"Relax, Dean," Sam said. "Once we wrap this case up we can leave."
"I know," Dean mumbled, wrapping his leather jacket around himself tighter in an attempt to block out the icy winds passing through the graveyard. "Damned city's still giving me the creeps, though."
Sam chuckled quietly. "Gotham is a madhouse," he agreed. "I heard there's some murderous clown that runs around the city." Sam shuddered at the thought.
"Seriously?" Dean's voice was halfway between incredulous and amused. "I thought a guy in a bat costume was as weird as this place got."
"Me too," Sam replied. "He goes by the Joker or something." Sam's tone suddenly became dark and grim. "He killed the bat's son a couple of months back. Robin, I think his name was. The poor kid never even stood a chance. Psycho had him chained up in a warehouse for weeks and then blew him up."
"Damn..." Dean sighed. "What kind of a parent would let their kid do something like that? Going out there against people like that."
Sam looked like he was going to cut in.
"I know dad wasn't perfect," Dean began, "but at least he waited until we were older before throwing us into the deep end. Especially not against that. People are just..." He trailed off, gesturing as he looked for the right word. "Give me a demon or a vamp any day. The monsters, I get. There's always a method to their madness, y'know a reason, but people always make me wonder if the things we hunt are the monsters."
Sam wasn't sure Dean was still talking about the Joker.
There was a loud scream and they both immediately sprinted to its source.
A young boy, couldn't have been any older than 14, was clawing himself out of a distraught grave. He was halfway out, and broken streaks of tears and blood glistened on his face in the pale torchlight. Dean grabbed under the boy's arms and Sam began to dig out his legs.
They tore him free and he stopped struggling, lying limply in Dean's arms, shaking as muted sobs racked his tiny frame. Dean wrapped his arms around the child tighter, in an attempt to comfort him. He rested his chin on the top of the boy's head and rocked back and forth gently. "What do I do?" he mouthed at Sam.
"Take him to the motel," Sam answered firmly. "Call Cas and see if he knows what the hell is going on."
"What about the case?"
"I can handle it," Sam said and Dean hesitated. "Trust me. Go."
Dean murmured softly to the boy. "I'm gonna take you somewhere safe. 'Kay?"
After the boy nodded weakly, Dean picked him up carefully and began weaving in and out of the headstones; the path to the Impala lit by the torch held securely between his teeth.
The kid had fallen asleep the second that Dean had put him in the back of the Impala. Honestly, Dean couldn't really blame him; he knew just how exhausting digging your way out of a grave was. But it left him with one small dilemma.
How the hell was he meant to get the kid inside without waking him?
Well, for one, moving the boy in the wrong way elicited a pained groan or gasp. He was probably littered with cuts and bruises and, hell, Dean wouldn't be surprised if the kid had a broken bone or two. He looked like it, probably died in a car crash or something.
The boy wasn't heavy in the slightest, so that was really an issue. Dean managed to painstakingly manoeuvre him out of the car and was honestly worried by how bony the kid felt through his suit. He was also very much aware of the fact that the kid may or may not turn out to be a demon or vampire or something that could probably rip him to shreds at any moment.
Dean got a face full of the boy's mess of black hair when he nearly dropped his keys, managing to catch them before they hit the ground. He carefully peeled off the boy's blazer before laying him down on the couch.
Dean finally got a better look at the boy and he immediately noticed two things:
He was absolutely tiny. Barely 5 foot and maybe, maybe 100 pounds.
His skin was riddled with burns and bruises and there was definitely no doubt about broken bones anymore. There was a thin, crooked 'J' carved into the sallow flesh of the boy's left cheek. It was faded and probably a superficial scar, but Dean couldn't help but flinch at the sight of it.
The boy shifted slightly in his sleep and Dean sighed; he couldn't call Cas without waking the kid up. He stepped outside the motel room, shutting the door quietly behind him. "Cas?" he whispered. "Cas? I need your help."
Almost immediately, there was the all-too comforting fluttering of wings behind him, followed by a gravelly, "Hello, Dean."
"Hey, Cas," Dean returned, spinning on his heels.
"What do you need my help with?" Cas asked. Dean thought of how to explain the situation without sounding completely and utterly insane.
"We found a kid in a graveyard." Dean winced at his own words. Well, it could have been worse.
Cas cocked his head to the side slightly. "I don't understand why that requires my help. Surely, you should give the child to the proper authorities."
Dean sighed, deciding to just show Cas instead, leading him into the motel room and pointing at the child curled up on the couch. "We found him digging himself out of a grave. I think someone made a deal."
"Oh." Cas pondered over this, like he was contemplating what he should do with his information. After a moment, he stepped forward, reaching out towards the boy. Dean stopped him.
"Don't wake him up. He's been through enough."
"I can assure you, Dean," Cas said, somewhat haughtily. "I am more than capable of not waking the child."
He rested a hand on the boy's forehead, frowning slightly. Dean watched as the boy began to shake slightly before returning to his quiet slumber. "What is it?"
"The child is radiating power," Cas muttered, turning to face Dean. "You said this child was resurrected?"
"I think? Maybe? I don't know. Is he-?"
"Whatever brought this child back was certainly not a demon..." Cas stared contemplatively at the boy. "He doesn't pose any of a threat."
Dean relaxed, and then Cas spoke again, "However, I'm afraid the boy might not live for long."
