The place is packed for a clock museum, seriously, who's idea had this been? Who'd said, 'You know what the world needs more displays of? Clocks!' Cuckoo clocks mostly if one were being specific, carved out of wood with more care than had gone into the artisanship of some of the gaudy jewelry he'd seen at Bruce's high society galas.

Clocks, ticking away on walls. They're nice to look at, sure but why? A clock tells the time, you don't need a museum of clocks to tell time, having a pretty clock won't make you check it any more or less. Whatever Jason had been hoping for when he'd come here, entertainment, something to write about, a spark of the time when he'd actually enjoyed places like this just for the fact that they exist, he's not getting any of it.

Dear Eddie

The TEEN TITANS LOST most of their members, and they keep talking shit they're going to lose the rest too. Might not want to be around for that.

No. Not that.

Jason's hands are sticky with blood and the poison he'd mixed into that disgusting cherry flavored bug juice. No matter how many times he washes them, it stays and if anyone asked him – anyone he cared about – he'd swear he'd have the smell of that shed for the rest of his life.

He actually brought you up, said you didn't take it seriously either.

Yeah, Jason's the one who didn't take it seriously enough. When those little shits on the Titans lock psychopaths in prisons that will never ever hold them, have no precedent for holding them, to break out and slaughter hundreds of innocent people.

And Cyborg… It was hard to keep track, but it was still the same guy as far as Jason knew. The same guy who'd asked if Jason would mind coming around the tower and helping out again sometime. Who'd ruffled Jason's hair and smiled along with Wondergirl when she'd said he was so much older than his age. They were liars, all of them. Kids who treated supervillains like toys that just needed to put back in their boxes.

Dear Eddie

You're acting like a CHILD, get a fucking job and if you want to run around in spandex when you're an ADULT, you'll have a better idea of what you're doing instead of parroting the Justice League and their useless sidekicks.

No, couldn't say that either, not to Eddie, friendly, excitable, optimistic Eddie, he wouldn't understand. Too much like Jason used to be, so sure of the lines his heroes had drawn between the goods and the evils in the world, didn't understand that there needed to be someone in the middle to do to the monsters what no one else would.

Fine, maybe Jason hadn't taken things as seriously as he should have, hadn't even considered what he did wasn't enough until he'd found Gloria hanging from the…

Jason swallows down the bile that makes it way up his throat and scratches out the lines he's scribbled on the gift store notepad he'd bought when the security guard had asked him what he'd been doing when he'd been staring blankly at one of the clocks for longer than what had been deemed and acceptable amount of time.

There are clocks printed on the borders and the lines resemble hour and minute hands. Even Jason's pen has a plastic cuckoo clock glued to the edge, it writes in three colors of ink. Jason pauses in coming up with the letter to let himself be amused. 'Hey Talia, look what I bought with the money I stole from my babysitters before I ditched 'em.' Would she be amused, smile and say he's learning? Or will she do that thing where she'd trying not to show how frustrated she is with him?

Dear Eddie

Do you like my stationary? I traveled all the way across Germany to get it because I thought I'd have fun at a CLOCK museum.

There, simple no mention of the Titans or Jason's teachers, or the stench of too sweet cherry energy drinks under his nose. Why did Jason even take the bottles of the stuff he had? He knows he's not going to drink them himself and no way will he inflict them on the earth by pouring them down a drain. Maybe he can pad the letter a little with them. Fill up a page of useless crap.

But Eddie asked about the Titans specifically, about Jason's schooling, if Jason doesn't respond to those at all, or if he says he just doesn't want to talk about it, Eddie'll know something's up.

Eddie'll know something's up soon enough if things go to plan, and then, it won't matter what he thinks, will it? Jason scribbles out the lines and turns to a new page as he walks out of the museum, past the throngs of people who care a helluvah lot more about clocks than he does.

Museum's a bust, but there's a tour of the parts of the forest where some fairytales were apparently set, maybe he'll have something interesting to say about that. Maybe he should have gone to the Berlin Zitadelle instead, but that might have necessitated him bringing up Marla Bloom again and he didn't want to do that if he could help it. He was also pathetically skittish about the apparent 'batcave' under it.

So trees in place of clocks. Jason snaps the book shut and goes to collect his backpack from the cubbies at the front desk. Like they really had to take precautions against clock theft of all things.

