Welcome back! So the chapter title might be kinda spoilery. Or it might not be. XD You'll see!
Warnings for this chapter are spoiler-y, so scroll all the way to the bottom for them.
"So," Roy starts, easily leaning over the counter of the kitchen towards Jason and me, "we should discuss plans, now that I'm all back to normal."
He's in the kitchen, he's cooking, and Jason and I are in the dining table section of the two part room. Jason's cleaning a selection of guns, and I'm really just watching the two of them and letting my mind wander. Jason nearly snarled at me when I tried to help with his weapons, and Roy firmly shooed me out of the kitchen when I suggested helping him. Turns out that Star City rich kids know how to cook, who would have figured? I suppose as an only child, with no servants and only someone as notoriously unreliable as Oliver Queen to help, he must have learned how to cook to avoid only eating take out food and frozen dinners.
Jason looks up for about two seconds, glancing between us, and then snorts and leans back in his chair a little more firmly. His hands are involved with rubbing at the metal of the one particular piece of the gun he's disassembled.
"What?" Roy asks, and Jason gives a tiny little shrug, lifting the metal to glint off the light in here as he examines it.
"Have at it, Roy," Jason answers easily, putting that piece down and picking up the next. "I don't know why you're bringing it up to me, it's not like I've got the faintest clue about Star City. That's all you guys."
True. As far as I know Jason's never been in Star City before our time here with Roy. If he has, it was very brief and Bruce would have supervised him very closely. He might not even have known precisely where he was.
Roy seems to think about it for a second, and then mimics Jason's shrug. "Yeah, okay, Jaybird. D, what do you think?"
I'm really rather impressed that Jason hasn't physically hurt Roy for calling him by that nickname yet. In fact, interestingly, after the first week or so after Roy started it — as our new marksman teammate was still recovering from withdrawal — Jason's actually seemed to start to enjoy it. As if it's a term of endearment, rather than an irritation. It's actually very interesting. Jason has a short fuse at the best of times, but he and Roy seem to have clicked together really well. I'm glad.
I raise my gaze off of Jason to turn to Roy, who's half-watching me from beyond the counter as he creates… something. Honestly, I've given up asking. Roy makes things, and they're almost always tasty and at least edible. It's better not to get involved. I generally can't cook anything impressive anyway, and as far as I know Jason can't either. I know all the theories, but with Alfred at the manor I never needed much beyond basic skills.
"It would be safest to get back to Ra's' stronghold as quickly as possible," I offer to the table, and I watch Roy stiffen for just a second.
"You sure about that?" he asks, with a faint laugh and a small grin. "I'm welcome there?"
"I cleared you with Ra's before we left," I explain. "You're welcome, that's a guarantee." Of course, it's not Ra's' acceptance that Roy is worried about. It's the hero that started his entire downward spiral. Cheshire, the mother of his child and the woman he's still very obviously in love with. She's currently sequestered in Ra's' stronghold, for the sake of safety, and Roy seems to be dreading the idea of seeing her again. I don't even fully understand the concept of love — though perhaps it might be something similar to what I feel for Jason — but it's still easy for me to see. He should despise her for what she did to him, but he doesn't.
Roy shrugs, looking a bit doubtful, but doesn't argue the point. He's prouder than that, even around the two of us. He won't bring up his doubts about how Cheshire — Jade Nguyen — will greet him. If she'll greet him. It's entirely possible that she'll simply hide herself away and be careful to never cross paths with him, as if they weren't even in the same building.
"Alright, well, there is the problem that we're both kinda recognizable. I mean, you're dead and I'm a vanished, drug addict, disowned son, but people still know our faces."
"That's not difficult to fix," I reassure Roy, and Jason gives a distracted nod of his head that might be agreement. "We'd just need a few basic make up supplies, no one looks close enough to see past that. Though ideally, we should be traveling during a less populated time. Not night, but perhaps very early morning. Before the work rush, but after the sun is starting to rise. It's still fairly cold that early in the morning, so no one will question coats, scarves, or sunglasses. You'll need to wear a beanie or something similar, Roy, to hide your hair."
"I know," he answers easily, and one hand rises to comb back through the distinctive strands of reddish orange. It's better now, closer to how I remember it from the time I spent here as Talon, and then the news I watched after that.
When we, essentially, kidnapped Roy and forced him into withdrawal, he had a fairly disturbing collection of facial hair. A full beard, long hair, and none of it cleaned right, understandably. The third day after Roy passed the worst of it, when he could walk and talk like a normal person again, he commandeered a razor and a pair of scissors and vanished into the bathroom. When he came back out, he looked a little more like a normal human again, and not the mountain man he'd been accidently impersonating. Not great, because there's only so much you can do to cut hair with a pair of scissors, your own two hands, and a mirror, but at least human again.
Jason did a fair amount of nasty snickering — they hadn't quite clicked yet — but he also took the scissors and fixed Roy's hair. It certainly doesn't look professional, but it looks less like someone took scissors to it and it's significantly shorter, so I suppose that's an improvement. It is, however, still a very eye-catching color.
"The better question is how to leave Star City without triggering any alarms." I catch Roy's gaze as he looks back over. "You probably know current methods of transport better than I do."
He gives me a weird look. "Well, my hometown so, yeah, but why does that matter? If we're disguising or hiding anyway, why would we need to be careful about how we leave?"
I share a look with Jason, who gives another snort and turns his head to look at Roy. "You vanished out from under the Owl's nose, genius. You think he's not looking for you? If the three of us take any kind of normal way out, we're pretty much fucked."
Roy blinks, stilling for a second before something sizzles and he turns back to the stove. "Okay, hadn't thought about that," he admits.
"You were planning to get out of Star City before this, weren't you?" I ask Roy, and he makes a distractedly affirmative noise. "Queen was hunting you at the time, you had to have planned some way out that got you past his security."
He lifts the pan, scraping whatever's in it onto three separate plates and — I assume, since I can't see it from this angle — turning off the stove. There's a clank of metal as he sets it down, then he turns fully towards Jason and me. "Yeah, I was. There's a system of transporters, drivers and stuff, that get people in and out of major cities for the right price. Totally anonymous. Not even the Crime Syndicate touches them, they're too useful. You happen to have about fifteen grand lying around? That's what it would cost for three of us; maybe more since I'm high profile and I've got luggage."
Jason snorts and reaches for another piece of the gun. "Yeah, not so much. Any options that don't require us to have money, rich boy?"
