Warning: Contains imagery of mass murder.

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Jason eased open the door on the third house in the deserted street. Inside, it wasn't much different to the other two he had entered - there was a very fine layer of dust on the surfaces, and it hadn't been cleaned in a week or two, but things were mostly untouched.

In this one, there were photos on the wall. A slightly goofy-looking girl in a prom dress; in another picture the same girl again, more mature - happier, in a wedding gown.

Jason hated the personal touches – he stole from bad guys, not innocent citizens that were presumed dead, whose greatest misdemeanor was probably a speeding ticket. Even so, he slowly searched the house. They needed supplies and clothes, and the dead or vanished wouldn't miss them.

It had only been a brief discussion to come inland. After resting up for a few hours, with no return of Dick's mystery illness, they had debated the possibility. There was only so long you could live on seaweed and sour berries before your traveling companions started to look tasty. They were well overdue for something resembling a nutritious meal, and it was unanimously agreed that approaching a town to beg or steal food was there only option.

And the first town they had found had been scenic - pastel and white shop fronts, boardwalks and a small stretch of residential houses. It had probably been very cute and kitsch, but now it was eerie, a ghost town.

After a heated discussion involving lots of arm waving Fahim had agreed to stay back by the coast, Dick would search the beach front shops and houses, whilst Jason would go into the more residential areas.

Now he was there, it didn't look good. The place was deserted - in some of the houses, the streets, it looked like a struggle or a fire fight; in other homes things looked untouched, like the people that had lived there had just got up and left, with their coffee still on the table and there food rotting in the pan.

They had an objective. The town being dead was in their contingences, but it didn't stop the feeling of dread as Jason trudged up yet another abandoned staircase. Still, their needs had to come first – and that meant food, clothes, items that could help them.

In the master bedroom he dug out a pair of pants that might fit him, dark khaki and made of a sturdy material. Discarding the orange jumpsuit was liberating, and despite the situation Jason stretched happily, enjoying the feel of form fitting clothes of his choice.

He swung open the bedroom door to find Dick leaning on the railing. He looked dangerous, in black pants and a black hoodie.

"Nice get up," Jason said. He looked a little too good in Jason's opinion, cleanly shaven and sleek. Dick gave him a grin, his mouth was full of brown stuff and it took a moment for Jason to identify it as chocolate. He manfully resisted the urge to shove Dick over and rifle though his pockets – he had missed chocolate so, so much. He was momentarily distracted, staring at the sweet smears on Dick's lips, and trying to remember the taste of the stuff, Hershey's kisses and the big bars of Cadbury's Fruit and Nut that Alfred would ship over from England.

Dick's grin widened and Jason realized he had been staring at his mouth in a somewhat inappropriate way. He noticed that Dick was giving him a very appreciative look in return.

"Orange really wasn't your color Jay, this is much better."

"Orange isn't anybody's color," Jason said as he pushed past and started back down the stairs - next stop, kitchen.

"I looked good in it!" Dick sing-songed behind him. "It suited my complexion. You're just too pasty pale!"

Jason shot him a look. "Are you trying to flirt with me or insult me?"

"Can't I do both?"

Dick was gleeful again. New clothes, freedom, food… his mood was almost giddy, and Jason sort of wanted to allow himself the same feelings, but there was still the fact of the town's apparent desertion that held him back. It was wrong; it felt off, like he was waiting for some horror to befall them.

"You need a shave Jay, although you might miss the hedgehog living on your face!"

Jason shut the kitchen door on him, smirking at the indignant squawk it elicited.

There was chocolate in the pantry. The feel of it on his tongue was a little slice of a forgotten heaven and he groaned with the pleasure of it. Dick chuckled behind him.

"Sounds like that tastes good, want to share?"

Jason ignored him and started digging for more practical food. Cans were very inconvenient to carry, but Jason found a couple of duffels in the basement which they could use to get the cans and other goods to the camp - the three of them were going to have a fucking feast tonight. He loaded up with a can of chili –organic, no less - hotdogs, canned chicken and pork with BBQ sauce. A few cans of veg joined them. Jason wished there was some fresh produce, but the smell from the fridge indicated he should stay away from it.

It was harder to find light, lasting food they could pack up to travel with, but he was sure as they made their way though town they would find packaged goods that would work. He also liberated a case of beer – it was a shame to leave it there after all.

Jason shaved before they left and decked out in his new clothes he felt more like himself than he had in weeks, possibly months. But that sense of mild dread hadn't left him.

They left the heavy-ass canned goods under the porch and worked their way up the boardwalk, arming themselves with whatever they could. Fishing equipment, hunting knives, a few guns. The guns lead to the question; if the people here had them, why hadn't they used them against the Anathema?

There was no sign of life, although there were signs of life interrupted; it looked as if most of the people had just got up and left in the middle of their daily routine. Other places looked like there had been a struggle, or a search – cupboard doors open and things scattered across the floor.

Even Dick's good mood has steadied - he was quiet as he stalked from house to house, moving with the fluid grace of a predator. As they progressed into town, up a slight incline, they began to smell it.

