Warnings: reincarnation, soulparents, soulmates, aizawa/izuku, multiple personalities. David|Delta|Jason Bourne are all the same person.
Conklin's POV
There was a dull thump as he let his head drop onto the table. The last few years had been nothing but a shit show. In front of him was the proof that he should've had before was laid out before him.
Alex should have believed David, Jason, whoever he was now. Paris was an absolute shit show. He tried to kill his friend, his ally, his brother. All because he thought that David had turned. Turned into a monster, no worse than a monster, a traitor.
It wasnt just David who had tried to convince him. Morris "Mo" Panov had tried to convince Alex of the truth as well. The man had met with the amnesiac away from everyone else. According to the after reports it was on a beach in Maine. A place that no one knew of expect for David and Mo.
Alex hadn't wanted to admit that he was wrong. He thought that he was right and that he knew better than the doctor. What arrogance he had shown that day. Morris Panov had treated the worst of them. If anyone knew when they were faking it was that man. He knew the best and the worst of them.
Mo told Alex that until he understood what he meant, he was no longer welcome in the doctor's office. That had been nearly two years ago. Sure enough Mo refused any and all meeting between the two of them.
At one point Alex had faked the man's death to try and draw out David. It almost ended in his death but David had believed it. He believed the one person he trusted to be dead.
Until recently Alex thought he was the one in the right. Only to learn the terrible truth. David Webb had not turned, he in fact had no memories. What he learned was something he had feared.
Carlos the Jackal and the quirkist revolutionary All For One. The first super villian they had ever seen outside of movies. Unlike in movies however there was no one who could stand up to the villain. And without Jason Bourne they had no one to hunt the Jackal.
Then there was the unexpected and uncertain group. Vigilantes, those who used the new evolutions known as quirks to stop crimes.
Some were fanatics. They just wanted to use their newfound powers. Others wanted to protect anyone and everyone they can. Those were the ones who could stand by their side. To protect against the evils of this world.
This was why they needed Jason Bourne back. And there was only one man that would allow Alex to get close without being shot. Panov was right and he would never hear the end of it. That was only if David didnt kill him.
David's POV
Flashback
"Snake Lady, Snake Lady! Respond! What are your sector coordinates?"
They were heading into Tam Quan and Delta would not break silence. He knew where they were and that was all that mattered.
Command Saigon could go to hell, he wasn't about to give the North Viet monitoring posts an inkling as to where they were going.
"If you won't or can't respond, Snake Lady, stay below six hundred feet! This is a friend talking, you assholes! You don't have many down here! Their radar will pick you up over six-fifty."
I know that, Saigon, and my pilot knows it, even if he doesn't like it, and I still won't break silence.
"Snake Lady, we've completely lost you! Can any retard on that mission read an air map?"
Yes, I can read one very well, Saigon. Do you think I'd go up with my team trusting any of you? Goddamnit, that's my brother down there! I'm not important to you but he is!
End of flashback
He sat up in a flash his grey blue eyes searching the room. Across from him in the derelict room was Yukhiro. His bright green eyes were staring out the far window.
Yukhiro Shigarki one of the first names that had returned him. He had known that the name was important but not why. It had taken going to Japan to find out Yukhiro was an old friend. Someone who had seen him as who he was and not the killer the world thought he was.
Yukhiro questioned startling him, "Bad dreams?"
David snorted, "Bad memories. There is still so much I dont know about who I am. Your journals help but..."
"But it's not the same as having your own memories," finished the pale man for him, "Do you think we are safe here?"
What a loaded question that was. Did he think they were safe? No. Neither man was safe from the one's hunting them. David was being chased by all sides. CIA for what they thought he had done. The Jackal for taking the glory of the kill from him. Hisashi Shigaraki for stealing his brother away.
David was about to answer when he heard something. It was barely discernible over the usual sounds of the night. They were in an abandoned warehouse on the south side of town. Far away from most of the traffic of the city. There was still enough especially from the water to drown out a lot of noise. What he heard was not typical of the night however.
