Author's Note:
This chapter gets a little bit hot and heavy, like the last one, so just keep that in mind.
WARNINGS: dub-con drug use and sexual-ish interactions from Jason's side (the kiss and such is much less dub-con from Jason's side than Tim's)... And we're still cliff-hanger-y, but some thing does kinda resolve... ish?
Chapter Twenty-Two: Rule #22 – Hold Yourself Accountable
Jason's still riding the high of relief at having gotten Tim out of the most immediate danger for a long while after Dick confirms that he's got Tim wrapped up safe and sound inside the Batmobile and on his way to Agent A for a much-needed check up.
He doesn't really catch what's going on with anything until he's being shuffled out of the loft with Rwen Tolovi's hand settled heavy on his back between his shoulders.
"Don't speak, don't resist; I'll explain in the car," Rwen whispers, moving to give Jason's shoulder a squeeze that comes uncomfortably close to breaking bone. Shit definitely creaks.
It's about as much as he's ever gotten about a Plan from B, so Jason rolls with it feeling only the slightest niggle of trepidation. He keeps quiet, watching the awkward posturing of the GHOST goons and their shady little guard mooks and the guys that came to back up Tolovi as they all flutter around each other with strong arm intentions that all miss their mark.
Most of the posturing is directed towards Rwen Tolovi – who does not seem to even register that the attempts at imtimidation exist in any way. Like he's just way too far beyond untouchable for their threats to even bear a pretense of trying to matter.
It would almost be funny if Jason weren't so fixated on the fact that he's a captive and has no exit strategy, no back up, and no real idea of what's happening – let alone how to tell the Bats who are his would-be back up what's happening without blowing the entire operation.
The important thing is that Tim is safe.
Jason focuses on that as Rwen leads him to one of a collection of blacked out supped up SUVs – practically thows him inside.
The Bat com is still live in one ear – because someone, probably Nightwing, left their com unmuted – and he hears B and the others discussing the fact that getting him out of this stupid convoy is going to be unfortunately difficult to manage.
That's okay.
As long as Tim's safe, Jason's done his job.
His line to Tim's com is still live, too.
He can hear Tim inside the Batmobile being scolded by that Spoiler girl.
Jason almost has to crack a smirk as he thinks about how much he likes that stupid chick. She's gritty and hard core in a way he connects with, and she's just as spiked about keeping Tim safe as any of the Bats.
While Jason's focused on listening to Spoiler chew out his baby seal, he almost misses the moment when Rwen Tolovi swings into the SUV with him and closes the door to isolate them in an almost unnervingly quiet space.
It's only Jason's sudden fear that perhaps Tolovi can hear the static on his coms' connections somehow buzzing in the silence that draws Jason's attention back to his own situation. Rwen is fortunately not paying him any real attention as the cars begin to rev up.
Once the cars actually get rolling, Tolovi lets out a held breath and then begins fussing with a fancy cabinet thing on his side of the car.
He pulls out a bottle of something fizzy and yellow, darker than most lemonades and almost solid with color – like orange juice, but brighter and more of a genuine yellow. Jason watches Rwen wrangle out the bottle and two thick whiskey glasses.
The sound of the drinks being poured seem excessively loud in the quiet of the cabin.
It smells tangy in a way that fills the cabin – citric like a lemon, but more acidy with a stark twist that feels astringinent and chemical in a way that does not bode well.
Jason snorts derisively and comments, "Lemonade? I didn't think drinks were gonna be served on this trainwreck of a drug deal you and Ross got goin'."
"It's not just lemonade," Tolovi drawls, confirming Jason's vague hunch. "And it's not exactly a drug deal. It's a little more illegal than that."
Smug bastard.
Still, Jason raises an eyebrow to ask for more details, knowing that someone as proud of his own damn self as Tolovi is will spill his guts with almost zero prompt. Standard bad guy grand standing and monologuing BS and all.
Jason is not disappointed.
"The drug starting to appear on the streets of almost every major American city is being leaked from the meltdown of an experimental government program – the current… restructuring is creating a lot of disgruntled former employees with high level access," Tolovi blandly intones, like he's given this report before.
"Those people are rather enterprising individuals who are not pleased to be missing out on a fat retirement fund and are compensating. My brothers and I have been… correcting their rash, selfish decisions and erasing their supply lines. However, I was part of that project and my formula has recently begun appearing among the leaked samples. I'm blackmailing Tavian to return the bulk of my research to me."
Jason huffs a laugh.
"So straight up treason instead of just the string of felonies found in the counts of murder and drug possession and distribution," Jason synthesizes smartly. With a snort that's not as derisive as he'd hoped it would be, he adds, "You assholes don't fuck around."
It's ridiculous.
Jason would almost have to think it was a joke, but Tolovi is just too fucking pleased with himself for it to be anything but true.
Jason can't tell if he's impressed or not.
From anyone else, it would be idiocy to take on whole governments for little more than petty spite the way that Tolovi is doing… but from him… Rwen Tolovi is like the Bat in so many more ways than just one, constantly exuding this kind of… blanketing control that makes the ridiculous seem way less impossible.
Tolovi can sense or see – or fucking smell for all that Jason knows – how conflicted Jason is over whether or not to take him seriously.
And Rwen Tolovi is distinctly amused but Jason's inner confliction.
"No, we don't," Tolovi replies – voice soft and light. "Invulnerability will do that to you."
