quite hard.

The child looks as Jason as if he had not heard the laughter resonating in the room just seconds before. His gaze lingers along the straight jacket, a sliver of sympathy crawling into his marble-like eyes. The expression confused and irritated Jason. The little assassin never was the type to sympathize with the enemy.

"I think I know you."

"Go away. I don't want to know you." Jason flops down, closing his eyes.

The child strides to stand in front of the bed, not a single opening in his practiced movements. To Jason's chagrin, the child's movements reminds him a lot of the League of Assassins. As a result, Jason places a bit more emphasize on the significance of his dream regarding both the League and the Lazarus.

The child's disturbing eyes stare at Jason's face, searching. "You cannot tell the difference between illusion and reality. Your memory is a mess. Thank the Lazarus for turning you into a lunatic."

Jason's eyes spring open. "What happened? What do you know, kid?"

Damian shakes his head. "You saved my father. Ended up with a hole in your chest. Someone managed to get water from the Lazarus pit and injected it into you. And now you are crazy."

"I've been crazy for a long time."

Jason turns around, his back to Damian. His fully matured figured varies greatly from Damian's memory of a lanky teen. He'd turned into someone completely different within two years.

"You remind me of one of my teachers, though I've never seen his face." Damian leans against the wall. "Mother sent him to train me. Then... he vanished."

Damian knows not where to begin or end the tale. He was certain that Jason was the same teacher - one who frequently gestured in midair, who muttered to himself. Mother has told him that this was a man who'd passed the test of Lazarus. She told him to learn from him his incessant will.

"I don't remember." Jason says. Damian realizes his voice had become huskier than before, perhaps due to the frequent smoking. He did tell Damian that he used to pick up abandoned cigarette butts.

"Of course you don't. At the time you didn't even know if you were human." Damian smirks. "But I think you do remember some things. For example the base of the League. And my mother."

Jason tilts his head. Damian stiffens, nervously hoping he'd remember something about him. After all, Jason was one of the few people in Damian's childhood to him he could talk to.

"Of course I remember the League," Jason coldly laughs. "And that twisted woman. As for others, I do not."

Damian stares at the floor, not knowing how to continue.

The door opens once more. The butler's upper body sticks into the room. "Time for supper, Master Damian." He then nods to Jason. "And for the sir whose name I do not know, your dinner will be brought here by Master Grayson. He insists on feeding you."

"Is he crazy, or am I crazy?!" Jason springs up to a sitting position, staring at the butler's stoic face.

"Tonight's menu consists of roasted beef with bamboo shoots. With your current predicament, it'll be difficult to feed yourself." The butler turns his head towards Damian, who looked relieved before irritation takes over. He speeds out the door.

"Anything on Father?" he asks.

"Not at this moment, but..."

The door closes, shutting off the conversation.

The kid is as gullible as ever. Jason lies back down.

The conversation continues outside his cell.

"I don't want dinner. I need to patrol. I don't want Father to come back to a crime-infested Gotham." Damian is losing hope. The entire family has searched for six days, yet found not a single clue.

"Only by the intake of energy can you effectively carry out your duties. Should Master Bruce come back to his sons yellowed and half-starved, that would a lack of diligence on my part." Alfred firmly ushers Damian into the dining room.

Two people awaited them. Tim warily glances at Dick, who was sitting across from him. The guy who only just a short while ago was stiff as a puppet, had the nerve to descend into their intimate space for dinner.

"Master Timothy, please refrain from sending such looks to our friends."

"He's not a friend, he's a Talon." Tim yanks his head to the side, looking away. "I suspect it was the Court that captured Batman. Before he vanished, B was looking for the Talon sent to assassinate Lincoln March."

Dick cowers a bit from the words. Stiffly, he shrugs. "I used to be a Talon. Now, no. Abandoned, by Court." He still stutters, but much better than before.

"But you don't deny that you are a Talon," Tim continues. "Who knows when you might betray us. You've caused too much trouble for us - though our biggest trouble is still lying in that room! What on earth did you give him? I saw everything through the camera."

Dick swallows his urge to tell Red Robin about his mentor. Instinct tells him to refrain from spilling everything before talking to Jason. He falls silent.

Damian pulls up a chair beside Tim, interrupting his accusations. "It's water from the Lazarus pit."

"You sure?"

"Only the Lazarus has such effects," Damian pauses, staring at Dick. "Seems like your Jason has been treated with this before. Otherwise he would not have survived it's effects this time."

"What do you mean?" Tim asks.

"The Pit... tests willpower. Anyone not worthy would simply melt. I've only seen a few people survive." Damian frowns, not wanting to mention his grandfather. "Even the survivors could never break free from its effects, ones that drive you into madness."

"So that's what happened to Ra's al Ghul," Tim rubs his chin. "Hence when that Jason was injected with the water, he turned mad. Though he wasn't someone to be called normal to begin with - at least he had rational thought. And one of the few Talons with their own will."

"The water of the Pit broke the chains around his mind. They were never able to brainwash him in the first place."

"Is that so... I guess we really pushed them to the edge - otherwise they would not have sent such a volatile assassin to kill us. Not to mention, he betrayed them."

Dick looks around in confusion, only managing to catch certain words as he struggles to follow their trains of thoughts.

A glass clinked.

Alfred is tapping the edge of a glass with a fork, interrupting the impromptu meeting. "Sirs, please refrain from working at the dinner table."

The Robins sit up straight, obediently putting their hands on their knees as they wait to be served. Dick copies.

The affluent dinner distracts Dick from his hurt about how he's been seen as a Talon. Instead he focuses on the food. It reminds him of that prestigious restaurant from a while back. Jason would love this.

But what Dick looks forward the most is the chocolate brownies served at the end. He's slightly disappointed by the tiny squares, but they are delicious, the chocolate melting at the tip of tongue, turning just slightly bitter at the very end.

It reminded him of his mother. Back at the circus, his mother used to make brownies for her family, and to share with everyone else. She often told him: "To make friends, start with the brownies. Sweet things make people happy."

He has no friends, or sweets to give to others, but he really wishes for someone to help him and Jason. But to become friends with Batman means betraying the Court - they will destroy them... as they always did...

A plate of brownies, still untouched, is pushed across the table towards Tim.

"Take it," Damian wrinkles his nose in disgust as he pushed his portion away from him while Alfred is in the kitchen. "If Pennyworth knew I didn't eat the dessert, he'd be yelling at me again."

Tim laughs, the spoon still in his mouth. "Alfred never yells. He'd just nag you over and over and over..." He lifts his chin, a condescending expression on his face as he imitated the butler's British accent. "Young Master Damian, you must be grateful for the food you eat."

Damian rolls his eyes, yet unable to suppress the smile.

To Dick, the two brothers gradually merge into his memories of a young self and Jason. At the time, Jason and Dick would sit on the steps behind that restaurant, each of them holding a piece of cake. Jason, knowing he liked sweets, would always gives him his own portion, and then settle for abandoned cigarette butts.

Lifting his head, Dick pushes his remaining brownie towards Tim as well. A smile graced his features, lighting up his eyes and lending new life to his rigid face.

And when he spoke, he didn't stutter.

"I think it's time I officially introduced myself. I'm Richard Grayson. Please call me Dick."