It's here. What's been happening to Jason? Spoiler alert: losing his goddamn mind. More to come. Thanks again to all my reviewers, y'all are awesome!
trigger warning for scenes of torture, electrocution, and psychological manipulation! If you'd like to skip those parts, I'd recommend that you read only what's in italics - that's a little flashback to Jason and Bruce's vacation time, which is really the only thing that will be referenced later!
Enjoy!
Chapter 7: Jason Todd
Jason has almost forgotten what it's like to wake up without pain. Hell, these days he barely gets any sleep at all. Out of all the different forms of torture he's endured, this is the worst. It's also one of the most deeply psychological. He can feel himself cracking.
Days. Without. Sleep.
The room he's trapped in is filled with artificial light, fluorescent and hard on the eyes. The light flashes on and off, in time with the squealing siren going off above. Each time the lights go off, Jason's eyes squeeze shut – hoping against hope to get just one moment of sleep. But then the lights are back, the siren echoes in his ear, and he's shocked into awareness. He's curled up in a fetal position, covering his ears against the constant strain. It's gotten so bad that he can barely see straight, everything is blurred to hell and shapeless shadows dance on the edge of his vision. Sometimes they are bat-shaped. Other times, there are hints of purple and green. After so many days – he's lost count at this point – his body shuts down periodically in what the medical community would call "microsleep". Moments in time where he is physically asleep, but not psychologically aware of it.
Jason can't help himself. A scream tears itself from his throat, as he holds tighter to his ears. the madness and pain clash into a smoldering mess. He doesn't even realize that the lights have stopped flashing until his ribs receive a painful kick. His ears are still ringing painfully like a sadistic, warped afterimage. Jason gasps for air as he's lifted from the ground, but he's too disoriented to get his feet moving beneath him and he falls straight back onto his face.
So, they lift him again, this time causing as much pain to his freshly healing ribs as possible. They bring him to the central cavern, the one where he usually faces all manner of torture. From waterboarding to flogging to hours spent naked in the freezer – it was all taking its toll. He was losing chunks of time, memory that was inexplicably gone. He couldn't remember his experiences very well, and at times there were just black holes where once he could remember being dragged to the post in the center of the room. That was not to say that he didn't feel what was happening to him. There were times, when he was allowed to sleep in his cell, that Jason would swear his body was alight with pain. At those moments, he could feel every wound, every brand, every whipping, every assault – and his nerve endings caught fire with the absolute agony of the past few months. He would scream until one of the guards got tired of it and knocked him out for real.
Beyond that, the evidence was still on his skin. The brand was the worst of all. The number 66 was emblazoned on his chest, near the shoulder, to mark him as the 66th trial, the only successful "participant". His body had become a patchwork of scars that no amount of the Lazarus Formula could heal. It still made shame and anger rise in him each time he looked at one of them – the images of what happened coming to him in waves. Psychologists called them "flashbulb" memories, when aspects of trauma brought back a perfect memory – how the ground felt as his blood dripped to the floor, the smell of it, the experience of pain…
Now, though, he didn't have the luxury of allowing that pain to rule his mind. Because Ra's was standing before him. The first time in months that he had been an active agent in Jason's torment since the very beginning. Since the brand was pressed into his skin.
He's pushed to his knees in front of the centuries-old being, only to careen forward and puke on the man's shoes.
Yeah, sleep deprivation was a bitch.
And so was karma.
The man ignored the bile now eating through the leather of his fancy shoes, instead directing his questions to Ubu, his right-hand man. "How many days?"
"A full two weeks. Give or take."
"Good," Ra's said, a smile evident in his voice. He knelt before Jason, grabbing the boy's chin before thumb and forefinger in a grip that was surprisingly firm. "Tell me, child. Are you willing to accept my offer now?"
The offer. To become Ra's slave, to take over his armies and offer body and soul in exchange for the pain to stop. Jason closed his eyes. Did he want to take it? After all this time, these months? Hell yes, he did. A part of him knew it was only a matter of time before he didn't have a choice in the matter. Soon he'd be too broken to refuse. And right now? With his mind broken into a million pieces and the fact that he was barely considered cognizant – Jason wanted to take it.
Needed to.
But if he did, there would be nothing left of him to save. And nothing, on heaven nor earth, would be able to bring him back from that.
"I've said it before and I'll say it again. Go fuck yourself," He spat willfully, using bravado that he didn't feel.
Ra's smiled, putting more pressure on Jason's chin before pushing it to the side so that Jason's neck ached.
"You will join us. By the end of the day tomorrow, you will be one of us." He smiled cruelly. "And the best part is, you won't even realize what's happened."
Jason closed his eyes as the beating began.