O

O

O

Germany's Black Forest is big, and, well, dark, it's in the name, but they're not going to the particularly dark places, Jason's not sure where they've been so far, he's stopped paying attention to the tour guide already and turned to reading and rereading his pamphlet instead. He knows where they are physically, how to get from here to wherever else he needs to on the maps he's memorized, but not the significance of the place.

It's not much more attention grabbing than the museum had been, just a little more stifling, only this time that fact is a little more troubling. Jason could brush of the museum, it was a clock museum and he's never had any interest in clocks, but this should have been different. This should have been something he'd be excited to tell someone about, but it just… it's not. Even the uneasy tilt to everything is nothing he isn't already used to. After spending that time training under a sociopath – ha, pot, kettle – unease is Jason's new normal.

'What have you done?'

Jason doesn't care, he doesn't care that that path over there is the place where the maid swapped places with the princess, or if we turn down here and keep going for this long we'll reach the village where, blah, blah, blah. He just can't find it in himself to give a damn, when he thinks, it's that he could be learning something useful right now, to stop wondering if the Joker has someone else right now if Bruce is even doing anything about it.

More than just failing to spark up something positive, the forest is having the opposite effect, something heavy and oppressive has been pressing down on his ribs almost since the tour had started, now trying to crack through them and reach to his heart. Now's not the time for a panic attack. It only bothers him when he thinks too hard about it.

So he stops thinking and reads his pamphlet, it's the same useless crap, so he tosses it aside and fishes his notebook and pen out of his pocket instead.

Dear Eddie

Thanks for the suggestions, but I don't care about any of those things anymore. I'm not sure I care about anything anymore, because if I did, I'd be doing something about it, wouldn't I? Instead of letting her stall me.

Jason's eyes hurt when he scratches those lines out too, then tosses both pen and notebook to the leaf-strewn ground and turns from them to leave the forest.

This is useless too. Writing to someone who hasn't seen him since he was a kid, that he'll likely never see again and on the small chance he does, will hate him for the things he plans on doing when he gets back. For the bloody, stains on Jason's hands already, and Jason won't even be able to say he'll ever feel remorse for it. He feels nothing, nothing but a small spark of satisfaction at having those kids out of Egon's hands, but now they're in foster care, or sent back to parents who might not have wanted them to begin with, and there are more like Egon, so, so many more and Jason's stomping through a forest on a fucking fairytale tour instead of doing something about it.

'Good, now say it aloud.'

It takes effort to shake the thoughts off, more effort than it has before, and by the time he does, the forest has gone quiet, and even darker. He's wondered far from the tour group and no matter how hard he strains his ears, he still doesn't hear them. Doesn't hear anything, not even the chirps of birds, of small animals crunching leaves underfoot. It so quiet he almost starts when he takes in a deeper breath than usual.

So he takes in another, deeper breath and pushes everything out, then stops to get his bearings. This is fucking stupid, if he doesn't have time for this trip, then he doesn't have time for this damned moping either. There'll be time for moping in transit to his next teacher. The nearest resort is to the east, so that's where he goes.

'No.'

But first, Jason stops and spins on his heel, he needs to get his notebook back; he's written too much incriminating crap in it already to risk someone getting their hands on it.

It takes him at least an hour of backtracking before he spies the colorful plastic at the edge of his pen sticking out from under the thin layer of leaves that's already started hiding it. Might have saved some time if he'd thought to use the flashlight in the left side pocket of his backpack. Might have saved his notebook the little teeth marks than have punctured the pages too.

"Damnit." Jason mutters without conviction while he turns flips through the pages in search of any that have escaped damage. Maybe he shouldn't curse. The air surrounding Jason is dry, static prickling at his skin.

'Language.'

"Shut the fuck up." He says, unthinking, and the moisture is pulled from his lungs too. "What's…?" Jason spin around, his blunt nails digging into the pages of the notebook buckling in his hold.

'Wicked child, write your letter.'

Jason's backpack is on the ground, unzipped, and the plastic gun he'd stashed within is ready in his hands, his eyes scanning the trees for the unlucky fucker who's decided to mess with him now.

'Violence?'

