So I was reading damnation soldier's really cool fic "You'll Find Me Just As Broken" [which is sadly no longer going to be continued], it's a Drama & Hurt/Comfort story with a Fem!Nightwing – Look it up if you liked the Young Justice cartoon from a while back – set six or so months after the Invasion and deals with the Red Hood coming to Gotham.
So while I was reading the fic I was thinking about this idea, for a very different Jason's return to Gotham, that I'd had a while back but never worked on… So I decided to cut out some stuff that's liked to the Comics canon [such as his targeting of Black Mask being mainly over the murder of Stephanie Brown during the events of Batman: War Games] and twisted things to be closer to YJ canon [such as The Light]… I admit, the end result in my head does borrow a bit from "You'll Find Me Just As Broken" a bit but it's not just me going "This story is dead, I'm gonna steal it!".
So if the idea of a Young Justice fic isn't your thing, if you don't like Genderswap or if the description of a little torture and interrogation isn't what you wanna read about then stop and go read something else… Otherwise, let me know what you think.
Young Justice Belongs To Warner Bros. Animation
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XX Grounds of Wayne Manor, Gotham City; Connecticut – October 9th 2016XX
As the elder members of the 'Bat-Clan' gathered near the South West corner of the property the cold October winds seemed to pick up, catching dying leaves and adding to the sombre atmosphere.
Alfred Pennyworth, once butler to the Thomas and Martha but now valet to their son Bruce, stood with all the dignified grace one would expect from the man even as silent tears trailed down his cheeks. In many ways he blamed himself even more than the Joker for Jason resting in the grave before them… After all, he had been the one to convince Bruce to lift Jason's suspension early. Had he not, then Jason would not have accompanied Bruce to Bosnia. Jason would not have rushed ahead, hoping to capture the Joker and make up for the incident that led to this suspension.
The Joker would not have captured, tortured and then killed Jason.
Barbara Gordon, close friend to the oldest of Bruce's adoptive children and the vigilantly heroine Batgirl, pulled her coat tighter to better protect against the cold. Of the three present she had the smallest connection to Jason. He'd been a fellow member of the Team and her best friend's 'little brother'. But he'd been a member of their 'clan' and, behind all the aggression and roughness, a good kid.
Rachel Grayson, only child of the 'Flying Graysons' and the first Robin, was visibly the most composed. She'd learned long ago how to compartmentalise her feelings, her grief and sorrow. That skill was had allowed to her soldier one when Jason had died, it was let her stand strong when Wally died and it was the only thing keeping her from starting a massive argument with the Batman.
"Bhurr… Where is Bruce, isn't he gonna join us?" Barbara asked as a strong gust whipped around them and chilled the trio to the bones.
"Master Bruce has been here for some time now." Alfred answered as he dapped at his eyes with a small handkerchief. "Now, perhaps we should retire to the manor for some hot chocolate before you both depart for the evening's activities."
"What? Where?!" Barbara wondered, looking around for him. Sure she knew the Bat liked to lurk in the shadows but this was Jason's anniversary, why wasn't standing with them?
"There." Rachel muttered, nudging Barbara and nodding towards a nearby tree. Hidden from the twilight of the setting sun amongst the leaves was a distinctive shadow. The Batman was watching them from afar… On his own property… On the anniversary of the death of his adoptive son. And people wonder why Rachel says she's afraid of turning out like the Bat?
As the aged retainer and pair of heroines set off for the manor house the shadowy form of the Batman dropped from the tree and approached the grave. Rachel gave an audible growl of frustration and disapproval when she spied the folder held his hand.
'He's doing work, there at the grave!?'
Silently raging Rachel quickened her pace, fleeing before she lost her cool and called him out on it.
X
"Jason." The Batman said softly as he waited for the others to leave earshot. Once he was certain they had left did Gotham's protector allow himself to slip out of 'Batman Mode'. Only when alone could Bruce Wayne afford to grieve for his fallen son.
