CHAPTER 55:
"Outted Outlaws"
Roy Harper had never been in a more compromising position. He had been in a few close calls and managed to escape without incident—in this age of technology secrets were difficult to keep—but nothing this provocative and explosive.
There was nothing wrong with it these days, but he had never thought about engaging in such activities of his own volition.
Handcuffed to a pair of bedposts, thanks to Duela Dent, disturbing thoughts ran through his mind. And every time Jason had another one of his enticing dreams, brought on by Duela Dent's whispered words in Jason ear, he flinched when things got uncomfortable.
He looked at his friend and fellow Outlaw member, his arms spread eagle, their bodies inches apart, naked and exposed. But it was nothing seductive or sexual, and he was just glad Jason was unconscious for all of this, or Roy knew his friend would only make things a whole lot worse, with a whole lot of cursing and yelling going on.
Roy cursed Duela for doing this and cursed himself for allowing it to happen. She had threatened to shoot Jason as he lay unconscious on the bed. He had helped his friend up here to have him sleep off the booze he drank at the party downstairs, but things went sour really fast, and now they were both trapped, and there was a psycho on the loose. He thought about shouting out to someone, but if they saw him in this position…Well, he didn't want any awkward rumours to get around.
He had an idea. The headboard to the bed was seemingly made of a hard, dark wood, intricately designed, with the two bed posts carved into the whole of the design, mounted with half-moon extensions. If he could brake one off, then he could free himself, and get the hell out of here, and warn someone abut Duela Dent, before she decided to start shooting people. Why, she was here, Roy didn't know, but someone needed to be told. And he needed to get out of his awkward predicament before anyone saw.
He didn't want to do it, but in order to get enough freedom of movement to attempt what he had planned, he'd had to brave the circumstances and press on like a soldier. Inching up, he straddled Jason's torso, spreading his legs to either side. He rolled his eyes, knowing his manhood was dangerously close to a place he never foresaw it ever being, and he hoped to god, Jason didn't think he was a woman again, and decided to kiss him, because it would not be his face he would be pressing his lips to.
"Sorry buddy, and I hope the universe doesn't think anything different of me," Harper said. "Thank god, you're not awake for this."
He worked on the left side bedpost, but the wood was so thick that the handcuff barely carved into it as he moved it from side-to-side, hoping to whittle it down enough so he could brake it. "Damn rich folk, they always buy the best," he said, with a silent curse.
He worked on it for five minutes, until he realized he'd probably be here for half a day and still wouldn't get anywhere.
Suddenly, he heard the handle of the room door twist, and he snapped his attention to it, hoping to God it wasn't Duela Dent back to add to this humiliation. She was the kind of woman whom, if she carried handcuffs just because, then she also had other things to use on her victims, more invasive things. Duela Dent was one of the most psychotic women Harper ever came to know.
Instead, and rather it being Duela, or even a person who could possible be a saviour, it was someone else, a man Harper didn't know, wearing all black with an eye mask. If he didn't know any better, the man could be working in league with Duela Dent, and something was happening on the main floor. It was not uncommon for people to crash a party like this and attempt to rob it. If so, then where was Bruce Wayne and the others? Why hadn't it been stopped? Right now, however, he had not own concerns.
The mysterious masked marauder's brow rose when he suddenly happened upon the misconstrued, erotic-natured looking scene taking place, and he smiled humorously, and put a hand to his mouth to stop from laughing out loud. As if things couldn't get any worse, Jason suddenly moaned, and muttered the words: "Take me, I'm yours…" another sudden happy dream forming in his drunken, unconscious mind. The rest was inaudible to anyone other than Harper; Jason mouthing someone's name.
From the masked man's point of view, it may have looked like a scene from an adult movie: two men handcuffed to a bed, naked, and exposed, and engaging in an act only reserved for private enjoyment. Harper's position on top of Jason probably gave the impression that Jason was in an act of untold with Harper's frontal region. And with the advent of Jason's dream, and an uprising of excitement, it must have appeared completely different to the man from what Harper knew to be the truth of the matter.
Roy looked down at Jason. Jason unconsciously licked his lips of moisture.
Harper then looked back at the masked man, and said, "Um, this isn't what it appears. Honest!" His voiced stuttered slightly with a hint of extreme nervousness. "It's a complete misunderstanding."
The man seemed to enjoy Harper's hardship. He shut the door and then leaned back against it, arms crossed, with one leg crossed over the other in a casual manner. "No, please, don't let me interrupt. I hate leaving things unfinished myself." He snickered, finding the situation amusing. "People get close over time, especially those who spend quite a lot of time together, and emotions stir, feelings develop, and situations arise, passion erupts, and things happen unexpectedly in the heat of the moment."
Harper gave the man a harsh stare. "No, it's not…I'm telling you…"
Suddenly, the man's appearance changed, morphing into something else, or someone else. The transformation reminded Harper of Beast Boy, from the Titans, who could change his appearance at will to anything he wished. Nothing was out of bounds. It was a strange ability, but it had come in handy when it was needed the most. There was only one other person, he had only been introduced to, who had this morphing ability, but whose powers came artificially, a person who had infused himself with his self-built computer's AI, and that was Arkells, Tim Drake's future self, and the newest member to the Batfamily.