Yukhiro was going to ask another question but David held up his hand, asking for silence. There it was again. Footsteps almost completely silent but there.
Focusing he counted them. At least seven men well trained in the art of stealth. Too many to be Carlos's men who went in teams of two or three. Which meant it was either the CIA or it was Shigaraki.
David motioned for Yukhiro to hide while he drew his weapon. The glock was heavy in his hands as he took a defensive position. His defensive position was useless as the doors exploded.
David was thrown back by the force of the explosion hitting the far wall with a crack. For a moment all he could see was stars then his vision cleared. A small team entered a second later. He didnt hesitate to open fire on them. Two shots were fired and two men went down.
Yukhiro slid another weapon this time a rifle across the floor to David before disappearing. He would follow the plan that David... no Jason had drilled into him. David Webb would be no help here. There was only Bourne and Delta in times of combat.
The sickly man would run to another one of their safe houses. Far away from this one there he would stay until David returned or a week had passed. Whichever came first. If David didnt come back by then it was best to assume he had been killed.
Someone grabbed him roughly from behind. They had a machine gun, the snub-nosed sight on the barrel. This caused Jason to turn around on instinct. Slamming an open palm into the man's chest he gave himself room. Not enough so to attack freely but it was better than nothing.
Both he and his would be assassin grappled for his weapon. Not knowing if Yukhiro had escaped yet meant he couldnt fire off blindly. The risk was too great. His friend had a knack for getting himself into the weirdest of situations.
It didnt take long for Jason to overpower the man however. A well placed strike to the knee followed by a powerful strike to the jaw sent the would be assassin to his knees. No doubt seeing stars from the blows.
A man had appeared beyond the shattered concrete doors of the burning entranceway. A handkerchief covered his face, but it could not cover his limp. His limp!
With his clubbed foot the silhouetted figure kicked down the left frame of the doors and awkwardly walked down the three steps to the short flagstone patio fronting the once stately gardens. He dragged himself forward and yelled as loud as he could, ordering the team who could hear him to hold their fire.
The figure did not have to lower his handkerchief, Delta knew the face. It was the face of his enemy. It was Paris, a cemetery outside of Paris. Alexander Conklin had come to kill him. Beyond-salvage was the order from on high.
"David! It's Alex! Don't do what you're doing! Stop it! It's me, David! I'm here to help you!"
"You're here to kill me! You came to kill me in Paris, you tried again in New York! Treadstone Seventy-one! You've got a short memory, you bastard!"
"You don't have any memory, goddamn you! You became Delta, that's what they wanted! I know the whole story, David. I flew over here because we put it together! Mo Panov, and I! We're all here. The doctor is safe!"
"Lies! Tricks! All of you, you killed him!"
Hot anger coursed through the killer. Morris "Mo" Panov was the only person who had any faith in him. Everyone had given him up as a lost cause. They thought he had killed his brother.
Gordon... pain tore through his heart at the thought of his older brother. He pushed aside his grief. This was not the time or the place for it.
"He's not dead, David! He's alive! I can bring him to you! Now!"
"More lies!" Delta crouched and pulled the trigger, spraying the entryway the bullets ricocheting up into the burning entrance way, but for reasons unknown to him they did not cut down the man himself.
"You want to pull me out so you can give the order and I'm dead. Beyond-salvage carried out! No way, executioner! I'm going inside! I want the silent, secret men behind you! They're there! I know they're there!" Bourne grabbed the fallen assassin and pulled him to his feet, using him as a shield.
"You wanted a Jason Bourne. You wanted Delta to return but didnt like the results you got. Well now you can deal with the consequences!"
An assassin lunged through the flowering bushes away from Bourne. He raced first down the path, then instantly returned, seeing that the CIA's assassins were at the north and south areas of the wall. If he showed himself on the east border of the garden, he was caught between both contingents. He was dead if he moved.
"I haven't any more time, Conklin!" yelled Bourne. Why couldn't he kill the man who had betrayed him? Squeeze the trigger! Kill the last of Treadstone Seventy-one! Kill. Kill! What stopped him?