I lean back a little bit, tapping my fingers against the table as I consider. I don't know Star City very well, not when it comes to transport. I did do a lot of work here as Talon, but when I worked here for Queen I stayed here too, there was never a need for stealthy ways in and out of the city. I never learned it the way I probably should have, not like I learned Gotham. I could probably figure out a way to get us from here to Gotham, that's my expertise, but clearly that's not going to help. We want that direction, but it's practically safer to go the opposite direction around the world then try to cross over or around Gotham without Bruce noticing us.
Roy sets a plate down in front of me, and then one off to the side of Jason — not touching his spread of guns — before reaching back across the counter for his own plate and three forks. He drops one in front of each of us and sits down.
"It's good, eat it," he says, before either of us can comment on the mish mash of something yellow — maybe eggs? — and various bits of other colors. I think it might be something resembling an omelet, it seems to smell that way.
Jason glances at it, but doesn't immediately move for the plate, whereas I do after a moment. I may not trust Roy's sense of exactly what food should look like, but I trust it to be at least fairly good tasting. I suppose that's a skill of living alone that I never really picked up. I take a first bite, semi-cautiously. It is pretty good, even with my lack of tolerance for food these days. Even aggravating my throat in the smallest of ways can send me into coughing fits, so I try not to eat any more than necessary.
It won't be long now, I'm sure. Especially not once we get back to Ra's'. My attacks calmed down when we left and they haven't been as bad down here, but the thin air up there makes everything harder, and I know that when we get back I'll take a rather large step towards being almost complete down for the count. Again. If I wasn't invested in Jason's safety, I'd almost just wish for it to end now, to make things simpler. Yes, I can drag myself along for a few months or maybe even more, but it won't be pleasant and I won't be useful. What would be the harm in checking out early? Well, I know the harm. Jason would attempt murdering me before I got anywhere close to suicide.
Jason finishes the piece, and carefully — but completely confidently and with an impressive speed — puts the gun back together, each piece clicking smoothly into where it's supposed to go. Then, setting the weapon aside and clearing a space in front of him among the other guns he hasn't gotten to yet, he reaches for the plate.
"Your food still looks like shit," he informs Roy, with a pointed glance, and our marksman grins back.
"But it tastes delicious and you know it, Jaybird."
Jason snorts, digging into the food, and I let my lip twitch upwards in a smile. My impending death aside, things are actually good; better than they've been in a long while. Jason is the easiest, the calmest, he's ever been, and even though the two of us are still much closer than Roy and him are, they're getting there. I think he'll be alright when I'm gone, and that's a load off my shoulders that makes everything else easier to work through. Without having to worry about Jason and what's going to happen after I die, I can focus on the present. It's a relief.
Suddenly Roy makes a noise fairly close to a dying animal — a half choked burst of exclaiming sound — and both Jason and I give nearly the same identical flinch as we jerk towards him. He waves us off as he sinks back against his chair and heaves for breath, finally letting it loose with a whooping laugh. Jason is looking at him like he's insane, and though I doubt I have anything remotely close to the same expression, I'm thinking about the same thing.
I admit, Roy has always been strange. Even when I was Talon and he was still Arsenal, there were times I found— Alright, no, that isn't right. As Talon, I found his behavior almost all the time to be completely incomprehensible. But specifically, there were times that he would burst out laughing, or be totally pissed at someone or thing, and I'd never have a clue what he was thinking about. This feels like that.
"You want to share your crazy, Roy?" Jason asks dryly, arms crossing over his chest, and Roy seems to have to physically choke back his laughs.
It takes him a bit.
"I have the best idea," he says, with what I think might be the widest grin I've ever seen on him. His eyes are bright, so alive that I think — for a moment — that he might actually have slipped past the edge of crazy.
Jason gives a little disbelieving snort, but leans back and raises one hand in some kind of vague gesture. "Go on then, crazy man."
"Let's steal Oliver's plane."
"You are fucking nuts," Jason answers flatly, after a second of silence. "You want to steal the plane of the guy that wants you dead? I think you left sane on the road, you want to go pick it back up?"
I stay silent, watching Roy as he shakes his head. He must have some reason why he thinks this will work. All appearances aside, Roy is rather viciously intelligent, he always was. Maybe not for social situations — watching him when I was Richard and he was Roy was highly entertaining, if a little painful — but in combat, and for strategy, he's always been very, very good at everything to do with staying alive or killing others.
"No but listen, Jaybird," Roy flashes me a wide grin. "Alright, so Oliver's an asshole, and Owlman will be watching all the ways in and out of the city, right? Probably even the ones I might think are usually safe. So let's do something that's fucking nuts. If we take Oliver's plane, and take off before Owlman notices, we'd be able to get anywhere we wanted before he could stop us."
"He'd track us," Jason put in, and when Roy looks to me I give a shallow nod.
"Jason's right. Bruce monitors all of Queen's methods of transport, there's a tracker inside your plane." Owlman's personal brand of security, making sure he knows where his allies are at all times whether they appreciate it or not. "That's not bringing up the security Queen will have on the plane itself, and you've been locked out of all those things, haven't you?"
"Do you know where the tracker is? Could you destroy it, or disable it?" Roy asks, ignoring my question.
I pause. "Yes," I answer after a few moments of thinking about it. "They aren't difficult to destroy, just well hidden. I know where that one is."
Roy leans back, looking extremely pleased with himself. "Yeah, Oliver locked me out of the systems, but I built most of that plane. You think I didn't put in backdoor codes? Even if he found those — and Oliver? Not so great with technology, just saying — I could hack into the systems and get them to do anything I wanted them to."
I blink, and Jason seems to share my surprise. "You thought that far ahead?" I ask, with a hint of doubt. I don't doubt Roy's survival instincts, but I do doubt his ability to plan for the long term. He's never planned for the long term.
"Ahead to this? Oh hell no. But I figured that on the off chance anyone else took control of the plane, it might be good to have some backup security in place." He shrugs, managing to get his grin a little wider. "Sure, I didn't think I might need those to steal it, but I guess that works too, right? It's not like there's some command on the plane where I can only use the codes to take it back from a hero."
"You're fucking nuts," Jason repeats. "But you might have a decent idea there. Dick?" He looks over at me, as does Roy, and I give a tiny lift of one shoulder.
"It could work. Where does Queen store the plane?" I ask.
"The normal one is stored in Star City's airport, it's own private garage, but the whatever-the-hell he's called it this week — Christ, remember when Oliver called it the 'Arrowplane'? — is in our main base of operations, out at the Queen manor. I know that security like the back of my hand, I can get us in no problem. Which one do you want to take?"