…
"This is weird, B. Even for you," Twelve-year old Jason Todd said as he set his bag on the old surfboard coffee table. The sound of the beach echoed in his ear and the humidity was near toxic. He preferred to drink his water, not breathe it, thank you very much. The air itself smelled of salt and seaweed, making him crinkle his nose. Miami at this time of year was stifling, almost 100-degree weather every day. Perfect for swimming and catching some sun, not that Jason had ever been near digs this rich. Or even out of Gotham, for that matter.
The house was about as expensive as a full year's worth of food and it included all the furnishings to match a beach theme. On the beach. Jason couldn't help but roll his eyes. Rich people, they just didn't understand.
"It's a private beach, Jason. And we're on vacation," Bruce said, smiling down at the boy.
"Right. And you're going to pretend that this wasn't completely random?"
It was Bruce's turn to scrunch up his nose. "I… Alfred pointed out that I never took Dick on these sorts of things…"
"'These sorts of things'?"
He gestured vaguely, looking uncomfortable. "Vacations. Anything other than the mission."
"what else is there? That's the whole reason you took me in." Jason said, wandering around the room and taking inventory – even the paperweights looked expensive. He continued his perusal for what must have been five minutes before he realized that Bruce was staring at him intently. "What?" He asked.
"Is that why you think I took you in?"
Jason's eyes narrowed as he turned back to look at the old man. "Well, isn't it? The position was open. You needed a Robin. I was just…" He tapered off, unsure. "There?"
Bruce shook his head, almost sadly. "No, Jason. That wasn't it at all."
"Like I said. Weird," Jason said, walking into the next room and leaving Bruce to his own devices.
…
The dream disappears like vapor between his fingers. Sweat clings to his skin, sticky and uncomfortable. Jason closes his eyes, trying to catch the retreating mist, trying to remember that perfect week. It had been the first of only three 'vacations' that Bruce had ever taken him on. Usually the impromptu trips came on the heels of a visit from Dick – well, 'visit' was pushing it, more like a pissing contest. It had been a trying time, a time of growing and learning that Jason had at first scoffed at. It was a time when he and Bruce were still learning their roles in one another's lives. It was probably the first time that Jason had seen Bruce as more than a mentor, but he couldn't afford to think about them now.
Jason groaned as he pushed himself from the cold ground of his cell. He knew at once that he had been injected with the Lazarus Serum. The tingling in his bones was still there, familiar as the pit. He couldn't remember being dosed and he wracked his brain trying to recall a single detail after his meeting with Ra's. His memory had been getting worse in the past few months leaving gaps of missing time, all just empty space, black and fathomless.
The idea of losing chunks of time, that he may very well be going insane, made Jason's hands tremble. His heart was racing now and he would have given anything to clasp the edges of that dream one more time. Even after everything, all the pain and hurt between them – the abandonment, the emotional bullshit – Jason's mind still wandered to Bruce. The closest thing that he had ever had to a father. That's what fathers were supposed to do, right? Provide comfort and safety? In the absence of any other explanation, Jason allowed himself to hope. Allowed that small part of his subconscious to come forward, weak and emaciated as it was at this point.
Jason allowed himself to feel.
And it almost overwhelmed him. The depth of his fear, uncertainty, pain, abandonment – it surmounted to a mess. His mess. He slowly lowered himself back to the ground, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes and clutch his temples.
Please, B. If there were ever a time to come through for me…
But his thought was interrupted as the reinforced glass of the cell was lifted and they came to begin again with their torturous activities. Ubu was first to grab him, and Jason had learned long ago not to fight when the larger man was involved. To begin, he was the size of a horse – large and muscular, with fists that hit like hooves.
"This will be the last session," Ubu said. "If you fail this, you're not worth keeping." There was a smile in his voice, exemplifying the fact that he really didn't care one way or another.
It took all of five minutes to travel through the narrow corridors to the main cavern. Jason could still see Batman and Nightwing standing behind that glass, like dark apparitions of despair. The guards walked him past the post in the center of the room and Jason can't help the silent sigh of relief that escapes between his chapped lips. Still, his destination wasn't any better.
The exam table.
Electric shock "therapy".
Jason grit his teeth as a thrill of fear raised gooseflesh along his back. He pulled back on the chains holding him, only to receive a harsh shove in the back. A punch to the jaw too, just for good measure. They hook him up to the table, the chains fitting into place easily after they remove his shirt. The table itself is freezing, like ice against his skin. He can't help but release a shiver, both from cold and fear.
Jason is far beyond trying to hide it. The guards know it anyway, they feed off of it. Dr. Young is beside him in a moment, preparing the Lazarus Serum in several syringes to his right. Jason let out a low whimper – because he knows, knows, what the serum means. It means they will keep going until he's half dead. And then bring him back from the brink again and again until the madness tears his mind apart.
"Ready, Doctor?" Ubu asks. Jason can see the battery, the various hookups that will soon burn his skin.
