Alright, so jumping right into another week! (Why are they so close together?) This is JayRoy week, day one, to the prompt 'Robin Jason'. Now... I have this aversion to doing the 'obvious' story of a prompt, so I guarantee this is not what you were expecting. Enjoy!
Warnings for: Captivity, and implied/reference torture.
In life, there are certain things you should do and certain things you definitely shouldn't. This is definitely the latter.
If Roy had asked anyone he knew, they would have told him exactly that. They would have told him that sneaking into the castle of the scariest, meanest, craziest warlock and witch couple in the entire country was, in fact, probably a suicidal idea. So he hadn't asked anyone, because he already knew that, and he also knew that this was something he had to do. It wouldn't have made sense to anyone else, and they would have done anything they could to stop him, so he just packed what he needed for the trip, took his favorite horse from his father's stables, and left.
The castle is big, old, broken down and enough in ruins that it almost seems like it might crumble at one wrong step inside its walls. There are garish slashes of color across the outside of the castle, runes and sigils and curved symbols that might be ancient languages or might just be random splashes of color from a madman. The air thrums with magic, he can feel it prickling at his skin, and his horse got skittish enough as he was approaching that he left her tied up to a tree a mile back, just off the road. If he didn't know he had to go in, he'd already have turned around and left.
He swallows, adjusts the enchanted, mostly-magic-proof cloak around his shoulders, and slips forward to circle around the castle. The drawbridge is down, but that seems like a really terrible entrance for any purpose but getting himself killed. He's not going to be that crazy unless it's the only way in.
It was the annual fate-reader that had given him the knowledge he had to go. The readings are done in private, not to be shared with anyone outside the room unless you want to, and they're open for interpretation but always true. The reader had taken his hand, as she had every year since he came of age, and unlike every other year power had crashed into the room and taken both their breaths. Her nails had broken his skin, and he'd felt like he might snap in half as he arched and images flashed across his sight. This castle, the madness of a too-wide grin, sparking magic and a male roar of fury, and a pale man with blue-green eyes and black hair with a vivid white streak that shouted soundless words at him.
When he could see again, when they could both breathe, she told him that he had a true destiny, and that two fates rested on his actions. His, and someone else's. Someone powerful enough to reach out and connect with his soul, to forge a destiny in the time between last year's reading and this year's one. Somewhere deep in his bones, spinning in his soul, he knew it was true. He could feel a pull, a calling.
So here he is, following the images of his fate and the memory of the foreign power slamming through his veins. He has to.
He finds a broken window at the back of the castle, wide enough to get through and close enough to the ground that he can scale the wall to get to it, and takes a running start at the marsh-like moat that manages to get him all the way across it with one slightly panicky jump. The stone scrapes a bit underneath his hands, and he winces at every noise, but when he climbs through the window there's no one there to immediately kill him, so that bit's good news at least.
In fact, the castle is silent. There are more of the splashes of colored runes on the walls, and he does his best to avoid passing directly in front of them when possible. Better not to chance things, even if usually you need a full circle of runes and some careful spellwork to do anything with them. Raw power lets you take a lot of shortcuts, assuming you're good enough not to just blow yourself into pieces instead of doing what you wanted to. He can do a good handful of spells without needing the guiding runes, but it's not his passion so he's taking things slowly and learning just one at a time instead of risking accidents. Not the fastest method, but it's the safest; he knows as much as he immediately needs to.
The calling in his bones brightens for a moment, into something close to actual words but still so far from them that he can't understand even a little about it. Still, there's no hesitation when he turns right down the next corridor, even though he falters for a second at the brightly painted, half-open door at the end of the short corridor. His steps feel a little heavier, and he draws his cloak harder around his shoulders and makes sure the hood is covering enough of his head to be useful before he approaches the door. Luckily the gap is big enough that he can slip through it and into the empty room without having to actually touch the door.
The room is draped in fabrics all sorts of terrible, clashing colors and patterns, covering almost all of the walls and a good portion of the floor, except for one suspiciously blank circle with a warding circle carefully etched into the stone around its edges. A powerful one, if he's reading the detailed lines correctly. Like, the kind meant to contain beasts of old-magic or things like that. There's nothing in the circle at the moment, but the ground inside it is a darker shade, and as he gets a little closer he realizes that the staining of the stone is blood.
