"No. Couldn't tell you what did either." Jason remembers sucking in a breath of stale air, remembers how much everything hurt, how his body felt like it--well, was dead. He remembers the moments after he'd regained consciousness. Remembers the panic when he realized he was in a very small, very tight box, buried six feet underground with nothing on him to dig his way out. Remembers calling for Batman, and grabbing onto his belt to dig himself out in a rushed panic as he began running out of air. Remembers when he reached the surface, the sheer relief at being able to pull in fresh air.

Doesn't remember much else outside of that until he'd gotten dunked in the Pit. There's a few broken pieces of memory. A hospital. Calling out for Bruce, calling out for his father. Talia hitting him, looking out over the sunset, brief flashes of sitting in a chair doing nothing. But he's got more lost time there than memory, and Jason figures that's probably for the best. That's not time he really wants to remember.

Tim stands, and Jason starts towards the other side of the roof. He's not going anywhere in particular, but he figures Tim will follow him regardless. "Doesn't matter anyway, does it? 've been back for years, whatever did had plenty of chances to undo it by now, an' I'm still kicking."