Consciousness returned slowly, bringing the white noise and the shadow creatures with it. How long Malcolm had been lying there unconscious, he didn't know. His bones weren't frozen stiff so it couldn't have for more than a few minutes.
Not that being knocked out in the middle of nowhere for any length of time was a good thing.
Malcolm admitted to being many things: broken, crazy, dangerous, unfixable.
Stupid, he was definitely not. Even he acknowledged knocking himself unconscious in the middle of the woods was bad. He had zero cell service and couldn't call for help if he needed it. He also didn't relish becoming the midnight snack for some hungry predator. A dull throb started in the spot his head met the stair and spread outward. Great, he groused as he waited for the pain to subside. All I need at the moment is a concussion. A bright bite of pain shot across his forehead and pulsed behind his eyes as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Malcolm did his best to ignore it and the accompanying nausea. Harder to ignore were the shadow creatures. They laughed at him and called him all sorts of foul, vicious names.
All of them deserved given how he was in the middle of the woods, late at night, without backup, and likely with a concussion because he hadn't been paying attention to where he was going. Malcolm stumbled over to the car in order to inspect the damage. He was amazed to find it wasn't as bad as he thought it'd be.
Again, not that knocking himself unconscious was a good thing.
The pebble-sized knot would likely become a goose egg by morning. No way to cover that up, he lamented as he removed twigs and leaves from his hair. The small cut above his eye was crusted over with blood and dirt. Not wanting it to become infected, Malcolm reached into the backseat for the first-aid kit Sorcha kept on hand for his accidents.
"She's not gonna let me live this down," he muttered as he removed an antiseptic wipe and gently dabbed at the cut.
He hissed out a few choice words as the astringent liquid came into contact with the wound. He only had himself to blame for his misery. Had he been watching where he was going he never would've tripped over that tree root. What choice did he have, though? Someone needed to come here and investigate his father's murder cabin. With everyone else busy, it left him as the one to do it.
I could have asked Sorcha to come with me. Malcolm discarded that thought as he reached for a bandaid. As much as he wished Sorcha was there with him, it was imperative she dive into her father's journal. It's the key to solving all this and putting Endicott away.
A twig snapped behind him.
Malcolm froze.
A wild animal or a Talon sent to keep me from finding out what secrets are buried here?
Talon seemed far more likely than a bear.
Especially since the bear would make some sorta sound to announce its approach.
One of the elite assassins would not.
Every muscle coiled, primed.
Not that he stood a chance against a Talon. Batman struggled in each of his previous encounters with Talons. Nightwing had been grievously injured by one. He wasn't anywhere as skilled as either hero in physical combat. Didn't possess a fourth of their tactical knowledge. He wouldn't go down without a fight, though. Not when he finally realized he had something — no, someone worth living for. I have a lifetime of amends to make and promises to keep to Sorcha.
If he somehow managed to survive this encounter.
Malcolm drew in a breath and released it slowly before looking over his shoulder. He half expected to find a pair of yellow eyes peering at him from the darkness. Relief shot through him when he discovered it wasn't a Talon or bear about to make mincemeat out of him.
It was, however, the last person he expected to find standing there.
"What are you doing here?"
"Got drafted into service."
"Let me guess by who…"
"Yup." Jason waved a hand towards him. "How'd you get the knot on your forehead?"
"Tripped over that tree root by your right foot and hit my head on the bottom stair."
Jason glanced down at the root sticking up out of the dirt.
"You tripped over that?" One brow arched. "How?"
Malcolm smiled sheepishly.
"You know what an accident prone dope I am."
"I'm shocked you made it ten years with the FBI without causing yourself any serious injuries." Jason's lips twitched. "Or anyone else for that matter."
"Me too," Malcolm admitted with a small laugh before turning back to retrieve the bandaid he dropped when the twig snapped. "How'd you know where I was?"
Not that he didn't have a couple of guesses as to how.
"Tracking device." Jason jerked his head towards the Mustang. "Probably under the dashboard if I know Kit half as well as I think I do."
Malcolm made a face as he placed the bandaid over the cut on his forehead.
"Explains why Sorcha gave me the keys without making more of a fuss."
"And why she agreed to let you come out here in the first place."
"Yeah," Malcolm said with a small sigh. "That too."
"Kit probably installed the tracker while your girlfriend was staying with 'em."
"Sorcha's not…"
"Your girlfriend?" A smirk screwed up one corner of Jason's mouth. "Yeah, heard that from Dickie and Kit for years. Look at 'em now."
"They're not me."
"Kit is a mix of you and the old man."
"More him than me."
"Don't be so sure about that."
"Raya's not broken." Malcolm gently smoothed the bandaid into place. "I am."
"You're not broken." There was no underlying censure. No castigation. Just a simple refute of his statement. "And before you say it." Jason's tone was firm. "You're not your pops, either."
"Than who am I?"
Because Malcolm wasn't so sure anymore.
"You're Malcolm Bright." A hand settled on his shoulder. Squeezed gently. Comfort and support. Desperately needed given the place he found himself. "Guy who trips over tree roots and bangs his head on the bottom stair of a murder cabin."
Malcolm hummed a soft laugh.
"You sound like Sorcha now."
Did exactly what she'd have done were she there, too.