He shivers at that realization, and tears his eyes away from it to look around at the rest of the room. There are a couple of chairs, a bed almost entirely covered by the fall of a partially sheer green fabric from the ceiling above it, and… He squints, and yes, it's a cage. An ornamental birdcage, metal twisting together in artful patterns and it seems so out of place that he walks closer. Sudden movement from inside it freezes him for a second, and then he realizes that there's an actual bird in the cage. Small, a darker brown-grey with an orange breast. A robin.
Strange choice of a bird to keep.
He approaches the cage, and the bird flits from one perch to a higher one, looking right up at him but not making a sound. He stares for a few moments, and then registers that the calling in his bones has fallen silent. There's a heavy weight of anticipation, and it takes him another moment to realize that the air in the room is so soaked in magic that it's making him a little lightheaded. He shakes his head, trying to push the sensation away, and there's a sudden sharp chirp from the bird that sounds angry.
He looks back down to find its feathers puffed out, tail flicking behind it as it makes the noise again, jumping a few inches towards him. He blinks, staring down at it, and he's not sure where the compulsion comes from but he just knows.
He reaches down, carefully pulling the lock on the cage door open. The second the door is wide enough to be open the bird is flying free, shooting out, and there's a bright flare of magic that makes him yelp and shield his eyes. Blindingly bright green and red and a bottomless black, and when he carefully pulls his hand away from his eyes there's no bird. There's a man on the floor, breathing in sharp gasps, pale, naked skin streaked with bruises and scars, and more than a little bit of dried blood.
He stares, until the man looks up at him with blue-green eyes and his breath freezes in his chest.
"You," he whispers, staring at that familiar shade of eyes and the black hair with its white streak. "It was you. You called me."
The man nods, breathing brokenly and then saying, in a halting voice, "I— I call every year. I got it— got it right this time."
He looks around, then grabs a cloth from the ground that's a not-too-offensive shade of red and kneels down to drape it over the man. "How long have you been here? Got it right? Why haven't I heard you before?"
The man grabs the cloth, dragging it closer to his shoulders, and shakes his head. "Too long. The— The reading, it opens you to the strings of the world. Had to find your string." The man shivers, looks around the room with wild eyes and then up to him. "Help me; please."
He's helpless to resist the plea. The man leans heavily on him, red fabric dragged around his shoulders and covering most of him, and he wraps an arm around the thin waist and supports him as he steers them both towards the door. Despite the support, the breath against his shoulder is still ragged, catching every few steps and sounding a lot like there's something heavy sitting on his chest, compressing him down to sharp little gasps for air. Considering there's not, it worries him.
"Are you okay?" he asks, keeping his voice at a whisper. It still travels further than he's comfortable with, considering he's now both in the castle of two very dangerous people and held down by an injured man.
He gets a shake of the man's head, and then a gasped, "Sigils. Bind me."
His gaze goes to the unfamiliar work on the walls, the things he thought might be ancient languages. It worries him, mostly because someone with the kind of power that he felt in his reading must call for extreme bindings, which mean that the sigils on the walls aren't just random ones, they're probably castle-wide sets of circles within circles. Those kinds of circles are insanely hard to make, let alone maintain. Only the biggest and wealthiest of families generally have protection circles like this. Making them for binding purposes, to contain someone specific, is way trickier.
There's a sound growing in his ears, a sort of low whine, and it takes him several long minutes to realize that it's not just inside his own head. There's an actual noise building, singing through the corridors like the extended cry of some beast. He picks up the pace at that realization, as much as he can with his burden mostly immobile.
Still conscious enough to snap, "Right," at him when he starts to take a left turn at a crossing though.
He hesitates. "I came from that way. There's a window—"
"Drawbridge," the man growls. "Fastest way out. No—" A sharp gasp. "No point in s-subtlety. Hear the— the signal noise?"
He turns right, and then after a few more steps where nerves build in his stomach, he leans down and pulls the man up into his arms. It's not easy, but he manages it well enough that he doesn't think he's going to drop him, and that lets him move faster. Arms loop around his neck, clinging to him, and he dares to move faster. Commands come in little gasps against his shoulder, guiding him through the castle, and the whole time that noise grows in his ears. From a whine to an ear-piercing screech that he can barely stand, that hurts.