Jason doesn't hear the chuckle, but he can feel it, rustling through the branches of the trees, increasing gravity's pull on his lungs so they'll want to drop clean out of his chest cavity to bury themselves in the leaves.

'But what else, tell me.'

"Go fuck yourself with a pointy stick." Jason yells out to the trees. If this bastard read the notebook while Jason was off throwing a tantrum… Shit, but he'd have to deal with that when the time came, wouldn't he, maybe a good beating and some threats would be enough to shut the fucker up. "I aint tellin' you shit."

Laughter moves through the trees again, and again, the amount of oxygen available shrinks. The gun gets heavier, Jason's still holding it, his finger still resting against the trigger guard, just waiting for something to show its face, so he can blow it clean off. That's not a good response, is it?

'No, no, just write your letter tell your friend then.'

"No." Jason's still watching the trees, but his guns so heavy it's hard to hold it up; he can't fight with something this heavy. He should just walk out, he'll probably be followed, but he'll have a better chance against whatever this is if he's somewhere brighter, nearer other people. Whatever this…

'And there's a whole haunted forest too, they say if you go in, der Grossman makes you confess your sins, and if they're really bad, he'll take you and no one will ever find you again.'

Haunted forest. Schwarzwald was supposedly haunted.

"Damnit Eddie." Instead of dropping the gun, Jason holds it tighter, squeezes on the trigger, the weapon gets heavier, he squeezes it again and again, the BANGS being swallowed up each time until the clip is empty and the weight of the weapon is bending his fingers back and he has to choice but to let it drop.

He drops too, his hands digging into the backpack, searching for another weapon, a better one. He has a lot of weapons, plastic, like the gun, tucked away in hidden pockets; he has to have something that can kill this thing. That's the point of all his training, so he can kill anything that poses a threat to him, so he can be better, stronger than everything else, than everyone who says was never serious enough before, well he's being fucking serious now, isn't he, and when he gets back…

Jason screams and yanks his hands from within the bags to clutch at his head. He tries to even out his breathing, to clear his mind, get the thoughts out, but they won't stop coming, pulling not just his lungs and his heart, but not his stomach too, makes him want to throw up, and cry and gasp for breaths that aren't there anymore.

"Fucking magic." Jason forces the words through his dry throat, past his sticky mouth, as he curls over his knees to press his head against leaves that should crunch, but refuse to make a sound. There's nothing to block out the voice that's not there but is.

'Dear Eddie.'

'You won't believe the things I've learned, because I've gone and KILLED the one who taught me, so there's no one to ask. That's why I came to Germany, so I could learn to murder. Don't worry about the Titans, the current roster will all be dead as soon as this sociopath comes a'knocking, they'll be so desperate they'll take anyone they can get, even YOU. If you have a death wish too that is.'

It's concentrating now, gathering itself up into one spot just far enough for the trees to conceal it. Jason slides his hand, so heavy it leaves a deep trough in the ground, through mud and bugs and rotting leaves, for his cuckoo pen. It likes this, and lightens some of the weight its cast on Jason.

'Dear Eddie'

'I saw the forest you told me about, but I stole from the guys that were put in charge of me and ran away to do it. They're part of a strict cult that might kill them for it, but I don't care about that, because, why should I, right?'

The pen isn't heavy, after the strain that thing had put on Jason's body, the pen is light as air, like when you just get home from school and drop your backpack at the door. The thing is getting nearer; the notebook is easy to reach.

'Your turn.'

Jason presses the pen against the paper, the forest, the voice, the damp soaking into his jeans, everything but the paper and the pen; it's all gone fuzzy around the edges.

Dear Eddie

'Aloud, let me hear.'

It's right beside him. There's not enough air for Jason to breathe, how can he possibly talk? It hears this and air rushes back to the forest, Jason takes in a deep, grateful breath.

'Now.'

Jason turns to another new page; set's the tip of his shaking pen against paper. "Dear Eddie." He takes in a series of slow, deep breaths, until his muscles don't feel like he's been lugging an elephant around for half a week.

It watches him; it's growing impatient, a low growl shaking along the ground. If Jason looks up, the thing he see's is horrible, rotten flesh clinging to a skull that's chipped and cracked on one end. Something brown oozes from one its left cheek, drips down to its shoulder and smears of a shirt that doesn't even have a color anymore.