Death.

It was unmistakable, and Dick may not have remembered it exactly, but he sure as hell reacted to it. He slipped to the side of the road, hovering to the shadows and moving cautiously. Jason did the same, his own training focusing him, alert for danger. The smell was strong, not too old - a few days, a week, perhaps longer. Maybe they should have gone back, found Fahim and moved on, but then what about the people who had lost there lives somewhere along this road? He was sure it was the folks of this town he could smell and that thought made him shiver. It felt like they owed them something. For the food, the clothes, for the lives that had been snatched away from them.

They needed to see it, there needed to be a witness to what ever had happened in this town. Both he and Dick seemed to feel the same way, his brother's gaze was solemn, but determined as it met his before the last bend in the road.

There was a building; it might have been the town hall, a library, a school. It was tall, and its red bricks seemed far too normal for what had happened there.

There was a corpse nailed to the door.

It had been exposed to the elements for a while, the local wildlife having taken their turn as well, but it was still mostly intact, arms and legs spayed obscenely. It was a message, or a warning.

Jason left the shadows and went up close. Whoever had done this was long gone. He examined the skeleton, what he could see of it – it had been a woman, he could tell that much, but it was hard to figure out the age just by sight. The most telling thing though, was the collar around her neck. She had been Meta – super powered, or an alien. Jason's stomach rolled, but he examined her carefully, and as he did so, he was aware of Dick hovering next to him, his breathing slightly uneven.

There were flies buzzing against the window of the door she was nailed too. The smell was coming from beyond the glass as much as from this poor woman.

They stood there a long time. It was quiet and it made the buzzing of the flies around the corpse, and the frightening hum of the ones behind the glass, into a macabre soundtrack for Jason's spiraling thoughts. This was going to be awful.

"We have to do it." Dick said, his voice thick. "We have to, we have to see what happened."

And he was right – they did.

Jason had seen death, dealt it out, but he had never been in the middle of a massacre on this scale, never seen such pointless indiscriminate murder.

When he pushed open the doors the smell and the flies hit them like a wave of force, and he staggered back a step, gagging. Dick handed him a t-shirt out of his bag – he was already tearing strips from another to cover his own mouth. Jason didn't think it would make much difference, but he did it anyway.

Once somewhat protected, Jason tried again, opening the door to release another wave of flies and stink. It was a long walk to the main hall, the feeling of horror in his gut was making his legs feel sluggish. The air was hot and heavy and there were smears of rusty brown on the floors and walls.

The hall was like a biblical rendition of hell– bodies stacked on bodies, adults and children, strewn around like discarded toys. Jason was torn between looking, remembering this, and trying not to see the people whose houses he had searched, the guy whose soap he had used, the family whose food he had eaten.

Worst were the small bodies, covered by larger ones – parents protecting their children. The sight, the thought of it, and the terror these people must have suffered was what got to him, more than the grisly nature of the situation, or the smell of decomposition. The small signs of humanity and compassion, even in death. It was that which made him bend over and vomit, but even as he was puking he forced himself to look. These people deserved to have someone fight for them. They deserved to have someone tell their story.

He could hear Dick retching, a strangled sound behind the hum of the flies. Jason's ears were ringing; what had happened here was beyond his comprehension – and there was a part of him that was glad of that. He was human, and this hurt him at a deep and visceral level. The rest of him just mourned this senseless slaughter, all these people.

Fuck the Anathema, he was going to kill them all. He didn't know how, but he was going to end the bastards.

He cataloged all the bodies he could, looking at what was left of their faces. Behind him he could hear Dick yelling and lashing out at the door frame, screaming incoherent rage at what had been done here. And that, more than his gut feeling and everything he knew about Dick Grayson before, convinced him that his brother was with him, on his side and not with them.

There were tears running down Dick's cheeks and his knuckles were bloody from punching the wall.

"Dickie, stop." Jason caught a fist mid swing, and for a moment he tensed, expecting Dick to hit him but he just shook him off, heading for the exit. Jason followed, unable to stand another moment in there. Once they stood out in the fresher air Jason expected to feel relived.

He didn't.

"We can't leave them there," Dick said, tears smeared across his face. A weird detached part of Jason had a flash of envy for the fact Dick could cry. Despite his horror and rage, Jason's eyes remained dry.

"We can't Dick. What we going to do?" He rubbed his mouth, the taste of vomit and death lingering on his lips.

Dick looked distraught and full of fury, and Jason half expected him to explode into violence again. He wouldn't have blamed him.

"Dick, seriously, we can't take the time to bury them - and if we burn them… if we win and folks come looking for loved ones, we would have destroyed the bodies, the evidence."

"Argh!" Dick screamed and punched at the concrete steps. Jason understood, but he tried to push his own emotion down, he had to think clearly.

They stood for a moment. The crickets were chirping, birds were singing, like this atrocity hadn't even happened. Blood was dribbling down Dick's hand; it was red and bright.

"Can we bury her at least?" Dick said, after a while. "In a marked grave, in case anyone comes looking?"