He almost misses the first blast of magic that comes at them, but the man he's rescued digs nails into his neck and jerks his head down, and the flash of light from behind him is close enough to sting as it passes. There's a cackling laugh, and he looks down the corridor it came from and sees a thin, tall man racing down it, sees the grin from his vision. He runs. That's the Joker, which means his partner, the Harlequin, can't be far behind, and if they catch him—
He shoves through the door he's pointed towards, feels another blast slam into the wood hard enough to take it off his hinges behind him and send it spinning off into the wall to his right, blackened and cracking. But he can see light, see the exit, and he's probably never run so fast in his life. He runs as jaggedly as he can manage while still making actual progress, and his feet touch the drawbridge despite the laughing behind him — two voices now — and the sizzle of magic in the air. But then some spell cracks into the wood ahead of him, and it splinters, and his foot hits one of the planks as it jerks up.
He falls hard, rolling, and the man in his arms comes loose, rolls too. His momentum leaves him lying in dirt, past the edge of the drawbridge, his head ringing and shoulder aching where it took the brunt of his fall. He drags his head up to look, and finds the man he was trying to rescue lying at the end of the drawbridge, and both of the castle's masters standing over him. The Joker, in throat-to-toe purple and green clothing, skin and mind warped by the magic that crackles out from him and then back in like little bits of lightning. His partner, the Harlequin, standing beside him in a black and red corset and torn-off skirt, skin pale and blond hair drawn into two braids.
Joker's grin is too-wide, all teeth and then a high-pitched laugh, as he lifts one foot and steps down hard onto the man's chest. "Where d'ya think you're going, little songbird?" he asks, cheerily. "You know you have to ask nicely if you want time outside your cage."
Harlequin squats down, reaching out and grabbing the man's throat, blackened nails digging into his pale skin as he chokes, one hand rising to shove at Joker's foot. "I think someone needs a lesson, Mistah J!" she says, and it sounds so pleased that it sends a sharp little bolt of fear down his spine. A harder one comes when she looks up at him, and grins. "Think we should kill his little friend?"
"That sounds like a marvelous idea, Harley!"
He stays frozen in the dirt as the man he tried to rescue, their victim, is released and gets to breathe again. Then Joker starts to step forward, over his form, and the man pushes up and into the way, a sharp sound bursting from his throat with power laced into it as if it's a spell. He can see the way it sweeps the hair and clothing of the two insane magic users back, see how they both shift back a step, but that's all it does.
Harlequin gives him a sharp kick to the jaw in retaliation that knocks him on his back again, clearly stunning him. "Down!" she shouts. "No barking in the house; bad bird!"
The sigils… keep him bound. That thought locks into his head as he stares at the way those blue-green eyes are glazed, the little gasping motions of his chest. Then his gaze falls to the drawbridge, and the painted sigils at the end of it that he's lying just a couple feet past, but the man he tried to rescue is firmly still within. Before he can fully accept how crazy he is for even thinking of it, he reaches inwards, finds his magic, focuses as much as he can manage, and lets it burst from him.
"Here!" he shouts, extending a hand and throwing his will into the spell, letting his mind narrow down to the singular desire to have the man he's trying to save next to him. To bring him here.
There's a moment of resistance but he pulls, and then the man is jerking towards him like he's being yanked back by strings, dragging across the wood of the drawbridge and then past it in the span of a second, close enough that his fingers can grab the red cloth wrapped partially around him and drag him in. Past the sigils, away from the sharp sound of anger from Harlequin.
Those blue-green eyes snap open, staring into his own, and there's magic flickering within them and then flaring, making his eyes light. A deep breath, and then he's being shoved down onto his back and the man is straddling his chest, hands lowering and clasping over his ears. Suddenly there's no sound, and the man is letting him go and turning, mouth curling in a snarl, eyes still lit from within and power crackling over his skin. That mouth parts like he's screaming, but there's still an utter lack of noise in his ears and he can only stare as the ground beneath them rumbles. Shakes.
