Disclaimer: I don't own Batman. Only the ideas and some of the OCs.

Chapter 1

The Good Samaritan

Barely twenty-one years old and already an alcoholic. What would his mother say? She wouldn't care. She's a drug addict, Jason thought vindictively. He was dangerously close to falling off the rooftop ledge where he was currently sitting. Boy, it would be so easy, to just let go and fall and just…die.

Sometimes Jason wondered if he's better off being dead.

"Why would you think that?"

Jason sighed, rubbing his eyes. Did he say that last part out loud? "I don't know. What do you think? Maybe because I'm having a conversation with a goddamn hallucination?"

His hallucination was a middle-aged man in a business attire this time. With a gunshot wound in the middle of his forehead. He was murdered, most likely.

"I think I'm pretty real." He said, resting his elbows on the parapet. Jason thought the man looked like someone from Boardwalk Empire. He was impeccably dressed, giving an air of authority.

"That's exactly what an imagination would say. Probably trying to convince me that I ain't crazy."

"I used to be alive just like you, kiddo," the man said, looking sad. Ah hell, now Jason felt like a jackass. He finally met a hallucination that wasn't trying to kill him and he's being an asshole. "I supposed it's my own fault for being an idiot."

"Yeah?" Jason said, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply. "What did you do?"

"I…got in with a bad crowd. Borrowed some money from a loan shark and couldn't pay. They killed me right before I got home. My daughter found my body."

"Jesus," Jason winced, glancing at the man. "Sorry."

"Ah well," the man waved his hand. "It's been a long time since then."

"Is that why you're still here?" Jason took a swig of his Vodka.

"I actually don't know why I'm still here." The man said, furrowing his brows. "It took me some time, yes, but I've gotten over my death."

"Where's your daughter now?"

The man blinked. "I… I don't know."

"Maybe that's why you're still here," Jason said. "You probably need some closure before you can go."

"Huh." The man flashed him a sad smile. "You're probably right."

"Let me help you," Jason blinked, as if not realizing what he had just said. He's either really drunk or just plain crazy for even suggesting that. Oddly enough, he didn't feel any regret in deciding to help. He'd want someone to help him too if he somehow ended up as a wandering ghost. He pulled out his phone. "What's your name?"

"Vincent Moretti. What is that thing?"

"Mobile phone," Jason said, tossing his cigarette aside. "I'm guessing you're from the 50s then? Or the 60s?"

"Close enough," said Vincent, rubbing his chin. "I've been back a couple of years then. After the War. So… 1949?"

"Is this where you used to live?"

"Haven't tried to leave yet."

Jason began typing. "Okay, so… Wow, you really are not my hallucination."

"Why don't you do that later?" Vincent said, oddly unenthusiastic. "We can talk about you instead? What's a young man like you doing up here drinking and trying to get yourself killed?"

Jason froze, unsure how to answer. He had never talked about his death to anyone before. Not for lack of trying on Grayson's part, though. "I…"

At Jason's hesitation, Vincent let out a chuckle. "I know your type, Boy. Got a friend just like you back in the army. Always trying to act tough when he's clearly suffering as much as we do."

Jason sniggered, despite everything. And he didn't know why, but he did tell Vincent everything. How he used to be Robin, and that he was murdered. How the anniversary of his death was quickly approaching and his nightmares were getting worse. And how he's been reliving the moments of his death more often than not lately. He even told Vincent about Bruce.

"Seems to me like you're experiencing Combat Stress Reaction, son," said Vincent after a while. "It's probably worse because it's almost the anniversary of your… passing."

"I can believe I'm talking to a ghost about my PTSD." Jason laughed, taking another swig of his Vodka. His flask is almost empty much to his disappointment. He had intended to drink until he passed out. It's the only way he could sleep without having nightmares.

"Why not?" Vincent's eyes crinkled with mirth. "Dead men tell no tales, you ever heard that? It's not like I can tell anyone. You'd still be the tough guy everyone thinks you are." Then he hesitated. "And it sounds like you should talk to your father too. He'd want that. I know I would."

Jason's eyes turned cold in an instant. "I don't want to talk to him. Why would I— He—he doesn't even—"

A scream cut him off. Below him, a woman was surrounded by three men. Another two men were lying on the ground unmoving. It looked like she could take care of herself but Jason doubted she'd be able to handle another three at once.

Beside him, Vincent had grown pale and taken a couple of steps backward. His expression terrified as if he'd seen something so horrifying. "Don't go down there. It's a—"

Jason leaped down before Vincent could finish.

In the end, Jason only killed one of the thugs. The woman took care of the rest. She cracked the others' skulls with a single hit from a worn baseball bat.

"I appreciate you trying to help, Darling, but I've got it handled." she tossed the bloody bat into a nearby dumpster.

"Obviously," Jason said dumbly, staring at the woman. Then to the four thugs she had killed single-handedly.

He went rigid when she turned to look at him. She's the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Even more so than Donna Troy herself. Her black hair was flowing gently in the wind. But it was her eyes that captivated him. It was a deep shade of purple. Her gaze sharp and penetrating, as if she could see even the deepest part of him that he kept hidden.

"Oh my," she said, licking her lips. "It is you. The one who escaped from Death's clutches."

Jason tensed, eyes narrowing. His hands instinctively moved toward for his guns but his mind was telling him to stop because she's no threat. He didn't want to do anything to hurt her. "Who are you?"

"Why, I'm Dantalion." She said, tugging on her necklace and showing him her pendant. A peculiar one, like a sigil. "A Demon. The Great Duke of Hell."