"Why go small?" Jason says with a thin smile. "Let's grab the jet for your work, it's probably way better right?"
Roy nods, self-satisfaction all but leaking from his pores. "Definitely. It's not nearly as comfortable, and it's smaller, but it's way more maneuverable and better equipped. Faster, more durable, and I built a load of weapons into it. Oh he'll be so pissed when we take it." There's that more vicious side to Roy showing through again. Normally, I always saw Roy as a generally good natured person, even if he didn't seem to have any real sense of morals, but then I guess I'd never seen anyone personally wrong him before.
Of the three of us, Roy is the only one who actually chose this lifestyle, so I suppose that says something about him. Jason and I were forced to become weapons and killers, but Roy actually joined up with Red Archer of his own free will, as far as I'm aware. Though obviously his relationship with Queen was much friendlier than ours with Bruce.
"You're sure you can get us in?" I question, watching Roy for any kind of tell he might give, but every single inch of him is confidence; not even an involuntary twitch.
"Yeah, totally."
I share another glance with Jason, who gives half of a shrug and goes back to his food. "Alright," I acquiesce, turning my attention fully to Roy. "So, it comes down to details then. Later, I'll show you where Ra's' base is, how to get there, and how to get in without getting shot down."
"Why?" Roy asks, shoveling another bite of food into his mouth and, thankfully, waiting until he's finished chewing and has swallowed to continue. "You'll both be there, you know how."
"He really hasn't grasped the whole 'plan for the worst' thing, has he?" Jason remarks with a bit of sarcasm, but doesn't look up from his food.
"In case things go badly," I explain in a way that's a little more obvious than Jason's comment. "If anything happens, and it ends up with just you on the plane, or the two of us not being able to guide you, you'll need to know. I'll show you. Beyond that," I almost swallow, but force the urge away. Regardless of how unpopular this might be, it's a topic that needs to come up. "If things do go badly, and we get ambushed, I want the two of you to leave me behind if anything goes wrong." A kinder way to say 'if I suffer an attack.'
"Excuse me?" Jason nearly snarls, looking up at me. "You're fucking delusional if you think I'm leaving you behind."
"If the choice is between your survival and mine—"
"It won't be," Jason interrupts. "All three of us are getting back to Ra's' in one piece. Including you. If you think for a fucking second that I'm going to let you play distraction and get yourself killed, you're insane."
"As opposed to what, Jason?" I ask flatly, leaning back a little bit in my chair. Roy is very, very silent to the side of both of us, but watching. "Getting back to Ra's' at the cost of one or both of you, so I can limp my way through the next four or five months, if I'm lucky, before I die? It doesn't matter how you spin that, Jason, I'm dying. Getting back to Ra's' and dragging myself through the motions is not a mercy."
"Death isn't a mercy either," Jason snarls, shoving back from the table and standing. Instinctive looming, intimidation, as well as a way for him to show violence and anger without actually attacking. "It's not. Don't you dare fucking argue with me, Dick."
"That's not the point, Jason. If we get ambushed, I'm the most qualified to act as a diversion. That's fact, not theory or even my opinion. The two of you have lives, I don't. It makes sense for me to risk the few months I have left to keep both of you alive."
"You—"
"Sit down," I demand, using Bruce's tone, and I see Roy give a sharp flinch to my side, green eyes widening. Jason's hands clench, shoulders drawing inwards.
"No," he spits, and shoves away from his half bent over brace against the table. "I'm not doing this, Dick. I am not leaving you behind, I don't give a damn what you think."
"And I am not going to be responsible for your death," I counter, getting up to meet Jason at his height.
"You won't be."
"You can't guarantee that," I point out sharply. "If I go into an attack in the middle of a fight, and you try and get me out, you're risking getting yourself turned in to Bruce if not personally captured by him. He'll torture you into insanity before he lets you die. That's not worth me living through four more months of what's barely even worth the title, Jason. It's not. I'm not suicidal, and if we get back to Ra's' and I do 'live' through these last few months, that's fine, but I will not let you get captured while I can prevent it by risking my life, and I will not let you sacrifice yourself for me. Are we clear, Jason?"
He glares at me, frustration obvious in his gaze, but it slowly folds — as we stare at each other across the table — into resignation. He pulls his chair back in and slowly sits down, leaning back with his arms crossed. Guilt stirs in my gut — I hate, and that's not a word I use lightly, causing Jason pain — and I smother a small wince. It doesn't matter if he doesn't like it, I know that. This is for his sake, and if I got him killed... That would rather invalidate the entire reason for me dying, wouldn't it? I could still have been in Metropolis, living quietly but steadily, with Bruce still unaware I ever lived. If he dies... I don't know what I would do. I honestly don't.
I sit back down, and Roy very cautiously clears his throat.
"Alright, so uh, is there anything else?" he asks. I can hear the uncomfortable tinge to his voice, and his voice is quieter than anything else I've heard out of him except for moments where he was mostly unconscious.
Jason jerks his gaze away from mine, and drops it back to his food. I watch him for another moment, and then do my best to smother the guilt as I turn to Roy. "If we're separated, we meet up at Ra's'. That's the other reason you'll need to know where it is. When we're done with the rest of the details, I'll bring up the information."
Roy gives a small nod, glancing over at Jason with obvious worry, and then looks back at me. "So, travel from here to there, right? I actually still don't know where we are, but if you let me know I can get us from here to there while bypassing any of Oliver's security. I know where all of it is."
"Good," I echo his small nod, and take the same small glance at Jason, who's resolutely ignoring both of us. It doesn't matter, right? It doesn't.
There's only a small chance any of this won't turn out just the way we plan it; all of us are good strategizers. If that small chance doesn't bite us, we should all end up at Ra's' without a problem, and we should be able to smooth things back over once we're there. The two of us will be fine, I'm sure of it.
"We could have just taken the car," Roy gripes, again.
"Hush," Jason snaps, slipping by our marksman teammate and shoving his shoulder as he passes. "Christ, you complain a lot."
"Well we could have just driven, left the car like a mile back, and been fine," Roy says with, yes, a bit of complaint to his voice. "The Queen manor is ten miles outside of the main parts of town, what the hell makes you think we'd want to walk? Why are we walking? It would have been so easy to just hotwire a car, or steal the keys, or hire a damn taxi."