"David! For God's sake, listen to me! You have to—"
"There is no David here!" screamed Jason, his knee rammed into the assassin's chest. "My rightful name is Bourne, sprung from Delta, spawned by Medusa! The Snake Lady! Remember?"
"We have to talk!" "We have to die! You have to die!" Bourne gripped the lapel of the assassin's jacket, waiting.
"Don't shoot! Hold your fire!" roared Conklin as bewildered segments of those who followed him.
"Stop it! Not him! For Christ's sake, hold your fire. Don't kill him!" screamed Conklin.
"Not him?" roared Jason Bourne. "Not him? Only me! Isn't that right, you son of a bitch? Now, you do die! For Mo, for Echo, for all of us!"
He squeezed the trigger of the machine gun, but still the bullets would not hit their mark! He swung around and, swinging back and forth, aimed his deadly weapon at both converging squads of marines.
Again, he fired several prolonged bursts, crouching, ducking, moving from place to place behind the roses. Yet he angled the barrel above their heads! Why? The children could not stop him. But then the children in their pressed GI issue should not die for the manipulators. He had to get away.
"Haven't you done enough to him?" Came a familiar but impossible cry, "For God's sake, somebody stop them!"
"And get blown away by some son of a bitch terrorist?" yelled a youthful voice from the ranks by the front wall.
"He's not what you think! Whatever he is, the people inside made him that way! You heard him. He won't fire on you if you don't shoot!"
"He's already fired," roared another.
"You're still standing!" yelled back Alex Conklin from the edge of the entranceway. "And he's a better marksman with more weapons than any man here! Account for it! I can!"
"I don't need you!" thundered Jason Bourne, once again triggering a burst of machine-gun fire into the burning wall.
The killer spun around; he spotted an officer with a machine pistol not unlike Bourne's; he shot him in the neck, and grabbed the weapon from the falling body.
He paused for only a split second evaluating his chances, then whipped the machine pistol up under his left arm. Delta watched, instinctively knowing what the assassins would do, knowing, too, that his diversion was about to take place.
The assassin did it. He fired again, one round after another, into the closed ranks of the young, inexperienced assassins by the front wall, racing, dodging his way across the short stretch of grass into the shoulder-high row of flowers on Bourne's left. It was his only escape route, the least illuminated—the collapsed right rear wall.
"Stop him!" shouted Conklin, limping frantically across the patio. "But don't shoot! Don't kill him! For Christ's sake, don't kill him!"
There was a commotion from the perimeter that had been made. A man struggled; he was held by two assassins.
"Let me go, you goddamned fools! I'm a doctor, his doctor!" With a surge of strength, Morris Panov broke away and raced across the concrete ground into the glare of the fires. He stopped twenty feet from Bourne.
Grey eyes could only stare at the man in stunner stupidity. This was not possible. The CIA had killed the man in front of him. Killed him simply for being the grounding force for Delta. They were trying to break him. Force him to obeying so that they could kill him.
Delta raised the machine gun, the snub-nosed sight on the barrel centering on the brown hair and tired hazel eyes. His index finger closed around the trigger.
Suddenly, involuntarily, his right hand began to tremble, then his left. The murderous weapon began to waver, at first slowly, back and forth, then faster—in circles—as Bourne's head swayed in fitful jerks; the trembling spread; his neck began to lose control.
Why couldn't he kill them?
"Can't or won't?" asked Panov, leaning forward, his hazel eyes locking on Delta's grey ones.
He must have said that out loud. His mind was messed up. Who was he? Was he Jason Bourne operative of Treadstone, hunter of the Jackal? Or was he someone else?
"Are you Jason Bourne or are you David Webb? Who are you?"
"Delta!" screamed the victim, stunning everyone at the table by his outburst. "I am Delta! I am Bourne! Cain is for Delta and Carlos is for Cain!"
The victim, whoever he was, collapsed back onto the ground, his chest heaving as he tried to remember, who or what he was.
He was silent. No one spoke.