"Why? What's wrong with him?"
"Besides from the physical injuries," Cas said, sounding oddly calm. "The power that brought him back is fading. I don't know whether he'll survive when it's completely gone."
"Well, what do we do?" Dean exclaimed. "We can't just let him die. There has to be something we can do."
Cas thought for a moment. "There is one option," he began. "But it's incredibly dangerous."
"What is it?"
"Ra's Al Ghul."
"Razza-what?"
"Ra's Al Ghul," Cas repeated. "He is in possession of the last Lazarus Pit in existence."
"Which is?" Dean prompted.
"It can heal any injury and resurrect the dead."
"What's the catch?" There was always a price to pay when bringing someone back. Dean, himself, sold his soul to bring back his own brother.
"It has the potential to drive anyone exposed insane." There it was. Dean wasn't in any position to decide whether the kid died again or whether he should risk the kid's sanity. He looked down at the boy, his small chest rising with shallow, wheezy breaths, and felt a pang in his chest.
"Great," Dean muttered bitterly. "Just great. Well, we've gotta try, haven't we?"
Cas nodded. "I need to ask Al Ghul for permission to use the Pit. I will return to collect the boy."
He ran a hand through the boy's hair before disappearing. Dean sighed, going over to the cabinets and pouring himself a drink. He was completely wrapped up with just everything, he didn't even know the kid's name and he was already worrying about him. Hell, the kid had been conscious for literally two minutes. He was still mulling over whether letting the kid take a dip in the crazy water was really the best idea, and he hadn't noticed Sam letting himself in. Sam cleared his throat and he jumped.
"Whoa," Sam exclaimed, holding his hands up. "It's just me."
Dean combed a hand through his hair, sighing. "Sorry, I was just..." He gestured to his drink. Sam nodded in understanding.
"I was think about doing some research about the kid," Sam said, eyeing Dean's reaction. There wasn't any. In fact, Dean hadn't looked up from the bottom of his glass. "See what I can find. But I think I can handle it. How about you go get some sleep?"
Dean didn't even try to argue, like he normally would, and he headed straight to his room. Though before he turned to leave: "Cas stopped by a second ago and said the kid wasn't a monster and something about a Lazarus Pit and some guy named Ra's Al Ghul. You think you could try to find something on that?"
Sam nodded, and Dean stopped to check on the kid before going into his room. He was out before his head hit the pillow. Sam stared at after Dean for a moment before sitting down at the two-person coffee table with his laptop out in front of him. He typed the name that had been on the kid's headstone, 'Jason Todd' into the search engine. Unsurprisingly, there weren't many results. Most were random profiles or unrelated ads. One in particular caught his eye.
LATEST ADDITION TO THE WAYNE FAMILY
It was a short article from the Gotham Gossip, Sam grimaced at the name. It was dated around 4 years ago.
'Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne has brought another orphan under his wing. Nine-year-old Jason Todd was officially adopted by Bruce early this week, shortly followed by the adoption of Bruce's oldest son, Dick Grayson.'
There was a photo of Jason and Bruce below the text. Sam couldn't help but feel sorry for him; he looked so out of place in this oversized hoodie and an irritated sneer. Bruce was shielding him from the hordes of press hounds with one hand and waving the other out at the camera, a comfortable smile plastered across his face.
They looked so similar and yet so different at the same time. Bruce's jet-black hair immaculately styled and Jason's a mess of raven curls. Bruce's eyes a pristine, pale shade of blue that practically reflected every camera flash and Jason's a vibrant blue, and with hints of green almost teal.
There was another paragraph underneath.
'The question on everybody's mind: how will Jason compare to his predecessor? Although, Jason may not have the natural flare for the spotlight that Dick does, one can't help but fall in love with the bad boy aura surrounding the former Crime Alley inhabitant.'
Sam decided that this was a good place to stop, he already felt guilty enough about digging into the kid's life, especially considering the consequences, without having to read this abomination of journalism. So, he decided that he would research something else ad he typed in 'Lazarus Pit.'
'Lazarus Pits have been mentioned throughout human history and across the globe. The legends surrounding them differentiates from continent to continent and from one time period to another. In most accounts, they are capable of healing any wound, curing any illness, resurrecting the dead, and, if exposed periodically, granting immortality.
The Pits' power is thought to have come from the liquid in the Pit as opposed to the location itself. Throughout history, the makeup of the liquid has been thought to have been many substances. During the Renaissance, for example, it was said that the Pits were made from the grace of angels slain by demons. Many accounts tell of these Lazarus Pits fading away and losing their abilities. This was commonly thought to have been what caused underground lakes and rivers. The last Lazarus Pit is fabled to be in the possession of Ra's Al Ghul, a man said to be centuries old and who is often referred to as 'The Demon's Head'.'
Sam bookmarked the website to show to Dean later. He clicked for another site to search for more. The article mentioned a Dick Grayson, so perhaps they could try and ask him about Jason, seeing as Bruce Wayne ran a multi-national, multi-billion-dollar corporation and probably had better things to than be bothered by questions about his dead son by two literal strangers.
He glanced over at Jason briefly, sleeping soundly, wheezing softly. He knew Cas had said that Jason wasn't a threat to them, but he still couldn't help but wonder if Jason was human.
Maybe he was an angel. Could angels even take dead hosts?
Sam didn't know. And, quite frankly, it creeped him out.