"So, you two still separated?"
"Yes and no."
"Yeah?" Jason leaned back against the car and folded his arms across his chest. "Kinda figured you'd have worked that junk out and gotten back together."
If Sorcha had been there she'd point out they'd never been together. Because I've never allowed us to have that chance, that opportunity to become more than friends.
Because he always chose superficiality over substance.
Fantasy over reality.
Lies over truth.
Pain over pleasure.
"Sorcha and I have never been together." Malcolm's fingers trembled so he clenched them into fists. "We're just..." he broke off, wet suddenly dry lips. "Friends."
The word sounded as hollow as he was.
Dating but not dating.
That's what Gil called it once. A friends with benefits sort of thing. Doing all the things couples did without any sort of understanding between them about the parameters of their relationship.
Sure, he bought Sorcha a charm bracelet in college to convey his feelings for her.
Yes, he bought another one to replace the one Robert Harwood took from her as a trophy.
A bracelet still in his pocket because he hadn't found the time or place to give it back to her. When I get home, he decided as a cold breeze slithered up his pants legs, chilling him. I'll give her the bracelet when I get home.
"You and her are absolutely like Dickie and Kit. Denying you've always been together. Even," he added as the fog grew thicker around them, "when you've been with other people." Jason slanted a look at him. "Want my advice?"
"Don't screw things up with Sorcha?"
"Yeah."
"It's me, remember?" Malcolm busied himself by putting everything back in the first aid kit and returning it beneath the seat. "I'm broken." The shadow creatures jeering at him were a stark reminder about how much. "And I can't be fixed."
"Kit doesn't agree with that."
"I know she doesn't."
Raya, much like Sorcha, made her stance about his not being broken abundantly clear. Though she's never gone to a few of the extremes Sorcha has to prove her point.
Like sleeping on top of him just to show he wasn't a danger to her.
"Kit believes in you," Jason said quietly. "She always will."
"She believes in you, too."
"Even though I tell her she shouldn't."
"I can imagine her response to that was the same one she gives me."
"No," Jason said, lips twitching. "She said a few things Alfred would have had kittens over if he'd been there to hear them."
"Ah." Malcolm closed the car door. "She was using language you'd be sure to understand."
"And vowing to clobber me if I didn't quit it." Jason stared at the dark cabin then. "So, this is the place, huh?"
"Yes, this is it."
The place where his nightmares officially began.
What happened after he stabbed Watkins? Why had he been running through the woods? Was he trying to get away from Watkins?
Or someone else?
"Where do you think we should begin searching for clues?"
"There's a basement." A tremor rattled from the tips of Malcolm's fingers all the way up his arms. "It's where my father kept his victims when we were here."
It's where he took Sophie.
Where she managed to convince Martin Whitly not to kill her.
Setting off a chain of events that encompassed multiple people and saw many lives destroyed.
"If we can find one of the others your father murdered he can be sent away." Jason pushed away from the car. "Far away."
Something Malcolm admitted as being a necessity. His mental health had suffered since allowing his father back into his life. However, he couldn't deny there wasn't a small part of him that didn't want to see his father transferred out of Claremont Psychiatric. Especially since Raya would make sure to send him someplace he couldn't manipulate staff into giving him unlimited phone privileges.
And where I can't visit him.
Something Malcolm wasn't completely comfortable with. As toxic as his relationship with Martin Whitly was, he was still his father. He didn't want to lose what little contact he had. Malcolm freely admitted the ten-year-old inside him loved his father as much as he feared him. His adult self, on the other-hand, loathed and feared him as much as he loved him.
"I know this is hard for you. He's your pops and all. But..."
"He hurt a lot of people." Malcolm wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. "And they deserve justice. Real justice."
"So do you, Mal." Jason's hand settled again on his shoulder. "You're one of his victims, too. And you deserve justice for what he did to you."
Waves of shock rolled through Malcolm. Even the shadow creatures were stunned into silence. Raya and Sorcha frequently told him he deserved justice for what Martin Whitly did to him but he never agreed with them.
He wasn't a victim, after all.
Jason saying it, however, made him realize they were right.
He was a victim.
As much as I'm a possession.
"I made you a promise a long time ago," Jason said. "Do you remember it?"
"I remember it."
As if he'd ever forget what the then twelve year old told him in the hallway outside Raya's studio.
"I will see that promise fulfilled." Jason's fingers tightened briefly on his shoulder. "I swear it."
Malcolm didn't doubt Jason for one minute.
Promises, after all, were sacred to him.
Especially when they came to the monsters in the dark.
He did, however, fear what he might do in order to see that vow kept. Jason Todd was like Bruce Wayne in many ways: bold, brash, brave. They differed, though, in one critical area: Jason had no problem with using lethal means. It was the biggest point of contention between the two. Jason saw Bruce's ways as antiquated while Bruce viewed Jason's as amoral. The only reason his anxiety didn't skyrocket was because of his faith in the woman who sent Jason to help him with his search. Raya wouldn't have enlisted his help if she believed he'd cross that line.
"Let's get to searching," Jason suggested. "We're running outta time."
Malcolm led the way to the door without a word.
The door with an owl carved into the smooth wood.
A sign they were either on the right path…
Or the wrong one.
A/N: Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!
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