I don't answer him, devoting a fair bit of attention to simply putting one foot in front of the other. My legs are fine, it hasn't been a struggle to get this far — I've walked farther and longer many times, and even though I haven't been able to keep in shape like I want to, I'm far from weak — but I am a bit behind the other two members of my team. Mostly because I don't want them to see that I'm having to focus so fully on breathing. It's not difficult, but if I let that go and let my breathing become anything but slow and just the right mix of shallow, but still getting enough air, I could collapse into another fit. I can't afford an attack right now. We can't.
"Shut the hell up, dumbass," Jason nearly snarls, frustration and irritation obvious in his voice. "Stealing a car would be stealing it, it'd draw attention, and hiring a taxi, as the three of us? You're fucking joking, right? Not even you could be that dumb. If anyone reported the car we stole missing before we got here, this could all go seriously downhill, and really fast. Suck it the hell up, it's not that long a walk."
"Maybe not for—" I see Jason's head snap around to glare, and wisely Roy snaps his mouth shut in the middle of his sentence. "Alright, fine. Nevermind. It's not that much further anyway, I guess. Like maybe, five minutes? How can you not even be sweating, Jaybird, are you a machine?"
I give my head a tiny shake, letting my gaze and my attention wander off my two teammates and into the surrounding area. We're about thirty feet off the main road, which is a highway that is only sparsely populated by buildings. We're down off the side of it, where you can't see us unless you're parked at the side and looking down. The Queen manor, I remember, is set about a mile back from the highway on its own private drive; gate, dogs, and alarms included. There's not a thing around it for quite a ways, which is the only reason that Queen and Roy could get away with having their base there. The cave is different, it's underneath Wayne manor and not just on the same property, and the exit lets out miles and miles down the road, nearly to the main city. It's a little more subtle.
I suppose no one's going to go into the Queen lands without permission though, not without a serious wish of self-harm. I remember the dogs on the property. Mean things, even though I never had much of a problem with them. I slipped around them, or just made sure to take paths — mainly from tree to tree — that they couldn't follow me on. We should be completely fine this time, though, since Roy knows all the dogs and they know his scent. They shouldn't come after us or even bark so long as we're with him.
Jason and Roy's conversation continues, with only a single threat from Jason when Roy makes another comment about the distance before we reach the start of the private road and driveway that leads off to the lands. There's a sign, and a warning, and Roy easily leads the way in without hesitation. I share a glance with Jason, and we follow him.
"So, what's the easiest way in to the base section of your place?" Jason asks, and though I know the answer I let Roy say it.
"Actually, straight in. A little off to one side of the driveway is best, but most of the extra security is around the back so going more or less head on to the base's entrance is our best bet to avoid being picked up by anything. I can get us past all the security, no problem, and as long as you stay behind me and don't make any threatening moves, the dogs should be just fine with our being there. Just, you know, follow my lead but quieter."
Jason rolls his eyes, and then steps a little closer to me in his stride and leans in to lightly brush my shoulder with his. "You alright?" he asks, very quietly. Quietly enough that I'm fairly sure Roy didn't hear it, which is impressive considering he's about ten feet in front of us.
"Just monitoring," I answer shortly. "I'm fine."
Jason gives me a look that's not totally trusting, but nods. "Alright. If anything comes up you damn well tell me, understand?" It almost sounds like a threat, it probably was meant to be, but there's a shine of concern in his eyes that undercuts the words. I let my mouth twitch upwards in a smile.
"I'm injured and dying, Jason," I answer softly, "not useless. I'll be fine."
Jason gives a snorted, unhappy huff of breath, but rolls his eyes and shrugs his shoulders in a way that I know means he's decided to drop the subject, for now. Not forever, because unless Jason gets the answer he wants he never drops anything, but he'll stop talking about it for now.
Roy starts whistling, and I almost wince. Jason does wince.
"Do you have to do that?" my replacement demands, speeding up to walk beside Roy and shove his shoulder again.
"Relax, Jaybird. No one's around, and Oliver will be very, very asleep right now. I can be loud as I want, so long as we don't trip any alarms — which we won't because I am awesome — there's no way we'll wake him up."
It's roughly six in the morning, which I suppose is the time that almost all masked criminals are passed out. Bruce's patrols usually ended about this time, if not a little earlier, so he'd be either heading home or already asleep, and from what Roy's brought up apparently Oliver works an earlier section of the night. Afternoon to somewhere around two or three AM, before firmly crashing until it's time to wake up and go about the day as Red Archer again. Unless, of course, there's a meeting at Queen Consolidated that he absolutely can't miss, but Roy hacked into their servers for us and made sure there weren't any scheduled for today.
Queen will be asleep, and any staff he has — two housekeepers and a few security guards, according to Roy — won't be there until almost nine; they also know Queen's hours and regular schedule.
"It's not a question of anyone hearing us," Jason gripes, "you're just annoying as fuck to listen to."
Roy gives a wide grin that manages to be fakely innocent and kind of mean at the same time. "And I'm getting you in somewhere that's guaranteed to get us out, so you can suck it up, can't you Jay?"
Jason glares, nearly snarls, but just throws up his hands in exasperation. "You're impossible sometimes," he snaps.
"Aw, that's okay Jaybird," Roy mocks. "We'll get you out of that shell someday!" He reaches over, leaning to wrap the closer arm around Jason's shoulders, and I raise an eyebrow as Jason stiffens. For a moment I'm sure Jason is going to hurt Roy fairly badly, or at least back him off in a way that's physically violent and very painful.
Then Jason eases a bit, and snorts. "I don't need to come out of my shell," he argues, "I like it in here, thanks." I blink, and then an actual smile that I don't have to fake curls my mouth a bit.
It's so good to see Jason letting someone that isn't me touch him in a way that's even remotely casual. Sure, Roy is kind of a physical person and he's given all kinds of small pats — ones to a shoulder, or back — or brushed against Jason as he passed by, but I can't recall ever seeing him deliberately touch. I think he knew better. In fact, now that I'm looking, I can see the casual rest of Roy's hand inside his pocket, where I happen to know he's storing a small knife. Alright, so if Jason turned on him Roy was prepared. At least he's about half as paranoid as both of us, he might just fit in.
Roy pulls the hand out of his pocket and shifts the backpack slung over that same shoulder, the arm not wrapped around Jason's shoulders. It's a little awkwardly shaped, and unzipped at the very top so that the end of his bow can come through, but it was certainly better than carrying all of his gear and costume publicly. Jason and I are much easier. We don't have costumes, and all of our weapons are small enough, even Jason's guns, to be hidden discreetly inside a coat.