Bruce begins, what has in the past few months become something of a weekly ritual, by reading from the folder he'd taken the latest crime statistics. Noting what crimes where dropping, which had seen increases and where he and the others had chosen to focus their efforts. Next he moves on to talking about how the Wayne Foundation charities and Urban Renewal efforts where managing.
"Several of the Inner City focuses have seen a boost in donations –Park Way and the surrounding neighbourhoods have been the focus of a group called Conway, Newton and Winick." Bruce explained as he searched for the page with the relevant information. "It's a holdings firm based out of London, represents several of the group who swooped in and bought up most of Kord Industries after Ted Kord's passing… I haven't found anything suspicious about them yet, but there's a lot of back-channels and shell companies hiding the identities of the group members."
With that news out of the way Bruce went on, talking about how the others were doing –about how well Rachel was doing in Bludhaven, about how he was happy to see Tim happy with Cassie but worried about squad cohesion due to Robin and Wonder Girl's relationship. He commented on how Barbara was feeling conflicted about what to do, should she study here in Gotham to continue as Batgirl or apply for a course in one of the many universities further afield she could easily manage to get into?
"And Alfred is, well he's still Alfred." Bruce went on before a soft beeping in his cowl alerted him to someone approaching. Closing the folder and pulling his cowl back into place the persona of the Batman resurfaced. The Batman, Gotham's guardian. The Batman, the League's logistics specialist… The Batman, the one who couldn't afford to be seen showing emotion. Couldn't be seen mourning for his sidekick, his son.
Turning and making his way back towards his manor Batman only spared a passing glance at Nightwing as she made her way back towards the grave.
"Forget something?" He asked.
"Yeah." Nightwing grunted as she continued on to the final resting place of her successor, brother and friend.
Entering the manor and making his way towards the library, Entrance Six was the closest access point to the Cave, the Batman made his way down into his base of operations. There, suiting up, stood Tim Drake. The third Robin was very different to his predecessors – while Rachel was
XX Park Row, Gotham City; Connecticut – Later That Night XX
They say a revenant is a ghost, or reanimated corpse, that came back to terrorise the living and seek revenge for their death. It's a fitting description of him – A walking corpse back to terrorise and avenge.
Double-checking his crude gear – stolen Kevlar from GCPD and tactical clothes bought from a Surplus Store made up most of his costume – he prepared to move. The only impressive thing he wore was his helmet, his hood… His Identity. Only a crude prototype, the template of which he'd 'commissioned' his actual hood, it mixed lightweight metals with a moulded sheet of ballistic glass protecting a polarised visor. A stolen coin-sized Lexcorp supercomputer – which if anyone asked was 'several years' from even existing in prototype form – allowed him to run the infra-red vision and, once he'd worked out the kinks, would be able to operate the ultra-violet vision, night vision and his own version of the Batman's ultrasonic triangulation [often mistaken for X-Ray] vision.
Picking up the battered old jacket, he'd had it since he'd woken up in that hospital and saved those people… Had it about as long as he'd had blood on his hands… he checked the mass of pockets and pouches he'd sown into the lining were filled with his goodies –pistol magazines, two Tasers and a multitude of different explosives.
His handguns, a pair of AMT Hardballers he'd picked up in Bosnia, where checked for mags then holstered. Hardballers may traditionally be pieces of crap but these had sentimental value – plus he'd spent the last two years heavily modifying them to the point only the outer casings were actually all that remained of the original guns.
Next came the knifes, one a combat knife and the other a ceremonial blade he'd picked up in Tibet, each strapped to a thigh and for use if he had to break out the old kali moves.
Feeling ready he stepped out of the old apartment – the apartment he'd been born in, raised in and quite possibly would have died in – for the last time. This old apartment building, although tenement might have been a better word, had been abandoned years ago. Condemned but not demolished. Vagrants and runaways used it for shelter when the druggies had been run off and the pimps weren't using the ground floor rooms for their girls. It was kinda seasonal it seemed… At least that had been this old building's norm until about a week ago when nine men armed with some pretty advanced tech took up residence.