It smells like cherry energy drinks and decomposition.

Jason turns another page, changes the color of his pen. "Dear Eddie." Jason turns his eyes from the book and fixes them on the thing, despite every instinct he's never had before forcing him to look away. "The forest was haunted."

The thing growls at him again and Jason further tightens his hold on the pen, locks eyes with the thing and feels green building up inside him, filling up the space where the missing air should have been. "It WAS haunted."

He lunges forward, and before the thing can react, he's buried his pen in its throat, disgusting brown spewing from the new wound in a spray of blood that Jason can't help but compare to the burst water main he'd danced around in when he'd been seven. The pain that follows, however, Jason can compare to only one thing.

The screaming is a knife that bypasses his ears, goes through his eyes instead to pierce his skull and dig around his brain. It's so bad, he doesn't realize until after the fact that he's been slammed into one of the ancient tree's bark cutting though the back of his shirt and every breath he'd saved up has been forced out of his lungs all at once.

'MURDERER! THIEF! LIAR! TRIATOR!'

It flings accusations at him, each hitting with the force of a dozen crowbars. Blood's gathering in his throat, it drips from his lips, warm and metallic whenever he exhales the shallow breath he manages to take in between.

'Confess.'

The demand is soft as a thing that's not a sound can be, it doesn't push on his ribs, but tugs on them instead, it's one of the most unnatural thing's Jason's ever felt, one of, but not the worst, it turns his gut, but not anymore than it's already been turning. Since this started.

Jason makes his eyes stay open, keeps them fixed on the plastic clock sticking out of the thing's neck, on the endless supply of brown gunk still rushing out of it, splattering on the ground and mixing the crunchy leaves into a putrid mud.

"Gross." Jason chuckles, then gasps when the pulling on his ribs gets worse, gives his lungs a painful sucking feeling and all his next breaths have his chest heaving with effort. He thinks he might black out, but that would mean the thing wouldn't get what it wants, so he doubts that will happen.

'Selfish, whimpering little child. Cursed child, your very existence is sin enough.' It rasps without moving the horribly deformed mouth that something's wriggling out of, it crawls past the lips and down to its neck where it squeezes past the pen to crawl back into its host's body. 'Broken child, better leave now before it consumes you.'

It's hard to open his mouth, to speak again and the thing isn't taking the chance of easing its hold in his again. It's pinned him to the tree with an invisible wall that he can't break through. All he can move are his feet.

'Before YOU consume everything.'

Blood. Catherine. Gloria. Garzonas. Sheila. Egon. Robin. Batman. Alfred. Eddie. Millions of faceless men, woman and children. Their blood trickles down from Jason's fingertips to mingle with the brown pouring from the thing holding him to the tree. Joker. His blood is there too.

A curse on the world.

"der Grossman, right?" Jason coughs and tastes blood again. The thing looks at him; he thinks those are ants crawling inside it. He takes as deep a breath as he can, then spits all the gathered blood right into the hollows where eyes should have been. "Talk shit, get hit." He swings his legs up and kicks the end of the clock, lodges the even further into the creature, as before, it rears back, screeches tearing apart at Jason's mind.

'ARROGANCE!'

This time he's ready for it, as soon as he drops, Jason ducks low and feels something gather, not the green this time, but something else he only vaguely remembers. He drives his fist into the thing's gut; it squelches as if he's just punched a bowl of oatmeal and his arm sinks into der Grossman's chest cavity to the elbow.

Grotesque flesh closes around the limb, sucking on it. Jason can't pull it out, so he strikes with his other fist, this time aiming for the throat. It sinks in too, but he yanks it free before it can stick and pulls his pen out as well.

The green wipes the vagueness away and he drives the pen into der Grossman's skull, over and over again, impartial to the crunching sounds the brittle bone makes when he cracks away at it, uncaring of the brown that pours out, or the terrible, mind shattering screams.

Something resembling a black cloud cloaks it, but Jason doesn't stop until the screams do, until he can breathe again and the only things splashing are falling from his eyes. He's disappointed. The ground sucks up all the brown, carries it away from the crumbling body that finally releases his arm, but the green doesn't recede. It's disappointed that there isn't more to stab and break apart, the pen's snapped, so he drives his fist against the hollowed out carcass until it's nothing but a putrid smelling powder scattered amongst the leaves.