He jerks his head over and both the Joker and Harlequin are on their knees, hands pressed to their ears and their expressions twisted in pain, mouths open like they're screaming too. The man above him rises to his feet, walking towards the castle to stand just in front of the sigils, hands curling to fists and the ground cracks. He stares as the shaking gets worst, and little cracks in the earth open up under the sigils, breaking them. A portion of one of the towers collapses, and he scrambles back a couple feet, watching as… as the man twists, flings a hand out and both of their kneeling forms get flung backwards, towards the castle. Joker smacks into a wall, crumpling to the floor, and Harlequin goes skidding. The castle, all at once, collapses in on itself.
Both of them are buried under the stone.
There's a moment of stillness. The man's hand lowers, and Roy stares upwards as he's turned back to and approached. He can feel the vibration of the footsteps but there's still no sound in his ears, just a strange echo of silence, like— like—
The man kneels, reaches out, and he flinches but not far enough to stop those hands from clasping down over his ears again. There's a moment where he inhales sharply, feels the brush of fingers along his scalp, through his hair, and then the hands pull away and sound pops back to him. He can hear the grinding shift of the castle's stones as the wreck settles, can hear himself breathing, his own heartbeat pounding. The man above him gives a crooked smile, and touches the center of his chest with gentle fingers.
"Thank you."
He can only nod, and then the way-too-powerful man frowns, looking down, fingers drifting up to his sore shoulder. "It's fine," he defends, shifting back, but the man's mouth opens in a small breath and then he's singing.
Low, like the crooning of a lullaby but just tune and the twist of syllables that don't form any language he knows, as the man's eyes drift closed. He listens, staring with wide eyes, caught on the beautiful rise and fall of that melody. He doesn't even realize his shoulder has stopped aching until the voice fades off, and those blue-green eyes slide open again.
He swallows, and then breathes, "Who are you?"
The man smirks. "You can call me Jason, Roy. Sorry for scaring you; if you'd heard my voice..."
"I'd be as dead as they are?" he hazards, and Jason looks at him for a long moment.
"Probably," is the agreement. There's a little flash of anger, before Jason looks towards the castle, mouth curling in a snarl. "They shouldn't have tried to contain me."
He pushes up onto his arms. "You're pretty hurt," he points out. "My father's castle is only about a three day ride, and I've got some extra clothes that might fit you. You could come with me? Take some time to recover before you head out… wherever home is?"
Jason looks back at him after another few moments, and then nods. "I have to," is the quiet admission. "When I called for you I tangled the strings of our fates together; I'll need a bit of time to sort them back out so I don't keep calling you to me. You've got a life, I'm sure."
"Oh, yeah, that'd be good. Why did you pick me?" he asks, as Jason stands, gathering the drape of red cloth a little more securely around his frame.
Jason gives a flicker of a smirk, and offers him a hand. "Self-fulfilling prophecy. I saw your face in my future, so I picked you to call to me when I needed help. If I hadn't, maybe we never would have met. The future is… uncertain, at the best of times."
"Are you a fate-reader?" is his next question, as he lets Jason pull him to his feet. That gets him a snort.
"No. What I am you've never heard of, trust me. Lead the way, Roy."
His clothes do fit Jason, at least well enough to work. He doesn't have boots, but his horse is still where he left it, so Jason mostly stays on her and doesn't walk. He keeps the pace slow, for the sake of his horse, and that means that Jason spends a lot of time leaning against his back, humming to himself. It takes him some time — and a day of feeling just really good for no reason — before he realizes that Jason's humming is some sort of healing spell. He expects it to stop once the bruises vanish from Jason's skin, but it doesn't. He gets used to the soft humming against his shoulder, and it isn't until they're maybe an hour away from the castle and have paused to stretch their legs that he realizes that the continued spell is slowly erasing the scars from Jason's skin.
He doesn't really know how to ask about that though, considering he only noticed because he's been looking at a nasty scar near the back of Jason's neck for the last three days and now it's gone. He's also partially convinced that Jason isn't sleeping so much as singing louder songs at night once he's asleep, because Jason's been sleeping on the horse instead, up against his back. It's possible that whatever magic Jason's harnessing just uses a lot of energy, and he needs that much sleep, but he thinks his reasons are probably a little more likely.