Since it's still cold at about six in the morning, a coat isn't hard to have.
Of course, Roy is much better equipped than either of us, too. He's got everything he usually carried as Arsenal, as well as an additional quiver full of arrows. That includes his normal quiver and bow, a gun as well as at least four clips — I haven't looked through everything — of extra ammo for it, his usual knife for both hand to hand combat and intimidation, antidotes for various poisons, basic medical supplies, and quite a few other small gadgets. Unlike us, Roy was more item based then pure stealth and talent, and he actually got a chance to grab extra stuff before he left. I couldn't, just in case, and Jason didn't get the time.
He won't need the disguise for long. Once we're on the Queen grounds proper there won't be anyone to see, but people are going to question it if Arsenal goes walking down the side of the highway. Well, question or panic. Neither of which were things we wanted; both tend to draw attention we can't afford at the moment. This entire plan revolves on getting in and out without anyone finding us.
Sure, the three of us could probably take down Queen without too much trouble, especially considering he'd still be sleep addled, and probably not totally geared for a fight. I imagine not too many people ambush him at his own home; that's the best explanation I can give for why he'd risk being totally alone in his own home while asleep. Bruce was always too careful to risk that. But if Queen's alerted, I can almost guarantee that Bruce will also know, or Queen will tell him.
"You only think you like it," Roy says, and even from this angle I can tell that Jason is rolling his eyes again.
"You're totally insane," he informs Roy, who just grins. "Get your arm off me before I break it, we still need you to shoot things." Interestingly, Jason's threat really doesn't sound like one. I'm absolutely sure he means it — and Roy obviously knows that too, because he does let his arm drop off Jason's shoulders — but it doesn't sound particularly like a threat. It sounds joking, like something said to a friend — at least that's how I interpret it, as I'm not precisely sure what that kind of tone sounds like — or to a colleague. Essentially, it doesn't sound much like Jason will actually follow through on it.
At least Roy knows him well enough to know that even if Jason doesn't sound like he's threatening, his threats are still serious. Especially around touch, or references to being Talon or working for Bruce. Jason might be a whole lot better than he was after the Jokester and I got him out from under Bruce, but he's not a regular person, and he's not 'fine' any more than I am, or Roy is.
Sure, Roy might seem like he's totally alright most of the time, but even if Jason can't see it, I can. Roy lost just about everything he had, maybe permanently, and that isn't something that anyone can just shrug off. Roy happens to handle it better than a lot of other people, but even the things that hurt him he doesn't really show. Like Jason and anger, Roy hides behind laughter and grins to hide the fact that he's angry, and in pain. He's not over it, and he's certainly not 'fine' either, but he's managing a lot less obviously than most people will ever see.
"Ah, there we are!" Roy exclaims, picking up his step a little bit. Jason and I don't match his increase in speed.
The gate ahead of us — coming into view past the sculpted trees and grass surrounding this private road — is black, metal, ornate, and with no gaps big enough for any of us to fit through. I certainly could have done it when I was younger, as Talon, but not now. The walls stretching out to either side, on the other hand, are white and at least ten feet tall, what's probably just concrete with a painted exterior. No handholds on those, but one person jumping or being boosted by another should manage it just fine.
Roy leads the way to one side, straying into the grass and heading about fifty feet to the left of the gate while we're still about two hundred feet away, before heading closer. He beckons both of us with an impatient gesture and a roll of his eyes.
"Come on," he gripes, and I share a glance with Jason.
"What's the rush?" Jason asks, with a small snort, and Roy gives a little gesture like he's totally given up on both of us. His grin the next second totally disproves it.
"The sooner I can break into Oliver's base, steal his plane, and be happily on my way, the better, right? I am so looking forward to this." Jason gets there first, and Roy flicks his fingers towards the ground. "Come on, help me up. I should go over first, in case the dogs are nearby."
Jason makes a face that isn't totally pleased, but crouches down a bit and braces his arms into an easy lace of fingers for sturdy support. Roy lifts one foot into it and Jason propels him up, where Roy grabs onto the top of the wall and hoists himself up to straddle it without a problem. He's not the acrobat that Jason and I both are, but he manages well enough. He leans down, offering Jason his hand, but Jason just gives him a look.
With a slight brace, and a step and a half of a running start, Jason easily bounces off the wall and gets high enough to grab the top with both hands, equally easily dragging himself up.
"You could have just said that," Roy offers, and Jason snorts and neatly shoves Roy, who yelps, off the wall and into the inner area. There's a heavy thud from the other side. Jason leans down after a second of watching what I assume is Roy, offering me his hand as I come to a stop at the base of the wall. I take it, letting him prepare for a moment before he starts to pull me up.
Usually, yes, I would have been able to take the wall just as easily as Jason, if not even smoother, but not right now. Acrobatics are a surefire way to send myself into at least the beginnings of an attack, if not a full fledged episode of it. It… It's painful, not being able to do the only things that I'm actually good at — acrobatics, or any kind of combat — but I try not to think about it.
The inside of the manor's grounds is pretty much how I remember it. Absurdly landscaped gardens, opulent enough to actually rival Wayne manor, which is impressive. Although Bruce always tried to make sure the fewest people possible were on his property, so I suppose the gardening wasn't nearly as impressive or time consuming as this must be to maintain. I suppose Queen cares less about his personal privacy than Bruce does.
Jason and I slide down into the inner grounds, alongside Roy, who gives Jason a nasty glance that almost immediately flashes to a wide grin. "Alright, come with me," he says, taking off without waiting for either of us to respond to him. Jason shoots me a glance that looks kind of amused, trudging after Roy, and I follow them both. "Quieter now," Roy warns, "there shouldn't be anyone here, but they might be. If there are, they'll be inside the house and won't notice us but still, no yelling."
"You're the only one of the three of us who yells," Jason points out, and Roy shrugs.
"Not the point, Jaybird," he retorts, shooting a grin over his shoulder.
Interestingly, the journey through the Queen grounds is completely absent of any kind of activity. No dogs, no people, barely even an animal to be seen. The squirrels in the trees don't really count as noteworthy activity, they certainly aren't going to attack us. Roy doesn't question the good luck, and though Jason looks a bit wary he doesn't either, so I don't bring it up. Not having to face the dogs is a good thing, after all, just in case. Why would I bring up our good luck?
Roy leads the way to the entrance that I remember, a simple door in a half concrete shell that looks a bit like an entrance to a bunker or a doomsday shelter. So, nothing that looks out of place in the house and grounds of a paranoid rich man. Perhaps not as part of the surroundings as it would be at Wayne manor, but definitely not glaringly obvious like it would be in many other places.