Then it's gone, and there's nothing at all.

"Dear Eddie." Jason says and leans back, bracing his weight on his bruised knuckles so he can squint up at the moonlight winding its way through the dense foliage of the centuries old trees. He brings up a hand to press against a face that's numb as the rest of him. "I think I'm fucked up in the head." His voice cracks like der Grossman's skull and he's laughing, hysterical chuckles beating their way out of his throat while his cheeks grow wetter.

Sincerely, your pen-pal.

O

O

O

"Childish, no foresight in the slightest, this is unlike you."

The guesthouse he's dragged to when they find him is fancy, everything plush and so clean it's as if it's never seen the mythical stain in the entirety of its existence. Jason feels indescribably dirty in comparison, despite of, or maybe because of the fact that he's hanging around a place famous for baths.

"'F I believed every ghost story there'd be nowhere in the world I could go." Jason's stabbing his fork into a slice of cake, watching the cherry red filling dribble down the sides. Why did it have to be cherry? "Sides, it was only s'posed to go after kids." He ignores the withering frown she sets on him.

"That magic was involved makes no difference, magical enemies are an eventuality you should have prepared yourself for as you would have any other." She's drinking tea again, always with the tea. Jason wants to roll his eyes at her, but she's already pissed enough as it is. "That you have no answer as to what prompted this…"

"Wanted a vacation, babysitters annoyed me, new teacher sounded dumb." Jason flattened the cake with the back of his fork, then scooped up a bite. "Take your pick. 'M not a magician and I handled it fine anyway."

"This time, but the next?" She's watching him, but Jason refuses to look up at her, he's so tired, and the pushing and pulling on his ribcage had turned out to be very physical, breathing still hurts, he doesn't feel like talking. "Its fortuitous the next teacher I've acquired you is not to your taste, because I've taken it upon myself to arrange another overseer for your training."

"Yeah?" Jason raises his eyes, curious despite everything.

"A group I myself spent some time with as a girl, they were unable to…" She pauses and her eyes move to a corner of the room, then she shakes her head. "…correct many of my apparent flaws, but I believe you are just the sort of student that will flourish under their tutelage, given the time."

The wording there makes Jason skeptical, and for the first time since they'd sat down to lunch, Jason meets her eyes. "What exactly, are they supposed to be teaching me?"

"Whatever they see fit, I suppose, if I were so bold as to hope, something that would better prepare you for battles like the one in that forest."

"So magic?" Jason gapes at her. "I don't need to learn magic Talia; I don't have the time, every day I'm here…"

"Jason." She fixes him with a glare that smothers his outburst. "It is not magic, they are monks and assassins with a great many skils, if you wish to attain the skills you will need when antagonizing a man allied with demi-gods, you will submit yourself to this training without complaint. If not, there is nothing to be gained from providing you with any more teachers."

Translation, do what I say or I'm not helping you anymore.

"Fine." Whatever it is, can't take more than a couple of weeks anyway, and he'll be back on track for… whatever it is he's going to do when he's done with whatever this is. 'Cursed child, your very existence is sin enough.' His fork clatters against his plate, and the cake already in his mouth tastes like Alfred's waffles, he makes himself swallow anyway.

"When you've finished eating, pack you things, I'll need to deliver you to the All-Caste myself, and I haven't the time to dawdle." She sets her cup aside, Jason can see the dregs of tealeaves floating in the remnants, and he watches them while she stands and makes for the door. "Be ready to leave by morning."

"Talia." Jason calls before he can stop himself, and her clicking heels come to a stop. "Do you think I'm a curse?"

"Don't bother yourself with such things. That cake is named for the cherry liqueur invented in this region, you may as well try to enjoy this part of your vacation, it may be a while before you're given occasion for another." And she's gone.

She didn't say no.

The torn up notebook is still in Jason's backpack, still with his all of his half finished letters taking up the pages. Jason takes it out, now he's alone in the room, along with a pencil, and finds a clean page. He won't get anything about letting dumb crap bother him ghostmen and robotmen alike, and the cake is good when he gets a new piece that he hasn't squashed to death.

Dear Eddie

Titans are assholes, moronic assholes who all donated their brains to the JL supercomputer…