Without a pause betraying any hint of anxiety, Jason huffs warily, "So you really think you asshats are totally invulnerable?"
There's a long moment of silence as Rwen looks Jason over with a dark emotion in his eyes, and something more readable that seems far too much like pity.
Eventually, Tolovi sighs.
Lets go of a thought he's decided not to speak.
"You need to drink that if you want to survive the night," the drug lord explains suddenly as he nods at the wiskey glass he's set in Jason's cup holder – voice emotionless and steady, broadly clinical as he goes on, "You might be genetically compatible, but if your system isn't prepped before a real dose, even something small will send you into shock. That will help."
"Sure, it will," Jason returns with an aggressive skepticism.
"If I was going to kill you I would have done it already," Tolovi sighs, bored but also… indulgent. "That is a lower dose of what else you'll be receiving tonight, along with some special fillers of my own design. It will help ease the transition. I told Tavian that you were an informed volunteer, but we both know that's not true, so you're just going to have to trust me."
"Why did you tell him that?"
It's been niggling at Jason since Tolovi first said it.
Something about the way he said it.
"I enjoy seeing him panic, for one thing," Tolovi responds right off.
A vicious edge in his demeanor rises to the surface Jason can see clearly as the gangster continues with his voice kept perfectly even, "And the unauthorized administration of a new Serum formula to an unknowing human subject is one of the things I'm blackmailing him with."
Tolovi is telling the truth about that much, Jason's utterly certain.
The gang lord swirls his drink and then downs all of it in one go.
A shudder of something like relief flits through him – a more aggressive, more obvious and affecting version of the physiological response Jason has to a cigarette he's snuck away with after a particularly hard day.
The drug is definitely in the lemonade.
And it definitely creates a clear and brutal dependency.
That Jason's likely highly susceptible to, because he's 'compatible'.
Whatever that means.
Jason knows it can't bode well.
Espeically for him… Family history of abuse and addiction, and all… Thoughts that he straight up shoves out of his mind because this is not the time or place for wallowing in his own frickin' sob story.
In a frankly obvious play for time, Jason says slowly, "You say this stuff will help me survive the night, but why would you bother? Like, I get that you could've killed me a hundred times over, but why help me not get myself killed now?"
Tolovi sighs yet again. This one's harsher, his patience clearly beginning to wear through the indulgent understanding that had coaxed him to answer Jason's previous questions.
"The data, mostly. Tavian wants to see how my formula affects an unaltered system, and I won't turn down a chance to gather more evidence of the fact that my hypothesis is correct. All data is helpful data in science, to a point, at least," Tolovi tells him. "Besides, contrary to popular belief, I am not a completely psychotic monster. I don't enjoy death or killing. I enjoy the fight, certainly, and I can be ruthless and unyieldingly brutal at times – but mostly for the sake of protecting my Family."
Jason huffs at that. It's hard to deny the appeal of being absolutely vicious to keep his Family safe – to keep innocents safe and keep the cretins that would do them harm from ever hurting anyone ever again.
"So, I drink this shit and what happens?" Jason asks, running out of options.
"It hurts," Tolovi replies without any gentling – something Jason appreciates. "And then everything starts to itch, and tingle. Once the buzz settles, it'll feel like you're up on nothing more sinister than an unhealthy amount of caffeine. Exactly six and a half minutes after that, you'll be able to take twice the dosage with the same severity of mild side effects. If you can finish that one with at least four minutes to spare before Tavian wants you in the ring, you might survive the dose Xansa will put you on for the fight."
"Fight? Who will I be fighting?"
It's not exactly fear that prickles in Jason's gut – and it's actually more concerning that it's not… It makes something in the frustration and bottled up anger and anxiety Jason's been feeling all month unknot with a biting and eager release to get his knuckles all bruised and battered by beating in a bad guy's face.
He hasn't gotten enough of that lately, hasn't had any outlet for the aggression.
The building deficit aches inside him.
"My little brother, probably. And possibly Alistair Blake, as well," Tolovi returns, adding with a clipped edge hurrying his tone. "And you'll need every advantage you can get to have any hope of surviving a bout with either of them, so drink."
It scares Jason more than he'd ever admit that he hardly hesitates to follow the order.
Regrets it the moment the liquid flows across his tongue.
But not because it's drugged.
"Ugh. God damn that's rank," Jason splutters and coughs, his voice hoarse. "Got any vodka to wash it down with?"
Tolovi almost chuckles. "You think vodka would resolve the flavor issue?"
This time, Jason laughs.
It's a sharp, bitter bark of a laugh, but a laugh none the less.
"Vodka resolves a lot of issues," Jason supplies utterly honest. His suggestion isn't blithe, but a genuine request for something to get the bitterness to disapate in any way possible. "And since it feels like I just chewed on a whole pack of god damn expired cigarettes, yeah, I think some vodka would frickin' help."
"Noted," Tolovi replies, still far too amused with it all. But he seems like he's genuinely considering the suggestion's merit.
He leaves Jason in peace for a moment as the swirl of whatever shit he just drank begins to seep into his veins. Jason doesn't have any idea what the fuck he just ingested is, but it doesn't act like any drug he's ever gotten wound up on before… he can actually feel it starting to twitch into his muscles – enhancing everything about them.
Awed in a way that probably bodes poorly, Jason asks after what exactly is happening to him, chemically speaking. Tolovi willingly answers – though Jason still barely understands.