Roy confidently pulls the panel beside the door apart, humming to himself as he takes to the wires inside with what I'm pretty sure is a pair of tweezers and a homemade blowtorch. I wince, but stand back and let him do what he wants.
"Seriously?" Jason asks, not nearly as cautiously as I might have, and Roy waves him off with the roll of a shoulder.
"Relax, Jaybird. I got this."
Jason looks at me, clearly seeking some kind of reassurance that Roy isn't going to get us all caught, and I give a small nod. "He hasn't messed up on anything technological as long as I've known him," I offer, and Roy makes a victorious crowing noise.
"See, Jay? Even D thinks I'm pretty damn awesome." Paraphrasing, but I don't stop to correct him. It takes a few minutes, where Jason shifts in spot and keeps his head on an almost constant turn, looking for danger of some kind, before Roy makes a small grunt of satisfaction and neatly clicks the panel back into place.
'There we are," he says easily, straightening up and poking at the panel with his fingertips. It glows blue for a moment, sweeping a scan past his hand, and then flashes green and the bunker hisses open. "Deleted me off the files, sure, but didn't scrub it. Just needed to revert the system to an earlier date where all my stuff was still intact. Piece of cake."
Roy shoves inside the bunker with easy familiarity, and both of us follow him down a flight of concrete stairs leading about fifty feet down. Then it opens up into a base that's about as far away from Bruce's cave as you could get.
It's brightly lit, made of shiny, metal surfaces and glowing high-tech looking panels, with racks of gear and all kinds of cabinets and storage devices scattered through it. There's a range to one side, with targets already scattered in holes, and another flight of stairs over to our right that leads up to the manor itself. Inside entrance. To our left there's a large metal door that I know slides open to a long tunnel, like Bruce's but much wider, that lets off just outside of Queen grounds. I've taken it quite a few times.
However, the highlight of the room is the plane sitting just in front of the door, and it's that that Roy heads for without a pause. It's bigger than Bruce's jet, and with smoother lines. Built for speed, clearly, and not meant to be the 'shadow in the night' that Bruce's is. It's painted in shades of black — shiny, not matte — and dark red, with an obvious cockpit and a variety of faint lumps on the outside of it — that only slightly detract from how streamlined it is — of what I'm sure are hidden weapons.
Roy immediately sets to work on a panel similar to the one at the side of the door, on one side of the plane, and gives a vague motion towards the two of us. "Do whatever," he calls, "this shouldn't take that long."
Jason sets to exploring, and I move over to stand next Roy and watch, fairly interested, as he takes apart the panel. "The same technology?"
"That's what Oliver took me in for," Roy says distractedly. "The whole criminal right hand thing came later, originally I was just some kid with a knack for building him what he needed. Ergo, most of the shit in here is my design. Dumbass." I glance over, and find to my complete lack of surprise that Jason has managed to ferret out where the guns are. I give a small sigh. "Say, while we're here," Roy continues, "do you think I could load up on stuff? I could only carry so much before, but with this baby we could store all kinds of crap. I know I'm not the hand-to-hand fighter you guys are, and I'd like to not run out of arrows any time soon. Building them without the right kind of materials is a pain in the ass."
I actually think it's a good idea, especially since we're down here already, but I don't immediately say that. "You could always ask Ra's for his help in collecting the correct materials," I point out, and Roy winces.
He speaks while holding the tweezers in his mouth, but I manage to decipher what he's saying without too much trouble. "You want me to ask a hero for help?"
"You're already asking him for help," I remind him, continuing my faint attempt to make Roy consider the position he's in. "The fact that I asked on your behalf does not mean that you aren't asking. Ra's is reasonable; I'm sure he'd consider allowing you materials to build whatever you wanted so long as it benefited him somehow. Considering we're planning to kill Owlman, it does benefit him."
Roy gives me a shifty, side glance of a look, and tilts his head a bit to one side. "Are you saying no?" he asks suspiciously. "Because it didn't totally sound like you were saying no."
I give a little twitch of a smile, the ones that Roy became very used to when I worked with him as Talon, as well as many of my other flickered expressions. "No, Roy. I think it's a good idea to take as much as you can, if you think it will definitely be useful."
"Hah!" At first, I think Roy is making the exclamation at me, and I raise an eyebrow, but then he secures the panel back into place and does the same fingerprint scan. The panel on the side of the jet, a door, slides down to rest against the ground as both of us step back to give it space. "Good," Roy comments, "because there is so much useful shit here, you don't even know."
"I think I can guess," I comment with a tiny smirk. "I've seen some of the things you pulled out on our old patrols, remember?"
"D, it's been like seven years since you last really worked with me. My stuff is so much better; I improved." He steps up into the jet with the stride of familiarity, and I follow him. He looks around with a grin, and throws his backpack to one side as he steps over to the pilot's seat — there are actually two seats, I suppose Queen valued Roy's expertise on the plane, but also valued his own pride too much to only have one pilot seat — and sinks into it, flexing his hands. "Alright, this'll take a little longer. Don't press any buttons until I'm done, alright? Security measures."
"I'll see how Jason's doing," I offer, as he sets to work.
"Yeah, that's good. Oh, and knock before you come back in, alright?" he requests, and I stare at him for a second before he notices and expands on his words. "Well I'm not staying in these clothes. When I'm done here I'm switching back over to my uniform, so don't come in or you might get an eyeful."
I give a soft huff of amusement, and lightly touch his shoulder with my hand before heading for the exit. "Understood," I call over my shoulder, heading back down the ramp and wandering over to where Jason is bent over a collection of guns laid out on top of a low metal table. I'm fairly sure he pulled them all out, and there's an expression on his face that is fairly close to glee, though much better restrained.
"Enjoying yourself?" I ask, walking up behind him, and he snorts.
"It's a good collection," he explains, turning and leaning back against the table as he nods up at the plane. "So? What's the genius doing in there?"
"Hacking the jet, I would assume. I didn't ask for specifics. He'd like to stock up on weaponry while we're here, take advantage of the storage capabilities of the plane while we have it. I think it's a good idea."
"Think Ra's will let us keep all of it?" Jason asks, with a raised eyebrow, and I can only offer a half shrug.
"Hard to say, but probably. We've made our intentions obvious, and he has an army if he needs it. I doubt he'd take our weapons, though he probably won't allow us to carry the heavier things around with us while we're in his home."