Oliver is pissed that he left, which he expected, and he knows that about two seconds after he walks in the door. Dinah is worried more than angry, which is good because out of the two of them he definitely worries more about what she thinks than he does. Luckily, both of them cut off the inevitable lecture about two words in when Jason steps out from behind him, standing taller than he has in the last few days and steady in the face of their apparent anger.
He clears his throat, shifting his weight a bit, and says, "Jason, this is—"
"Oliver and Dinah Queen," Jason says, voice smooth and calm. "I know." One step forward, bare feet silent against the marbled floor, puts Jason just ahead of him and makes him the clear focus of his parents' attention. "My name is—" Jason's voice lifts into a rise and fall of musical notes that's something otherworldly and powerful enough to make him gasp and shudder, and he can see Dinah's eyes flicker closed, Oliver's breath catch. Jason smirks at the resulting silence, and then adds, "But you can call me Jason. Easier for human voices."
Which brings into sharp relief that Jason is not human, which he'd thought about but never really considered because most other human-like races are rare at best and long-dead at worst.
Oliver looks somewhere between shocked and nervous, but it's Dinah who shakes part of it off to breathe, "You're a— a—"
"Your people call us singers," Jason fills in. "Or you did a long time ago. You never could pronounce our actual name."
"What's a singer?" he asks. He's never heard the title before. By Dinah's look she has, but Oliver looks as clueless as he is, although also a good deal more wary than he is. He's spent three days with Jason; there have been plenty of chances to hurt him if that's what Jason meant to do.
Jason looks back at him, and then explains, "My kind can reshape the world with our songs, with enough practice, and caution. I didn't heal your shoulder, Roy; I told it that it wasn't injured and it molded itself to my desire." He stares, and Jason smirks at him for a moment before returning his gaze to Dinah. "Your son saved my life; I'd like to repay that."
"That's really not necessary," Dinah says, and he's never known her to sound nervous but she does. "You don't have to—"
"It's not your decision," Jason interrupts, voice suddenly sharp. "The debt is owed to Roy; it's his choice." He swallows, and Jason turns to him. "Thank you for your kindness," comes the much softer words. "I'm not going to stay — being in a castle is too familiar, right now — but before I go let me separate our strings again, as it should be."
Dinah looks worried, but he just swallows and nods. "Alright," is about all the agreement he can manage.
Jason steps forward, reaching up and sliding fingers over his cheeks, to hold his head in place. Jason's eyes slide shut, and the song that comes from his parting lips is soft to start with. Low, coaxing, thrumming in his bones like that original call did. Then it rises, louder, more insistent, and Jason's hands tighten as he gasps, tasting power in the air and feeling it crash through him. His back arches, hands grasping at Jason's sides as his bones shake with the force of it. For a few moments he gasps for air that doesn't come, and then something shifts. He's not sure whether it's the world or him, but something integral changes and he can feel it, before Jason's song is gentling, soothing away that lingering breathlessness.
He breathes deep, feels the world settle as he opens his eyes again and looks at Jason. Still singing softly, fingers stroking over his cheeks before pulling away as those blue-green eyes open again. The song ends, and Jason gives a tired, crooked smile.
"It's done," Jason murmurs. "We're separate." He can see the faint tremble to Jason's hands as the singer steps back. "I owe you a debt, Roy. When you know what you want in payment, or if you need me, sing. I'll hear you."
Jason starts to turn away, and he steps forward and says, "Wait! You're— You're exhausted. Stay a night? Just to recover?"
Jason waves him off, takes a slightly unsteady step away. "I'm fine. I'll—" One leg buckles, and he jerks forward and catches Jason as he falls, wrapping arms around his chest and holding him up off the floor. Jason's breath is hot against his collar, before the singer gives a breathless snort, not even trying to right himself. "Yeah, alright. Maybe one night."
"Might be a good idea," he says, with — alright — just a little sarcasm. "Come on, we'll get you set up in a guest room."
"You try changing the natural order of the universe and see how you feel," Jason grumbles, against his shoulder. And then, as he lifts Jason back to his feet, there's a whispered, "Thank you."
He squeezes Jason's side, ignores the looks of his parents, and offers a smile as he answers, "No problem."