And then the conversation transitions suddenly, in a way that anyone listening on coms probably wouldn't notice unless they were listening very carefully. It strikes Jason that Tolovi did that intentionally, that he knows Jason's got people on coms and has been answering his question in order to get the eavesdroppers to start zoning out.
Jason's been distracted, so he hasn't been watching Tolovi's hands carefully enough to say for sure, but the buzz in his ears probably means the com links have been cut, or at the very least layered over with interference. A simple, unobserved button push could've done it.
"While you're still cognate enough to care, I have a deal to propose for you," Tolovi says as he recovers from the harshness of downing another rough glass of his own damn drug.
"Why should I care?"
"Because it will protect your Family, particularly the boy you traded yourself to protect, as he's compatible enough to be very interesting to those in my line of work," Tolovi explains in a pedantic drawl. "Gotham is full of interesting oddities and how they interact with the chemicals my research involves would be very interesting to study. And GHOST likes the… rather grey and wavy line of legal justice Gotham employs."
Sullen and warry, Jason prompts, "So?"
"This is the last shipment I need to take from Tavian," Tolovi elucidated, adding pointedly, "We could be out of here tomorrow if we had a reason to leave."
"But Gotham's pretty interesting, ain't it," Jason connects. "A'ight, I get it. What'cha want me to do to get you asshats goin' on the road out of town?"
"Take a real dose, and fight through it," Tolovi proposes. "Instead of going up on whatever Xansa suggests, take a Blackbird Brew and then face off for real against Shankar and Alistair. Beat them and survive the fights, ride the high. Do that for me and we'll leave by dawn."
"Why?"
"I want the data," Tolovi replies with a shrug. "You don't need to know more than that."
"Why the hell would I trust you?"
"Because the thing you did for your friend was honorable, and I'm not so far gone so as to have forgotten my respect for that," Tolovi explains, a note of something tragic in his voice.
Jason wants to snort, isn't quite sure why he doesn't.
"I'm not the monster everyone wants for me to be," Tolovi promises. "I can be. I'm vicious and violent and I don't really care when I hurt someone to protect someone else, but I think you understand that more than you want to let on. If I don't get my data from you, I'll get it from someone else, someone less okay with being as vicious and aggressive as they need to be to really win against my brother. Someone less likely to actually win the way I want them to. If I get my data from you, I won't need to get it from anyone else."
Jason attempts to absorb that.
Finds it a frighteningly rational and terrifyingly convincing argument.
"It doesn't hurt you any more than what you've already gotten yourself into will do by default, and it will keep the rest of your city safe," Tolovi tacks on. "From us, at least."
"You have the fucking authority to really make your older brother listen? To make the whole fucking government agency shitbag of GHOST pull back?"
Tolovi tips a slow, definitive nod.
"And to make the Syndicate back out, too," Tolovi adds haughtily. "Not that you've even figured out that they're involved, or even here at all yet. But I can make them go away, every single one of them."
"How?"
"They don't call me the Razorwing for nothing," Tolovi alludes dangerously, without really explaining anything. "You don't have to worry about how. Just trust your instincts when they tell you that I really am as invincible as you don't want to think I am."
Jason nods again, mulling it over – coming to the conclusion that Tolovi might just be right… and that, just maybe, he is offering a legitimate way out.
Jason's screwed up enough on this case to be wary of making decisions on his own.
But really, what's the worst that could happen?
If Tolovi's not being honest, Jason still has to get hopped up on drugs and fight to what will apparently be his eventual death. And nothing will really change.
If Tolovi is being honest… Jason gets hopped up on drugs and still has a brutal fight to face, but one he probably has a decent chance to survive. And maybe, just maybe, he might be able to use this terrible choice to make himself into something less like a failed Robin.
He might be able to make his Crime Alley upbringing count for something on the Robin front, to actually contribute to the Crusade in a solid, legitimate manner.
He saved Tim once tonight.
But Tolovi's already admitted that Tim's interesting.
And that there's others, too, who might be at dramatic risk if the Tolovis and their cohorts stick around for any longer than tonight.
If Tolovi's lying, nothing changes.
If he's not, everything does.
"A'ight then, Mr Bitchass, you got yourself a deal," Jason says, sitting tall and proud in his plush chair and swirling his empty glass as pleased smirk stretches across his face.
He feels slightly drunk, but not truly inebriated.
It doesn't make him worry that he's not cognizant enough to make this decision.
Tolovi nods. Satisfied. Relieved.
This drug does more than just enhance his muscles. It works on his perception, too, his intuition and the subconscious processes he relys on for rapid data collection and assessment.
Even his ability to read the microepressions on Tolovi's face – to hear the ache of tension being slowly settled in the back of Tolovi's throat as he swallows.
Hell, another dose of this shit and Jason might be a god damn human lie detector.
Jason forces himself to pretend away the fact that that shit's kinda awesome.
"We have a deal," Tolovi agrees. Honest. Genuine.
Truly aiming for the best end he could possibly finagle out of this crazy mess.
It's not long after that before Tolovi pours another drink and makes another gesture indicating that Jason needs to drink it.
He does so without any hesitation.
Jason makes the same protesting gurgles at the taste, adding, "Lemon or even peach vodka might actually make this shit taste like lemonade, as advertised."
This time, Jason feels it more – and feels it faster.