"You're a woman."

"I have many faces. It just so happens that I am partial to this form." Dantalion tilted her head to the side, crossing her arms. "Doesn't change the fact that I'm the Great Duke of Hell herself. Or did you not just see me kill all these men myself? Without breaking a sweat, I might add."

"That doesn't prove you're a Demon."

She approached him. His feet were rooted to the ground despite his gut screaming at him to run as far away as he could.

"Believe what you will. Though, I suppose I should reward you for your assistance. How about... I offer you a deal, hmm?"

"I don't want anything from you." He gritted his teeth. He's not such an idiot to ever ask something from a Demon. If she's even a real Demon.

"Are you sure?" She trailed her finger on his chest. "There's nothing you desire? Nothing at all?"

"I—" Jason's voice wavered. A deal with the Devil? Now, that's tempting. It didn't happen to anyone. He could ask for— then he blinked and shook his head. "What did you do?"

She raised an elegant brow and smiled as if satisfied with something. "You're strong-willed, aren't you? That's good. Now, about that deal. I could hide you from Death. What do you say?"

"Hide me from Death?" Jason frowned. "You mean immortality?"

"No, not at all." She smiled again. A cold cruel smile that sent chills down his spine. "You have Death's mark on you, my dear. It's the reason why you're questioning your existence. How often do you think about killing yourself? It's because Death wants you back."

"Really?" He stated flatly. "So Death's looking for me."

"No," she rolled her eyes. "Why would he do that? Humans are insignificant. He's Death, he doesn't have time for you. But his mark is a guarantee of an eternity of suffering."

Jason looked at her. "Aren't you afraid of what he might do to you?" She glared at him and the ground trembled slightly. "Death doesn't make an exception, does he? There must be a consequence for defying him." He hastily added.

"Only if he finds out." She shrugged. "But since I'll hide his mark, he wouldn't. Ever."

He didn't believe her. How could he? The whole notion was ridiculous. But all of sudden there was the anger inside him was growing. The familiar feeling of hatred, regret, and helplessness.

Her smile was wide now, she didn't even bother hiding it anymore. "Or is it revenge you want, my dear? Against the one who wronged you? Now, who could that be? Someone whose name starts with a J and ends with an R?"

"Why don't you kill him for me then?" Jason said through gritted teeth. His body was shaking and trembling with rage.

"Very well," she said. Then her eyes turned red and taken aback, Jason took a few steps backward. Then the ground started trembling and behind her, fire lit up on the pavement, spreading into the shape of her pendant. It looked like she just opened a gateway to hell.

Something crawled up. A disfigured man so thin he looked like a skeleton. His whole body was littered with third-degree burns and he crawled toward her, dropping a very familiar knife at her feet before screaming and disintegrating into ashes.

Then everything disappeared into a cloud of yellow dust as soon as she picked up the knife. "You know what this is," she said putting the knife in his palm and closing his fingers around it. "He carved up your body with it. Remember how he tortured you and taunted you? I killed him for you."

"You killed him." He said absentmindedly, still staring at the switchblade. 'Why so serious?' was engraved on the blade. Along with 'Joker.' There's no mistake. This was the Joker's knife.

"My most decorated torturer will be waiting for him. He'll suffer, I promise you that," she said. "Now, what are you going to offer me in exchange for that?"

"Anything." He whispered, clutching the blade so hard that his hand started to bleed. She took his hand and licked the blood. "Anything you want."

"Your soul. For all eternity."

"You have it." He repeated. And then she kissed him, with his blood still on her mouth. He kissed her back, even with a burning pain on the base of his neck where her hands were.

"Come find me later," she pulled away, slipping a card into his pocket before slipping past him. An antique dagger with her sigil engraved on the handle appeared on his hand. "The only knife that can kill Supernaturals. You're gonna need that now."

She had disappeared when he turned around. So he slipped both knives inside his jacket and pulled out the card she had slipped into his pocket. On its face was a picture of a woman with horns and wings. In front of her was Jason, with chains all around him. His shoulders were slumped forward, and he was being strangled with a rope by the woman. On the bottom was the name of the card. 'XV. The Devil.'

He turned it over. A message appeared. An address of Perdition, the new club at Diamond District. And then it hit him that he had just made a deal with the Devil. He had intended to refuse, he truly did. But then all could feel was a rage so intense that it blinded his common sense. All he wanted was his revenge on the Joker. He wanted the Joker to die an agonizing death.

"Oh God," Jason said, staggering backward and breathing heavily. He winced when he felt the burn on the back of his neck again. "What have I done?"

He had only ever wanted to save people. But if this was what he got from helping people then he should start learning to mind his own business.

To hell with everyone else.

A little bit about Dantalion from Goetia - S. L. MacGregor Mathers (1904):

"The Seventy-first Spirit is Dantalion. He is a Duke Great and Mighty, appearing in the Form of a Man with many Countenances, all Men's and Women's Faces; and he hath a Book in his right hand. His Office is to teach all Arts and Sciences unto any; and to declare the Secret Counsel of any one; for he knoweth the Thoughts of all Men and Women, and can change them at his Will. He can cause Love, and show the Similitude of any person, and show the same by a Vision, let them be in what part of the World they Will. He governeth 36 Legions of Spirits; and this is his Seal, which wear thou, etc."

A/N: So I completely rewrote Crossroad Blues. I think this one is better and I hope you like it too. Don't hesitate to leave a review! Thanks for reading. :)