Ra's doesn't have anything to fear from any of us, not really, and he was already letting us carry around knives before all of this anyway. He knows that we're three criminals amidst a group of heroes, and abandoning our weaponry was something that was never going to happen. Not willingly anyway. He'll understand the same thing about Roy, and know that we'll raise hell if he tries to take any of this from us, or restrict us from it.
"Yeah, I guess," Jason answers noncommittally. "So, what are we doing until Roy is finished with the jet?"
"We could look around," I suggest. "See if we can find anything interesting, though we probably shouldn't touch any of the computer systems in here, or locks, just in case."
Jason gives a small grin and straightens off the table. "I'm down for that."
We go case by case, or shelf by shelf, examining items. Most are pretty self explanatory, but there are a few that Jason and I can't decipher the purpose of without turning them on, and we mutually decide that turning on things that we're not sure about is probably a bad idea.
But eventually Roy leans out of the jet, calling us both over with a wide grin. He's redressed in his Arsenal costume — a pair of black pants and a shirt that are both reinforced with armor, red gloves and boots, and a pouch-laden belt hanging around his hips — with the exception of the mask, bow slung over one shoulder and his quiver on his back.
Jason and I detour back to the jet, weaving through all the different items in here to come and stand by the ramp of the plane.
"We're all set to go," Roy announces, leaning against one side of the entrance. "Come on, let's load things up." I step back as Roy comes down the ramp, as does Jason, and our marksman teammate heads out to the rest of the room. "So the basics are ammo, guns bigger than handguns, I've got a lot of grenades—"
I hear it just a fraction of a second before Jason does. The faint click of a footstep that doesn't fall in line with Roy's, and the whisper of metal brushing concrete. My head snaps around, and I reach for the knife tucked inside the pocket of my coat. Jason goes for a gun instead, the one tucked up against the small of his back. The figure at the bottom of the staircase we came down, standing with one hand against the wall, gives a thin smile.
"—and there's a bunch of stuff inside the cabinets that are all specialty. Kryptonite, EMPs, stuff like that."
Bruce, in the full outfit and armor of Owlman, glances briefly at Roy, and Jason reacts instantly. The gun goes off, loud and echoing inside the base, and Bruce ducks away, immediately heading for us at a sprint.
"Holy shit," Roy yells, and I glance at him to see him turning, arrow swinging downwards onto his bow, before I turn all my attention to Bruce.
This is bad. We are not ready for him, not yet.
Jason takes another shot, which scrapes along the side of Bruce's metal guarded arm without leaving even a scratch, before he's on us. Jason ducks out of the way of a swipe of claws, shooting up at Bruce's face twice before the gun goes skidding from his hands, knocked loose by a backhanded blow from Bruce. Before I can move in, or Bruce can take advantage of Jason's currently weaponless state, an arrow slices through the air between their heads and both of them jerk away.
Jason's upper back hits the side of the jet, as he reaches for another weapon — his longest knife, this time — and draws it into his hand. Bruce turns, drawing something small from his utility belt and throwing it at the floor near Roy, who has enough combat sense to book it in the opposite direction before the thing lands. It explodes into green gas, and I step in beside Jason as my replacement flips the knife in his hand, sinking down a little bit.
He doesn't look at me directly, but I can see him glance in the direction of Roy, who's now totally hidden by the spread of gas. Bruce turns back to us, smirk firmly on his lips, and starts forward in a slow stalk. I can hear Jason swallow, though my ears are still faintly ringing from the gunshots.
My hand shifts on my own knife — smaller than Jason's — and I slip into an easily defensive stance, both arms held up and fairly close to my body. I'm going to be totally useless in this fight. Not only can I not do any serious level of acrobatics or combat, but I never picked up anything but the basics of what Ra's and Talia taught Jason. I'm still using the techniques Bruce taught me, and those won't work on him in the slightest. At least the three of us decided beforehand — at least, I hope Jason thinks this way, he never completely told me — that if I go down, they leave me behind. I'm not worth the danger of trying to save, since I'm dying within a few months anyway. What would be the point in risking their lives for me?
So if this goes badly — and I'm almost certain it will, considering Bruce tracked us down for a reason — they can try and escape instead of wasting time on me. It's better that way.
I step fully in front of Jason, who gives a sharp sound of protest, and I hold one hand up and back towards him. "Get Roy and get out," I order, shifting my grip on my knife just a bit, watching Bruce approach.
"But—"
"Now," I demand, and after a second I can hear his footsteps leap into action, and see him running towards the dissipating cloud out of my peripheral vision. "You tracked us," I say to Bruce, who pauses about ten feet from me. Not close enough for either of us to make a safe first move, but too close for ranged weapons to be of any use.
"Arsenal disabled Queen's security, but not mine," Bruce explains shortly, and then offers me a thin smile that — if I were anything but already dying — probably should scare me, but doesn't. "You're in my way, Richard."
Interesting, he's stopped calling me 'Talon'. Am I officially off his radar now, do I no longer count in his mind as one of his ex-weapons, or has he simply decided I no longer deserve the title? Knowing him as I do, it's probably the last option.
"That's the point, Bruce," I counter, and he moves. I'd forgotten how fast he moves.
I jerk away from a kick past my head, right at level to impact with my throat, and instead of moving away, move in. I slide past the elbow that he levels at my side, feeling the fabrics of my coat and clothes slide along the metal of his armor and cape as I swing my knife in at his back. He steps away and spins, reaching out and slapping the knife from my hand. His fingers close around my wrist, and I bite my tongue to keep my enforced calm as he twists it. I fight the pain, and the manipulation of my body's automatic responses to that particular curve of my arm, and swing up at the exposed part of his jaw.
He knocks that arm aside, and twists my captive wrist until I hear — and feel in the radiation up my arm — a sick crack. Pain blindsides me, and I suck in a sharp breath and fold inwards on that arm, his fingers still locked around it. His knee cracks into my chin as I bend, with enough force that the next thing I know I'm on the floor, and though my wrist aches terribly, it isn't wrapped in his gauntlet anymore. I blink, staring upwards at his looming figure, and hear a thick shout from across the room.
"Get the fuck away from him!" Jason's voice.
Bruce's foot comes down on my chest, in a sharp snap kick, and I recoil and jerk against the ground. The impact stings, but doesn't really hurt in the way I expected of the blow, and I only have to wonder what the point was for a moment, as he turns away, before it gets very clear, very quickly.