It's a compounding high, building on itself and Jason lets it all flow over him.
Jason continues chatting aimlessly with Tolovi, loses track of what gets said exactly – has to trust that Rwen's choice to make the deal when he did means he knows Jason's gotten pushed passed the edge of really grasping reality, that he won't try to add caveats or details or loopholes.
He hears Tim's voice in his head at intervals, like he's talking to someone else and only occasionally remembers to mute his mic – or Jason could just be imagining it. Less often, but more solidly, he hears Nightwing and Batgirl snipe something in their usual attempts to remain light hearted and up beat – hears the strain inside their voices growing as it doesn't quite work.
At some point, the car stops.
Jason isn't aware of it until he realizes that he's walking, Rwen's guiding hand on his shoulder again – heavy and grounding and searingly warm.
He feels like he's floating somewhat as he drifts along, being lead by Rwen like a dog on a fuckin' leash. That realization doesn't bother him as much as he thought it would.
Esepcially not when Rwen's leading him towards what is obviously and undenaiably an illegal fight ring in the basement. It makes Jason's heart begin to pound with excitement.
Eagerness.
There's a speech of some sort.
Jason's not sure who gives it, or why. He doesn't care.
Xansa's there and the GHOST mooks he's managed to put names to with Rwen's help: Tavian Ross, the Fox; Alistair Blake, the Hound; and that kid no older than Dickie bird is Chris Mattingly, the White Wolf… They wear their names, their monikers plainly. With just as much force and reputation behind them as any of the Bats do – just more openly, viciously, and with a brutal kind of non-concern that says the strata of the underworld they're from is so much more defined and catalyzed than anything that Jason's ever seen before.
Their names aren't masks, but they give them the same security as the Bats' clever secrets do… Their names are walls, fortifications, warnings.
Xansa, the Silver Wing.
Rwen, the Razorwing.
Shankar, the Firebird…
The Firebird is Jason's first opponent and he is already impatient to begin.
But his brute aggression is boring.
What Jason finds interesting is Xansa's reaction – the silent conversation he has with Rwen right as they arrive. It's subtle and Jason wouldn't notice it with any less of that strange drug inside his system, but it's a fascinating exchange. One that proves beyond a doubt to Jason that the blithe comment Tavain Ross shot at him is entirely true: Rwen's the one with the power here, the only one whose voice can truly matter in any kind of deal.
It makes Jason feel more confident in the deal he's struck.
Makes the lingering niggle of worry that he's been resisting fade enough for the excitement he feels about the impending fight to completely eclipse any drop of negativity.
Rwen's hand is still on Jason's shoulder and he gets steered into the center of the makeshift arena created by the enthusiastic press of the gathered crowd.
Shankar is lingering on one side of it, Tavian and the others on the opposite curve, and Rwen leads him directly into the center of the spotlight.
There's a girl there – masked and anonymous and sterile – waiting with something like a hand gun, but pneumatic and attached to needles instead of bullets. Modified piece of tattooing equipment or something… Jason's seen shit like that on low rent sci fi shows.
Eh, whatever works, works.
Rwen takes the gun from the girl and she promptly disappears. He exchanges the bright green cartridge that had been preloaded in the gun for one he pulls out of his pocket. The one Rwen loads is black. Ooozing. Less like a drug and more like a plague.
Every cell in Jason's body is eagerly screaming out for it.
Every instinct is screaming out to get away from it.
Rwen's eyes are cool and empty as he turns Jason's head up and to the side, as he lines the gun's nozzle up with the vein on his neck that runs straight to his heart.
Jason's stopped breathing with the tension of anticipation before Rwen pulls the trigger.
The rush sends him shuddering straight to the cool concrete of the floor.
There are no words for the sensation, no sonnets even.
Jason would have to invent a whole new language, devise a new breed of poetry from it, to have any hope of explaining the zing that hits his mucsles, his sinew, his senses and perception… with describing how it both hurts like nothing he's ever felt and soothes like nothing he could've imagined.
Oh.
It's… it's something.
Jason knows he should… dislike it, or be scared of it, or… something.
But rational feelings left the building as soon as Rwen pulled that trigger. He doesn't have that kind of care anymore, that kind of complicated emotion. He's got nothing but pure sensation and no desire to figure out if that's good or bad or something else entirely.
Isn't bothered by that fact.
Jason's not sure how long it takes for a semblance of reality to filter back into place.
Thinks it's probably been a while.
Rwen's talking. Jason thinks it's probably to Tavian. Doesn't care.
Rwen's hand is still on his shoulder, but now it's not so much guiding as it is restraining.
And the suddenly it's not.
Rwen's hand is gone.
And Jason is alone in the ring, facing off with Shankar.
They circle each other, feeling their opponent out.
Jason can't help the grin that splits his face.
It has been so long since he had a real fight.
Not everything awful about Crime Alley was as terrible as B and them hoity toity types like to blanketly believe. Some fights were shit to be sure, but some … some when he could earn a pretty penny from a victory and feel like he really earned his keep and comfort… that shit wasn't bad at all.
He's kinda missed it to be really fuckin' honest.
And when he successfully dodges as Shakar cedes the advantage and launches the first offensive blow, the triumph that races through him with his Bat training's clear superiority is breathtaking. He's missed this and, hot damn, is it good to really play it hard again.