Jason nodded. They couldn't bury the townsfolk in the hall, but this Meta woman, they could. She would have to represent the others who had died here.

They dug a grave, off behind the hall, in the soft overgrown earth that had once been a pretty flowerbed. Then they gently removed the woman's remains from the door. She could have been a mother, a police woman, a shop keeper, a hero, a villain. There was no way of knowing, but they laid her to rest with reverence.

They filled in the grave in silence, Jason was at a loss for what to say. Dick was muttering words in a language Jason couldn't put a name to – but that wasn't unusual. Jason had a sudden flash of memory, of one time when Dick had been stuck on the head and forgot how to speak English for three days, instead speaking Russian – as far as Jason knew that was at least his fourth language and there was no obvious reason his subconscious had chosen it. It had been pretty funny though. This was less funny.

The evening sun was casting long shadows over the earth and Jason was surprised to find his fingers making the sign of the cross. It had been a long time since he had done so, and he didn't really believe in god anymore – if he ever had – but the wish for her to find peace was genuine and from the bottom of his heart.

"I need a shower," Dick said, subdued.

Jason nodded. He needed one too, maybe with bleach.

They made their way back down the hill, back to the house they had met up in. Jason felt edgy, and he was reluctant to let Dick out of his sight. Dick seemed to feel the same way, so they showered together. It was comforting and distant, the touches at shoulder and elbow felt warm and familiar. This had been routine in the prison, watching each others backs under the hard spray of water.

Jason tended Dick's damaged hand, and tried not to wonder whose house this had been, if the family was decaying in the red-bricked building up the road.

The air was damp and warm and the silence between them was strained with grief. Dick fell against him, rubbing his wet face against Jason's chest.

"I hate them," Dick muttered as he reached his arms around Jason's bare back and squeezed desperately "I want them to burn, all of them burn"

Jason nodded, tucking his face into Dick's sodden hair he returned the hug with equal force. He was going to make them pay, for this, for the people they had lost, the friends Dick didn't even know were gone, for what had been done to both of them, to the bat brats. He was going to make them suffer, if it was the last thing he did.

They were subdued as they headed back to rejoin Fahim, they had both discarded the clothes they had worn earlier, and changed into something less steeped in the smell of death. But the scent still lingered, if only in Jason's mind. They had retrieved the bags, but the epic beer and canned goods feast didn't seem appealing anymore.

Dick had insisted that they try to find the name of the woman with the inhibiter collar. It was a risk to stay longer, but they had hunted regardless. They had not succeeded, although they had a few possible suspects – the local doctor, woman that seemed to work miracles, was the top of his list. Her name had been Megan Michaels – a normal every day person. Who ever she had been, she had been loved enough by these people for them to hide her, despite the penalties imposed by the Anathema.

And the people had suffered the ultimate price.

Dick had taken a postcard of the town, bright and gaudy, so he wouldn't forget. Jason didn't think he could ever forget what he had just seen, but he understood the sentiment.

What he couldn't share with Dick was that every time he saw that woman behind his closed eyelids he thought of Donna, who he had crushed on since forever - because of her tenacity, her kindness and her sly humor - or Kory, with her wild free spirit, violent emotion and boundless love. People he loved, people Dick loved, even though he didn't know it. Jason's heart clenched at the thought of them, of what they might have suffered. The Meta kids Drake hung out with, that moron Wally West, Wonder Woman, Superman.

So many people Dick didn't even realize he should be mourning.

Fahim picked up their mood when they arrived back at camp, just looked solemn and didn't ask how it had gone. He was an intuitive bastard, Jason had to give him that. Instead of talking Jason set about making dinner - he couldn't muster much of an appetite, but he cooked up the chili and hotdogs. He was glad of the beer though, and he popped open a bottle without speaking or offering one to his companions. Fahim didn't seem interested, but Dick took his own bottle from the bag, tasting it carefully before gulping down a mouthful.

"It was bad?" Fahim asked at last.

Jason nodded, opening his second drink. "Yeah, all dead."

Fahim grimaced and shook his head.

"Not all dead," Dick said, his voice quiet, "There can't have been more than six hundred there. The town should have had twice that."

Jason frowned. He was right; the shear horror of the slaughter had blinded him. Trust Dick's detective brain to have seen beyond it.

"So where are the rest of them?" Fahim asked.

"Taken, or let go." Dick answered shortly.

"How'd you figure that?" Jason asked. Of course they had been taken. The Anathema had lots of pet projects for humans it seemed.

"They killed those people, pinned that woman to the door as a message." Dick said

"So?" Jason had already figured that out.

"There is no point in sending people a warning if they can't heed it. They made the other people watch, and then they let them go to spread the word – don't hide Meta's, do what you're told, or die." Dick's expression was bleak and Jason knew he was right.

He served out breadless chili dogs in plastic cups. He knew what Dick had said was the truth, and he wished he had reached his capacity for horror, but he knew there would be worse to come. And for the first time, in a long time he sent a muttered prayer to any deity that might be listening.