He'd been watching them for a while and while he didn't recognise the technology he knew it was definitely alien, which meant Intergang… Which mean The Light was active here in Gotham.
Making his way down from the fifth floor he was amazed at how well he remembered the old building, and how well it remembered him. No board creaked, no step squeaked. He made his way to the third floor and stopped outside room 311. A length of camera tipped fibre-optic cable slipped under the door let him observe the goons.
Retreating to the floor above and making his way to room 411 he prepared. The camera's feed let him plot their location. Picking his spot he toed a small X in the dust and junk littering the floor before retreating as far back as he could.
"Show time." He muttered as he fished a pair of small, low yield, explosives out of his pocket and took aim.
X
Norman was feeling anxious, which was to be expected when you're preparing for a big crime in Gotham City. If the local crazies, who it turned out were very territorial, didn't get you then the Bat may… And unlike that physical god in Metropolis, the Batman was more than willing to break bones.
Norman had sent the rest of the crew ahead while he oversaw the clean-up of their temporary base of operations. Once this place was picked clean of anything even remotely linked to Intergang, then doused in kerosene and set alight, it was a quick trip to the docks and the lock-up Lexcorp was using… Like taking candy from crippled babies.
"Come on you idiots, pick up the pace." Norman ordered, seemingly ignoring the fact that things would go so much faster if he got up from his perch atop a window ledge and helped.
"We're going as fast as we can Norm." One of the guys, Billie or something, grunted as he picked up a heavy box and moved it nearer the door.
"This'd go so much faster with four pairs of hands, you know?!" Pat muttered loud enough for everyone to hear as he packed up everything in the apartment/tenement's kitchenette.
"You sure we ain't gonna run into the Batman?" Michelle asked nervously, pausing on her way to drop a box of equipment by the door.
"Trust me, this'll go down smooth as ice." Norman said, laughing in the face of fate… Something the oldest of the Endless didn't take too kindly too.
The sound of several loud firecrackers came from above and a section of the ceiling nearly caved in. Michelle, who was under said section of ceiling, had just enough time to look up dumbly before a mass of black, grey and red bust through the weakened ceiling and landed right on top of her.
A sickening snap, and an agonised scream, indicated that Michelle's collarbone couldn't take the sudden impact and snapped. Driven to the ground by the intruder's weight Michelle wasn't able to defend herself when the attacker pressed a pistol to the back of her head and pulled the trigger.
Pat and Willie, both frozen in shock at the intruder's entrance and lethal actions, failed to react leaving it up to Norman to act. Snarling in rage the Intergang member reached for his Apokoliptan weapon only to take three bullets for his efforts – one to the right knee-cap, one to the left thigh and the final one to the guy just below his naval – which put him out of the action.
Pat, recovering first, rushed out of the kitchenette. The intruder levelled his twin handguns and fired. Five rounds hit Pat in the upper chest and throat as their attacker moved from atop Michelle's corpse and rushed toward Willie.
Willie, the last standing, was panicking and looking around for anything he could use as a weapon. Spotting a screwdriver atop an old chest of drawers Willie lunged for it. As his hand closed around it the intruder's fist came down on his own, snapping several of the small bones.
BANG!
The top of Willie's head exploded in a spray of pink mist as the attacker jammed a pistol under his jaw and squeezed the trigger.
This left Norman, suffering from three bullet wounds, and this unknown attacker alive. Frantically trying to grasp his dropped weapon Norman didn't notice as the armoured monster rushed towards him, holstered his pistols and yanked Norman up by the collar of his turtle neck jumper. Hefting Norman off the ground the attacker seemed to glare, it was hard to be sure with the featureless red biker helmet concealing his face, before dropping him.
"GGAAAARGH!" Norman screamed when after he instinctively tried to support himself on his legs, which now had bullet holes in a thigh and knee. Hoisted up again, Norman found himself staring into the crimson helm – eyes locked onto the discoloured reflection of his own.
"You're gonna talk." It wasn't a question, it was a declaration. "What's Intergang planning in Gotham?"