They exchange a few more blows – Shankar gets a lucky shot in and Jason bites his cheek, but every other point contact belongs to Jason. The wound on Jason's cheek leaks a bit of blood, but hardly more than enough to make him taste the familiar tang as it dribbles down his chin – the wound inside his mouth healing over before the drips even stain his shirt.
They separate after a few dozen blows, mutually backing off for a moment as they each reassess. Shankar was expecting to floor him, Jason realizes with a bright stab of pride.
And the the attention in the arena shifts.
Slides neatly off to the side as a new player steps into the fray.
Someone in a skintight leather cat suit…
Not Selina.
This cat's younger, almost totally androgynous but mostly likely tipped towards male.
He's all sorts of saucy and seductive as he saunters straight into the ring, doesn't hesitate to make right for the center, hips swaying all the while… with a Cheshire Cat smile that makes Jason's blood head south immediately.
Shit.
Holy blundering bat boys.
Jason did not know he had that fetish.
Well, fuck.
But shit if he's gonna voice any complaint about it.
Cause hot damn.
This god damn pussy cat is right out of a wet dream Jason didn't know he had.
The hella sexy feline could be a straight up hallucination for all Jason knows, he's pretty damn high right now, after all.
Jason can't even pretend to regret it.
The first moment Jason's convinced his kitty cat is not just a hormonal hallucination is the moment the frickin Cat locks lips with him – physical, solid, warm, real.
And there's no shyness, no hesitation, no restraint.
Just a hot and heavy kiss with tongue and Jason melts like butter into it.
Dear god, Jason likes it.
Part of it's the drug, obviously, increasing every type of sensitivity.
But a lot of it is just Jason, too.
And sweet jesus, the cat has a collar.
With a tag and a bright little bell on it.
The cat's collar reads 'Stray'.
"There's my big bad birdie," Stray purs when he breaks the kiss, loudly enough for the spectators to hear – the crowd having gone eerily silent in wake of his arrival. "You disappeared on me, again, and I was starting to get worried. But here you are, just having all this fun without me. I should punish you for that. Birdies in this city have no place in pissing off the pussy cats."
Even the damn cat's voice is sexy.
Low and pouty and confident in a way that makes Jason's gooey insides realign themselves to suitably express the obvious effect of the appeal.
Jason's hands find Stray's hips – close in without hesitation and hold him firmly flush.
Holds on tight. Desperately. Possessively.
Jason cracks a smile, loose and uncontrolled as he lets the swirl of drugs and hormones take his fuzzy mind where they will.
He's fourteen after all, and with his previous upbringing and current, overwhelming schedule of vigilante crime fighting, he's never really had a hot minute to consider anything like this… to examine much about the kind of sexy that his mind or body could possibly want…
Apparently, he wants this.
"You can do whatever the hell you want with me, hot stuff," Jason breathes.
"Let's get out of here," Stray purrs. "Make our way to somewhere private."
"Lead the way, pussy cat," Jason sighs, hands tightening on Stray's hips as the cat begins to physically puppet-walk Jason backwards.
Jason has no idea where the cat wants to take him
Really doesn't care at all.
Stray could cut his throat right now and Jason would die in fucking bliss.
They only make it a few steps before Rwen's voice booms out over the hush.
"Not so fast."
His voice is dramatic, authoritiative, and it makes everyone stand a little more alert.
Stray twists in Jason's hold, keeping one gloved hand firmly over the fingers Jason has splayed over his him. With a bored pout, Stray whines, "Who the hell are you?"
"Just a passing stranger," Rwen Tolovi comments blithely, "Who is a lot more interesting than I first appear. We seem to have that in common, you and I. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Rwen Tolovi. And you are?"
"Not interested," Stray snaps, leaning back into Jason's chest with a casual inclination, with and easy, bored possessiveness, and with a potent curve to his figure that makes Jason's head spin. "You don't belong here, stranger. You've banged up my birdie's face and you've let your stupid drug poison my city. Promise to be gone by morning and my friends and I will leave you alone – but I am walking out of here with this guy, right now."
"You tell 'em, kitten!"
Jason knows he recognizes that voice. Vaguely.
Doesn't care – refuses to look away from Stray long enough to check on the speaker.
There's a nervous tittering in the crowd as the spectators all turn to look at the newcomers and Rwen asks, "Friends of yours, Kitten?"
"Indeed." It's another voice Jason should know, still doesn't quite care enough to look up to see why. Barely cares enough to keep listening. "But before we get on with the posturing and the inevitable stupid macho pissing match, let me ask you one thing. As one chemist to another, what exactly did you put in this drug you've got everyone here hopped up on? I'm sensing at least three different formulas, but all variations on the same base theme… and it's… odd."
"You've something special in your own blood, I see," Rwen allows. Stray is pushing on Jason's chest, working him backwards in a subtle, step by step process that does not escape Rwen's notice. "As much as I would love to talk shop, I do want to reaffirm that we can't let your kitten and the little Robin that he's claimed leave just yet."
Stray doesn't curse, but he does cease coaxing Jason backwards as he levels a glare.
Rwen ignores the vitriol in the cat's gaze, explaining, "Robin still has a fight to finish. It's bad manners to cut out early, especially when he's bound by a gentleman's agreement. He needs to fulfill his end of it."
Jason's fingers tighten on Stray's hips as he recalls the fight… that he'd literally been in the middle of when Stray had interrupted. He wants to leave it – Dios Mio, does he want to leave… Just leave right now with Stray and forget about it altogether.