My lungs seize, and I get one shallow, strained breath before I have to roll to my side and cough. It's all downhill from there. I jerk; instantly, expertly, sent into an attack. I can see Bruce turning, coming to meet someone, and I force my vision far enough up to see a red tipped arrow slice through the air where he would have been, and then a knife clash into a gauntleted arm.
No, Jason, no. Run, get out.
My tongue tastes heavily of copper, but I watch Jason move in like some kind of predatory animal, blue-green eyes narrowed and fixed on Bruce. His foot comes up, Bruce deflects it, and he transitions neatly into a punch with the opposite hand — his left — that slams into Bruce's shoulder. Which would have been a lot more useful, and a lot more damaging, if Bruce wasn't in his suit. As it is it knocks him back and off balance a little, and Jason snarls and slices forward at his throat. It doesn't connect, but Bruce has to take a step back to make sure. A second arrow comes through, glancing off Bruce's side, and Jason doesn't even flinch. He launches another kick at Bruce's side, and then lets his weight fall backwards into a handstand, handspring, and back to his feet as Bruce slices at him again. They're almost matched.
Jason is a little shorter, and doesn't have quite the same build, but they're not that different. It's not like putting me next to either of them, where you can tell that I'm just built for different things. A hand presses down on my shoulder, and I turn my gaze — as I shake and cough — over to where Roy is crouching next to me.
"Fuck, D, now is not the time." I give a desperate little jerk of my shoulder as he tries to lift me, shaking my head. "What the hell, D? I'd like you in one piece, you idiot."
"Get, Jason," I manage in a wheeze. I don't matter, I'm dying anyway.
"After you," Roy snarls, and then both of us jerk, though Roy completely straightens up with an arrow falling to his bow, as Jason slams into the side of the jet with a heavy crash and a pained shout. "Fuck, no." Roy lets the arrow go at what I assume is Bruce, and then gives a gasping sound of pain. Blood splatters the ground in front of me, that isn't mine, and Roy folds to his knees, clutching at his side with one hand. His gloves are roughly the same color as the blood, so it's impossible to tell how much of it there is, or how deep the wound is underneath his hand. I don't even know what caused it.
Bruce steps around me and kicks Roy sharply in the chest, laying him out flat on his back, then gives an extra one to the side of his head. Roy's skull snaps to one side, and if a wince would show through the strain of my expression I would do it at the faint crack of bone. He's unconscious or at least totally dazed, hands still over his side but lax instead of holding pressure onto it. If it's deep, that could be bad.
Hah. I'm dying, coughing blood all over the floor and totally helpless, Bruce is standing over both of us — and maybe Jason, I can only sort of see either of them from this angle — probably about to slit all our throats, or drag Jason and I back to the cave in Gotham for some serious torture, and I'm worried about Roy keeping pressure on the wound in his side. That seems like a low priority thing, honestly.
Bruce turns to me, shoving me onto my back with one foot, and pinning me to the floor by stepping down on my shoulder. I do my best just to breathe and, somehow, it works. The attack eases a bit, and being pinned on my back doesn't just make me choke on my own blood like it really should. I swallow, trying to get together enough coherence to speak, when Bruce leans down towards me. He crouches, and I give a rasping groan at the increase of pressure at my shoulder and collarbone from his foot.
"You were expecting to go up against me with this?" he asks with a sneer, his right hand lowering to trace claws over my throat. I meet his eyes without fear. What would be the point in fearing death? If he kills me now he saves me months of pain, months of crawling along trying to live just one more day. "A drug addict, a half-trained boy, and a crippled, dying, killer? I thought you knew better than to underestimate me, Richard."
I can't offer a response, I couldn't drag up the energy or the concentration even if I tried, and I can only try and choke back another round of coughing when his hand closes around my throat and tilts it up, claws pricking into my flesh.
"I'd like to feel you die," Bruce says, in a low growl, and his hand tightens around my throat. I choke, my left hand — the arm not pinned under his boot — coming up to drag at the metal of his armor, trying to get a grip on something. It only impacts once, dragging my fingers down his suit, before I remember that something in my wrist is broken, and trying to grab anything with that hand will be a pointless exercise. I can feel blood trickle down my skin, where Bruce's claws are sinking into the meat of my throat, and I can only choke and gasp.
Suddenly Jason is there, a foot driving past my face and forcing Bruce to let me go, to leap off me and roll backwards. I curl into myself, trembling because I simply can't stop myself, but I hear Jason give a loud snarl.
"Don't you fucking touch him," Jason spits, standing over me with his knife still in one hand. I can see blood on his right arm, and more down the back of his left shoulder, but he doesn't seem to mind or care right at the moment.
Bruce gets back to his feet, and I can see the faint downwards turn of his mouth that means he's actually displeased. That means things are about to get very painful, very fast. Roy stirs with a low groan, and Jason moves. The second I see the strike he chooses, high and carving down at the junction of Bruce's neck and shoulder — where the armor is weaker, to allow for flexibility — I want to shout at him that no, that's a mistake and it's going to—
Bruce diverts the strike down, spinning Jason with his own momentum, and in one move grabs both Jason's shoulder and his wrist and jerks downwards. Jason screams as Bruce's knee slams up into his elbow with a sickening, shattering crack, the knife falling from limp fingers. Bruce's hand releases my replacement's wrist and slips downwards, catching the knife, and then he reaches up with his other hand and gets a handful of Jason's hair, yanking back to bare his throat.
I have time for a gasped, choked, "No," before the knife slams upwards into the underside of Jason's jaw. Jason gives a single sputtering noise as it slides in, eyes wide, but almost immediately goes completely limp. Bruce releases him, and Jason crumples to the ground. Complete dead weight.
I stare.
No. This is not how it was supposed to happen. I was supposed to die, I was already dying. Jason was supposed to get a chance, be able to go off and live a life at least half free of Bruce's involvement. He wasn't… god, he wasn't supposed to die.
What happened to torturing Jason, to making him pay for betraying Bruce? This was fast, mostly clean if painful beforehand. This isn't right. Nothing is going the way I thought it would, the way I expected people to behave. Bruce should have been crueler, he should have incapacitated Jason to take him back to the cave, and should have killed me. What is going on?
Bruce steps over Jason, shoving me onto my back again, and my breath comes fast and shallow. Panic, my mind supplies, it's panic. My vision tunnels, and Bruce gives a thin smirk. "Interesting when people don't do what you expect them to, isn't it, Richard?" he asks, his words fading out at the end as my consciousness slips from me. "We're going to have some fun, Talon."
Warnings are: Character death!