AN: I was rereading The Cult (I want to do something exploring Jason's side of that one day-there's all sorts of insecurities and concerns I can get my fingers into-disappeared parental figure, maybe some old acquaintances dragged into said cult…) and had a Thought.
Bruce has a headache.
He's had the headache for as long as he can remember. The droning, the lack of food, the flickering lights…
No. Focus. Overthinking is a sin. Blackfire said so. He's saved now, he will not sin. The headache is nothing. It will pass. It is a warning, perhaps, that he is…is drifting too close to the line…or…
Bruce has a headache.
They are walking, and have been walking for what feels like hours. It's possible. The sewers are vast. They have to be, to house them all.
The light up ahead is bright and steady. Many lanterns, then, rather than the handful of markers located on the path. The droning is louder there, and Bruce has a hazy idea that this is their destination.
Maybe there'll be food.
There is not food. This is the altar, with its stone table and gold chalice that none of them are permitted to touch save for when it's filled with water and passed around for them all to take a sip. That's fine. There's no reason to touch it otherwise.
The chalice is set aside now, and the altar is occupied. Unwillingly; the boy strapped there is spewing obscenities and threats in fairly equal measure. He looks. Familiar?
No. A passing fancy. This headache…he can't think straight, that's all.
The screaming stops and the boy looks at him, bewildered, and says, "Batman?"
Yes. No. He doesn't know.
There's a knife in his hand and he doesn't know how or why. But he knows what he's supposed to do with it. It'll stop this infernal headache-!
"B?" Soft, confused and more than a little afraid. He doesn't know this kid. So why is he acting like this? "What're you doing?"
The chalice is on the floor, in position already. Good. One less thing to worry about. Bruce runs his hand through the boy's hair-huh, feels like he's done this before-and pulls his head back.
"Batman, you gotta listen to me, you don't wanna-" A little more, or the cup won't catch the blood of the lamb. There. "Dad-"
Jason?
Too late; the knife, crafted centuries ago for this very purpose, is already slicing through the boy's throat, pale skin dyed red.
And the red runs into the cup in a soft, hellish waterfall, quickly tapering off into a soft plik-plik-plik!
Oh, God-
Blackfire is there, lifting the chalice, pressing it against his lips and the contents are still warm-
And Bruce wakes up. The altar is gone. The chalice and Blackfire are gone. And Jason-
-is asleep in the car beside him, slumped quietly, trustingly against his shoulder, body awkwardly pulled half-away to avoid exacerbating Bruce's injuries.
"Is everything all right, sir?" Alfred. Alfred is driving. They are leaving, falling back. Gotham has crumbled.
"Just a dream," he murmurs, voice rough. Alfred raises The Eyebrow of Disproval but says nothing.
Let him say nothing. He has no desire to talk about…anything, really. Not right now.
Maybe never.
He eases his arm out from under Jason and wraps it around him, pulling him over and ignoring the twinge in his side. Jason mumbles something that sounds vaguely like 'run for it' but could conceivably be 'the book was better'. It's a crapshoot. Bruce doesn't care. It could be 'take that gearshift and shove it down your fucking dick' and he'd be happy to hear it because it would mean he's alive and well, not…Bruce didn't…
"Bruce?"
"Go back to sleep, Jay."
"M'kay."
He's silent after that, not moving much other than to burrow into his cape a little more. Bruce ruffles his hair-ow, his arm is not supposed to move that way right now-and plunks his head against the window. A few minutes later, he's pulled back into the dark river of sleep.
This time, he does not dream.
THE END