But.
He did make an agreement.
He did it for Gotham, for his city – for the city that can't be saved, but the one he could never be convinced to stop trying to protect.
And he did it for his friend.
He did it for Tim.
Tim, who can't be brought anywhere near this drug…
Because even with Jason's own tragic family history when it comes to shit like this, he's strong enough to beat it. And honestly, if he doesn't prove strong enough, if he does wind up turning out just like his mom… Well, he saved Gotham once, saved Tim a few times, and really, it's not much of a loss to the universe if Jason's potential gets cut short.
But Tim…
He's got a compatibility too, according to Tolovi, at least.
And from what Jason's seen of his coffee habit… he's got some sort of penchant for chemical addiction too, possibly even worse off than Jason's own genetic proclivity – more affecting anyway, because at least Jason is aware that he's prone to substance abuse like that.
Tim's never been exposed to something really hard to kick.
And like Sherlock fucking Holmes and whatnot, Jason's worried that if Tim gets a taste of what it feels like to be on something good… he's not going to be able to recognize the problem with getting high until it's way to late to just toss that shit in the trash.
It'd be an experiment to him – a mind expansion technique.
And with how desperate Tim is to be a part of the Crusade… the physical enhancement that Tolovi's drug clearly grants its users could be a tragically tempting thing to try…
Tim can not be allowed to touch this shit.
And Rwen promised that if Jason won this fight – which Rwen said he definitely could, and Jason's first hand experience agrees with him – then the Tolovis and GHOST and everyone else involved with this horrible drug would leave Gotham. Rwen promised that he'd set his interest in Tim aside and just walk away.
Jason needs that to happen.
"I promised," Jason whispers against Stray's neck – mournfully, desperately.
"Robin and I have come to an arrangement," Rwen announces to the crowd. "He tries out my personal formula, and battles it out with my brother. If he wins, he's set to fight a representative from GHOST proper. If he wins both bouts, we'll all go away and leave your dingy little city in the muck and mire of its own making. You'll never hear from any of us again."
Stray is stiff beneath Jason's hands – angry, scared, and achingly frustrated.
"I smell a rat."
This hiss is very familiar. Selina.
Jason's almost tempted to look up and find her figure in the crowd as she goes on to growl viciously, "A cat's nose always knows."
"I'm with the Cat on this one."
Now, Jason has to look.
He knows that voice.
It's Dick. Nightwing.
Jason looks up and spots Dick immediately. Realizes exactly why the Tolovis can see right through the masks… This drug ups sensory perception… dramatically. He can almost feel Nightwing's heartbeat, can pierce right through the voice distortion module taped against 'Wing's throat, can isolate the exact contours of his mask to see the face beneath it like nothing's there at all… And the body language…
Especially with Dick.
It's just so obvious.
Jason feels slightly less pathetic now for being recognized out of costume.
He's not even on a really high dose, let alone a steady, constant flow of it.
If this drug really does keep building on itself perpetually… after a few years of taking on the regular… the Tolovis have got to be beyond super human at this point.
Because even Jason can see the vague glow of an aura around Starfire standing near Nightwing well before she steps up to say, "I, too, have my thoughts aligned with the feline."
Jason can see the other metas in the crowd too, now that he's looking, each with a faint but obvious… glow – Wonder Woman is here, and Superman… And Poison Ivy, who's already announced her presence plainly. Still, it's kinda cool that Jason can see them.
The alien Teen Titan's fists glow with an almost tangible green gleam as she tightens her fingers with threat – so bright and substantial that Jason thinks it would be totally visible without any super drug enhancement.
But the super drug does let him see Kid Flash's entrance, to track the kid inside the blur instead of just glazing up with the over loading input of red and yellow lighting. Wally latches on to Nightwing's arm to drag himself to a stop before he chirps, "Sorry, I'm late! So, who exactly IS the bad guy? 'Cause I'm counting a lot of angry dudes and scary dudettes in black here…"
A blip of amusement filters into Jason's brain.
Dick is gonna be in so much trouble for calling in the Titans without B's direct approval.
And Jason can tell he doesn't have it.
Can feel Batman's judgemental and disapproving frown as it forms nebulously in the crowd – Jason can even isolate the Bat's exact position. Which makes him irrationally pleased with himself – particularly considering that it's a bad thing that the Bat's stealth is being totally mitigated by even a single real dose of this super drug.
Still, the smile grows to crack through his black expression and draw across his face – especially as Batgirl steps up with a sardonic and rewarding huff, "Kid Flash, shut up."
Meanwhile, Jason suddenly realizes that Stray has resumed attempting to coax him backwards – away from the arena. This time Jason resists as Batgirl addresses Rwen to say declaratively, "We want our Robin back, and we're going to take him whether you like it or not. You might have that super drug on your side, but you have to admit that the odds are no longer standing in your favor."
Rwen shrugs – refusing to cede the point.
Jason… has to kind of agree, as much as he hates to admit it. Even with the Teen Titans and the Justice League peeps tagging in to help… this fight's still pretty biased.
Beside Batgirl, Wonder Woman appears, placing a hand on Batgirl's shoulder as she announces, "The Mist of Themiscrya would welcome a warrior of such prowess as any of you standing here – such battles you have waged, such victories you have earned… I cannot understand why an honorable warrior is draped in such ill intentions. You have malice in your heart, malice equal even to the great worth of your noble motivations. Why not simply let the boy go? Why force this drugged and dishonorable combat?"