"G-Go to hell!" Norman whimpered, no way was he ratting out the Light or their 'benefactor'.
"Been there, got kicked out for bad behaviour." The helmeted man growled, voice distorted by something in the red helm. Adjusting his grip on Norman the masked man drove his thumb into Norman's bullet wound. "You know, a gut shot is an awful way to go… Bleeding out takes a while and… Even if you get treatment in time to stop that… There's the blood poisoning."
"Gagh!... O-Oh…. Oh god, please stop." Norman whimpered as the thumb was driven in deeper, slowly.
"There is no god here, just me." Norman's torturer snarled as he worked his thumb deeper, deep enough that his first knuckle was inside Norman. "This is 'Crime Alley, no one reports gunshots or screams. Too afraid of provoking the gangs responsible. If you answer my questions, maybe I'll call this in and get you some paramedics before all the food and bile and shit leaking out of your ruptured stomach starts to fester. Before you end up facing a slow and truly agonising death… Those are your choices suffering or compliance, so pick!"
"O… Okay… We're hitting the Lexcorp shipment..." Norman cried out. "You know, for that big tech Expo Wayne Enterprises is holding over the weekend… W-We're to take everything, so L-Luthor can calm it back in insurance against Wayne."
"Why?"
"B-b-because only have the crates match the manifest." Norman whimpered as the thumb slowly worked its way deeper. "… The rest is illegal weapons and tech, stuff that'd breech a dozen international laws and conventions if sold openly."
"So you steal it, and Luthor gets to calm plausible deniability via knock-offs when his tech shows up on the Black Market?" The Hood snarled, bottoming out with his thumb jammed as deep as possible into the bluet hole. "That bold son of a bitch! He's pulling the same stunt from Sarajevo!"
"Gah… Aaargh… Oh god… God please…." Norman screamed. "P-Please, I answered your… Your questions, please?!"
"Where is the tech, and the rest of your men?" The thumb was slowly being removed as the question was asked.
"Pier Sixteen, warehouse fifty-two." Norman gasped as the thumb popped free, bringing with it a spurt of blood and… Other stuff. The damn psycho who was torturing him switched hands, so the blood stained hand was holding Norman up by his collar, and reached into his jacket for a phone. "My boys are waiting for us to finish up here before we hit the place
"Hello, operator, I'd like to report a multiple shooting… Mahnke Heights Apartments, room 311… Three dead, all look to be heavily armed gang members – whoever did this must have been a real badass." The anger, the barely controlled rage, had faded from the man's voice to be replaced by cockiness. Norman let out a pained sigh of relief, he was gonna make it… It was the last thing he ever did. "… Oops, sorry I was wrong. Its four bodies, there's one in the alleyway outside!"
Before Norman could scream he was released and on the receiving end of a snap heel kick that knocked him through the partly boarded up window. The world was blurring, getting dark, and everything above him was just a mass of colours before it came.
BANG! BANG, BANG, BANG!
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So the Jason right now looks like a cross between Resident Evil's Hunk and the Red Hood as he did in his cameo at the end of Arkham Knight's Main Plot [ie, AK!Hood's helmet and tactical underclothing but with HUNK's combat gear.] How he died, how he was revived, why he was revived and what he's been doing for the past two years are currently a mystery.
I started writing this before damnation soldier posted the AN revealing the story was done –and after seeing this I left a message asking permission to adapt certain elements from the story… I haven't heard anything back yet but intend to continue. That said, if a reply saying 'NO' comes back I'll just come back and remove the "You'll Find Me Just As Broken" influenced bits – such as the Fem!Nightwing and little parts of Jason's time as Robin I haven't gotten into yet.
I'm dyslexic, so please point out any mistakes in the spelling or grammar [I use the Irish/English spelling structure, so some may look off to Americans]. Please leave opinions and comments via review or PM, I can't improve without feedback. Well, that's everything I've got to say… Thanks for reading.
Highvalour saying thanks for reading.