He's prepared in minutes. It shouldn't have taken that long, but Ubu draws out the process, so that by the time the machine is ready Jason is shaking and sweat is beading on his forehead. There's a hear monitor to his right, next to Dr. Hanson and the serum. He can hear the erratic thump-thump in his chest as Ubu draws near.
"Ready, little boy?" A rubber stick is placed in Jason's mouth.
He doesn't have the opportunity to answer. Electricity races through his system, tearing apart any and all thoughts that had been floating through his mind. He's grateful for the rubber as his jaw clenches uncontrollably, along with the rest of his muscles. A half-scream escapes around the bit and he closes his eyes against the pain. There's a fire somewhere in the room. There has to be, because Jason can smell something burning. Vaguely he notes that it must be him. He's burning.
Someone is speaking, the word "Blue Origin" repeated several times as the process starts again and again until the syringes are gone – and so is Jason's sanity.
…
They'd been at the beach house for a week now, and Jason had yet to go into the water. Instead, he'd sat on the beach getting as red as an ugly ripe tomato. He truly enjoyed the feel of sand between his toes (even if it was more than a little uncomfortable in his shorts). He'd built his first sand fortress – not a castle, his was much cooler. And he had to admit that the weather was growing on him. He couldn't help thinking like a street rat, though. After all, a child could survive a winter in Miami much more easily than in the frigid north.
The people weren't bad either.
Floridians were generally kind, even if they were constantly rushing to and fro. He'd had several people call him sweetie and several more people offer him sunscreen in passing. It was… nice. Being so far from Gotham, very few recognized Bruce for the billionaire playboy that he was. Even fewer recognized Jason for the street rat that he was – which was far beyond just refreshing.
It was nice to be mistaken for father and son.
It was even better that Bruce never corrected any of them.
The food was cool too. Jason had happily picked out a variety of different restaurants to try as soon as they had landed. The first menu item he had been dying to try had been gator tail. Jason had been downright determined, and finally Bruce had given in. So, when the plate of Cajun-seasoned fried gator tail was placed before him, he'd practically been over the moon. The meat had actually been rather chewy, but Jason hadn't minded. If Bruce insisted on calling this a 'vacation,' then Jason was damn well going to take advantage of that and experience it all. It wasn't until the Sunday after they had arrived that it all came crashing down.
"Alfred, I don't think this was a good idea." There's a pause as Alfred says something on the other end of the line. "He's settling in well enough. I just don't think either of us is suited for this. I'm not his father."
Jason flinches when he hears the words, backing away slowly from the vent on the other side of the house. No, of course he's not Jason's father. Jason's father had been a mean drunk who hadn't minded giving his child a black eye or a bloody lip. Still, it had been a nice dream – to think that Bruce could care for him, like a father is supposed to care for their son. But that's all it had been.
A dream, a fantasy. Nothing more.
Jason doesn't hesitate. He grabs his backpack and leaves without a second glance.
…
Jason coughs as he comes out of the darkened space between dreams. He's feeling the notable effects of withdrawal and knows he's due for another dose of the serum soon. He clenches and unclenches his hand, noting the sizeable tremor. The serum can heal a lot of things, but the amount of nerve damage that Ubu had inflicted left his body in a constant state of misalignment. And this had been their third session with the electricity. He'll likely have this tremor in his hands for the rest of his life. He'll likely never be able to hold or aim a gun properly again.
Jason clenches his fist against the sudden tide of anger and hate that overcomes his heart. This will be yet another thing that's been stolen from him.
And these are the effects of only three "treatments" – all followed by blackouts of God only knew how much time. Thinking back on those moments, the dark stains in his memory, draws blinding pain to his temples and a startled hiss from his mouth. It's too much all at once and he allows the fragments to drift away, back into the recesses of his mind. Silent tears streak down Jason's face as he tries desperately to hold onto what little sanity he has left.
It's good that he's been allowed to sleep. He supposed that counted as a plus.
Jason looked into the water pooled at the edge of his cell. The man that stared back was unrecognizable to him. The brand, bright and painful on his chest, shimmered in the half-light. There were new scars on his face, on his neck – all over, really – and he had to wonder if this was really his reflection… or if the man staring back at him was the real Jason. The very idea only intensified the trembling in his fingers and ragged sobs escaped from his chest.
There's no one to call out to anymore. There's no hope. Bruce isn't coming, and that thought is just as damning as when he realized it for the first time four and a half years ago, when he'd died.
"Do you finally understand, boy?" Ra's words cut through his psychosis. The words are like a cold caress, leaving a trail of goosebumps traveling up his body. "Do you accept my offer?"
Jason took one last look at the man in the water.
"I accept."
…
I'm sorry Jaybird. It'll be fixed though! Kind of. Maybe. Next chapter is going to be intense... Jay and the family finally clash!
Please review, let me know what you think!