With a sigh that shows Rwen is growing tired of having to repeat himself, he says, "For the data, mostly. I am a scientist at heart, and knowing more about the effects of my research is paramount for my Family's effective longevity. If someone is sick, sometimes a fever is a necessary evil to purge the infection, and I have no qualms about doing what I have to regarding the security and health of my Family."
"You have enough data for your research," Superman says, revealing himself on the edge of yet another part of the crowd. "You drugged the boy and made him fight, now let him go."
"I do not have enough," Rwen snaps, vehement enough to nearly break the cool calm of his façade. "I need to see him injured, and to see how his responsiveness to being injured changes as the drug runs its course. This might be sport for Shankar and Xansa, and for Tavian and GHOST, but I need to see him fight through to the end."
His outburst effectively silences the room.
After a brief pause to rein in his raging temper, Rwen goes on carefully to add, "I made your Robin a deal and he agreed. Two fights, two wins, and we disappear forever. With a few aliens, an Amazonian demi-goddess, and Gotham's own oddities on your side, you might – just might – be able to best us all tonight, but have no doubt that if you somehow manage it, GHOST and the Blackbirds will swarm in to finish what was started here – what I've agreed to abort in my negotiations with Robin. You'll never be able to fight them all, even if you occupy the city with your vigilante thugs."
Rwen lets the heroes swallow that before he adds, "I am a man of my word. Robin wins two fights and we disappear. Simple as that."
"Pardon me for not believing you," Catwoman yowls with a bored antagonism.
Rwen sighs.
He lets his gaze leave Stray and Jason to look directly at Wonder Woman. "Your lasso has unique qualities, no? From what I've heard it can make a person be honest, even if it goes against their will to do so. Allow me to prove my intentions."
There's a beat of stunned silence.
Wonder Woman's lasso is a harrowing experience, not to be undertaken lightly.
Jason knows that much first hand – trying it out was part of his Bat training.
But Rwen Tolovi offers his hand and does not pull it back as Wonder Woman approaches and pulls the golden coil from her hip. She loops it securely around Rwen's wrist and commands, "Speak to me your Truth."
Rwen winces, draws a sharp breath and lets the words be dragged out of him.
"I made an agreement with the boy, a binding one," Rwen explains, "He agreed to test my formula and best two opponents. In exchange, I promised that neither GHOST nor the Blackbirds – or anyone else connected to us – will ever venture into Gotham again."
"And you have the authority to make that promise truly binding?"
Rwen nods at Diana's question, but Jason doesn't need the lasso to confirm that much.
Rwen is the real boss here, the one with real control.
It's irrefutable, even with Xansa Tolovi and Tavian Ross both looking on rather bitterly from right nearby on the sidelines.
At ease with the pinful barbs that the lasso digs into a guarded psyche, Rwen says, "This is my research, my mission. Gotham is my operation and as such I have complete discretion over its proceedings. Let the boy fight, he will win and we will all leave without further trouble for either side to handle."
There's another drawn out pause as the lasso glows and then releases its hold.
"The warrior speaks true," Diana announces, a sliver of shock hiding in the back of her tone. The drug means Jason can hear it loud and clear.
"Then it seems we have an arrangement," Batman says, materializing out of the shadows.
The super drug means that for the first time in the history of ever the big bad Bat seems almost emotive as an entity.
He's not happy.
He's furious… and worried.
The frickin' Batman is fucking terrified … for Jason's safety.
Not in a way that makes Jason feel insulted, but in a way that makes him feel… valued and almost precious. It's a strange sensation.
"If you had another volunteer, would you let Robin go?"
He means himself, obviously. Fucking martyr.
But Jason isn't as pissed as he'd thought he'd be… it's almost… nice… that B would do that for him. It's not just to hog the savior spotlight. Jason can hear the concern for his own wellbeing radiating from Batman's voice – he just wants to do whatever will get Jason and the others out of there as fast as possible.
Not because he thinks he can handle it better than Jason.
But because he thinks Jason simply shouldn't have to handle it.
It's practically meaningless, though. Irrelevent.
Rwen huffs and explains, "No one else is as perfectly compatible. I suppose I could try the kitten here, seeing as this one is the next closest to compatible among you all, but I somehow suspect that Robin might protest if he were in his right mind to do so. Cat, Canary, each claimed by the other as they are."
He looks right at Stray as he speaks and something slimy niggles in Jason's gut.
Before Jason can sort though the signal, Selina digs her claws into the chest of the goon she's got herself wrapped around and hisses, "My sweet kitten is not going to be your plaything."
Jason can smell the blood welling up beneath the goon's clothes where his skin meets Selina's diamond tipped, glass cutting claws.
Jason's hold tightens on Stray's hips, before one hand slids around his ribcage to hold him closer. He doesn't know Stray, not really, but he doesn't want to see him high and hurting.
Stray doesn't look like Tim, not really – not in the ways Jason knows are most important, the body language and vibrant personas are just too disconnected. But Stray's small figure, pale skin, and blindingly straightforward competence are similar enough to make Jason ache sickeningly at the idea of letting Stray be drugged – almost as viciously as if it were Tim himself.
"I made the agreement, I took the drug," Jason says, low and controlled. "I did it to protect my friend and I promised to fulfill my end. Let me fight like I said I would. There might be another way, but this way is the best way."
His gaze finds Batman's, pleading.
Jason feels Stray vibrate with fury beneath his fingers.
Ignores it until he sees Batman nod, accepting Jason's attempt to own up to his decision and accept responsibility for the choices he has made.
Stray twists, his claws finding Jason's neck and shoulder, digging in just enough to make Jason aware that he's almost bleeding as Stray's terror and possessive streak join forces. Stray stares through his red-lensed goggles with a desperate plea.
"Don't be a hero," Stray begs, forcing Jason to look down at him.
"Too late for that, hot stuff," Jason tells him with a smirk. "You just sit your pretty ass down on the sidelines for a beat and I'll be back to finish this in no time flat."
Jason intends to keep that promise just as thoroughly as the one that requires him to fight. He plants his hands on Stray's hips and gingerly uses his enhanced strength to gently, carefully push Stray away from him.
"I promised, and I did it for a friend, so I have to follow through," Jason says.
Stray pounces on Jason one last time for a tight hug.
"Don't you dare die," Stray hisses right in his ear.
With an entirely inappropriate chuckle, Jason lets Stray skirt away and smirks boldly as he says, "Wouldn't dream of it, pussy cat."
With that, Stray relents to let Robin step back into the center of the ring.
And Jason rolls his shoulders to get back into the mindset of a fight.
"About fuckin' time, Birdie," Shankar Tolovi huffs, rolling his own shoulders and beginning to circle the ring as Jason does the same and the crowd pushes back in close.
The two combatants meet in the center in a harsh flurry of blows.
It's not like the warm-up.
This time, both Jason and Shankar jump straight to blunt brutality.
It's no holds barred and Jason is absolutely positive that he breaks every one of his ribs three times over – breaks everything at least three times over, if not more. He would've died on the third exchange if he'd been on anything less potent than whatever concoction he's on.
Jason's sense of time distorts.
His only means of judging it becomes a method of watching Shanker grow increasingly frustrated as he tries to beat Jason – having clearly expected that this fight would be an easy victory. Jason isn't willing to let him have an inch, though, and between his Bat training, the stubborn, fight wise instinct bred into him by his Crime Alley upbrining, and the drug's influence succeeding in heightening his reflexes, Jason manages to keep the quick and vicious Fire Bird fighting on his toes.
And Jason is patient.
Far more patient than Shankar proves.
As Shankar Tolovi grows more and more frustrated, he also grows sloppy and overly aggressive. Things Jason can exploit. Because Jason has no qualms about being excessive.
The blow that finishes it should've been enough to make even Jason's stomach churn.
It came as Shankar grabbed at Jason's shoulder.
Like the bouncer at Obscura's door, like the pimps and posh johns that rolled through Crime Alley, like the police who'd tried to take him in to Child Services after Catherine's death…
It was a move Jason could never be caught by.
He grabbed at Shankar's wrist and twisted, wrenching at the former spec ops agent's shoulder until the joint popped and tore. In the same motion, he kicked at Shankar's back hard enough to break it if it landed clean.
Shankar had grown sloppy, but not quite sloppy enough to let a kid like Jason land a kick like that – even with the distracting agony of a destroyed shoulder.
It meant that Jason's kick landed awkwardly against his side.
A few more inches and Shanker would've gotten clear.
As it was, the blow shattered his ribs and sent the pieces tearing through his lungs.
The fight, for him, was over.
From the bland reaction of the crowd – simply cheering as if another epic move had been vollied – Jason assumed Shankar would live. He was still alive at all, after all, rolling on his back and groaning with defeat – more out of frustration and shame than because of any pain.
The fight with Shankar Tolovi ends, and then quickly transitions over into the fight with Alistair Blake, GHOST's purported Hound Dog. The whispers in the crowd call him wild.
Aptly cautious, Jason lets his opponent make the first gambit.
His movements are more technical than Shankar's, more carefully schooled.
Unlike Shankar, Alistair felt like a military dog – trained and bred for it, but too used to military order and the rigid structure of clearly defined expectations. He didn't have the grit in him that any sort of street brawler grew into quick as kids.
At the same time, however, Jason could feel the effects of the drug starting to wane – actually feel it starting to trickle out and away.
He needs to finish this one faster than he did with Shankar and he takes pains to make that possible. Alistair has more brute endurance than Shankar had, more doggedly straightforward determination to keep hitting where it hurts until Jason falls.
But Jason doesn't let him have the satisfaction, even as his vision starts to go a bit fuzzy.
Eventually, Jason lands a perfectly aimed kick to Alistair's head – heel smacking dead on at his opponent's right temple – and Alistair crumples to the blood slicked concrete floor.
Another cheer goes up.
Someone, probably Rwen, makes another speech.
But Jason's already halfway to oblivion and far too long passed gone to care.
The last thing he's aware of as gravity disapates around him is the soft, electric sensation of Stray's one hands sliping back around his waist while the other pets gingerly at the busted angles of his face.
It's a nice feeling, very nice, and Jason smiles into it as he lets himself float.
Author's Note:
This was the last chapter of the straight up run of cliff hangers!
(There's still a few more in store, but nothing truly gut wrenching)
But this IS where the pretty nasty angst spiral gets started, for both our little Timmy and the big bad JayBird.