Arkells gave Harper a thumbs up with a wink. "That's hot! Next time, try leather and chains. You'll probably get a better thrill."
Harper sighed a breath of relief. "Stop kidding around, Arkells," he said. "This isn't our doing. Duela Dent's on the prowl somewhere in the party using some sort of sophisticated cloaking technology in her watch masking a conservative politician's aid." The moment Duela Dent's name was mentioned, Arkells got serious, and came over to help free Harper. Harper told Arkells that he had brought Jason up here to sleep off the booze, but then things happened, and she forced this situation at gunpoint. "We have to tell Bruce…"
"We're already aware of the situation and it's worse that you know," Arkells said, breaking the bedpost and freeing Harper's left hand. He then told Harper about Riddler and Dick's old Spyral buddy, who was suddenly resurrected from the dead, as he went to work on the right post. Within a minute, Harper was completely free. And so was Jason.
Harper hoped off Jason, who was still unconscious, and rubbed his wrists. The cuffs were still on, but at least he had mobility of his arms again. He reached under the bed for his clothes that he had seen Duela Dent shove under.
"When I was told you were MIA, Nightwing wondered where you were, and I was asked to find you," Arkells then explained. "I was hoping you could be of some help, but it appears you're the only one who can be of any assistance now. Looks like Jason is down for the count, the drunken fool. Well, most of him."
Arkells shifted the bed sheet to cover Jason's lower body, to hide an uplifting issue.
"He has a lot of weird dreams and fantasies," Harper explained. "I'm his closest friend on the Outlaws, but…he once crawled into my bed one night at the Bunker, our headquarters as we call it, when he came home after a night of drinking, and thinking I was a woman. I had long hair at the time. He only drinks heavy when he's stressed. He got a little hands-on, but I straightened him out."
"I bet you did," Arkells said facetiously.
Harper gave him scornful look, as he zipped up his pants. "Don't get any funny ideas. Our relationship isn't like that. But he does see me as a close friend whom he can confined in. He's told me some really, deep personal things, things he'd never tell Bruce, or even Dick." Arkells asked him like what. "Well, let's just say, some of the things he tells me makes my problems seem petty. But, when you've died, wake up, find yourself trapped in a coffin underground, and crawl yourself out, it kind of affects the psyche."
Arkells nodded. "I've had my own mental issues." He briefly told Harper his story and that he had originally wanted Bruce to kill him because he feared the AI he fused with would take over his mind, and other things. "But I learned fear is the greatest foe. The fear of the unknown can make anyone crazy. But with good friends, people can get through the worse of times."
Harper looked back at Jason. "I'm just glad that Jason will never know any of this occurred. Nothing worse than adding more mental scarring to his already warped mind. Mind you, he puts up a good front. But deep down, Jason is just a scare little kid, in my opinion. But I would never say that to him." Harper then said, "Keep what you saw between you and me, okay? Nothing leaves this room."
Arkells blinked confused. "You do realize…because of this AI infused within me…that I have an eidetic memory, right? Unlike human engrams belonging to long and short-term memory, everything I see and hear is compressed and compiled within a finite crystalline memory-structure that I can recall at will. I can also download anything I need onto an external hard drive to view by proxy. I was thinking of uploading this to the internet with your faces pixelated out, of course, and make a little money on some adult websites."
Harper stared at him worrisome, because there was not an ounce of joking in his voice.
Moments passed.
Arkells suddenly burst out laughing. "Relax, I was just kidding. I have the ability to erase files internally. So, let's just say, this whole episode of erotica has been forgotten." Harper looked relieved. "Regardless, we can't just leave Jason like this. The least we can do is re-dress him the best we can, but leave him here to sleep off the booze. He's no good to us drunk as a skunk."
Harper agreed. He hadn't finished dressing fully himself yet.
He picked up Jason's jockey's, removed the bed sheet that was covering his dignity—luckily he had settled down—and slipped one leg into a hole, then the other, and began to slide them up his legs.
Just then, no doubt to his drunken state, and relaxed muscles, Jason let out a compressed, long triumphant-like noise from his sphincter. It was obvious to both, what Jason just did, and Harper waved a hand across his face, while Arkells silently laughed.
"Not funny, dude," Harper said. "I'm at ground zero here. Oh god, that's enough to peal the varnish off a table top. Jay, that's bad!"
Just then, as if stirred by the sound of his name, Jason's eyelids fluttered, and his eyes opened slowly. Harper had not yet been able to replace his jockey's back around his nether-regions yet, only half way up his legs, and thighs, and he gasped.
"Roy? What's going on?" Jason asked semi-conscious.
Jason was not an alcoholic, but often he would be found in a bar. He said he liked the atmosphere, but Harper knew the real reason. But he had an unusual quasi-resistance to the prolonged effects of alcoholism. The healing properties in his cells from the Lazarus Pit often acted like a remedial agent to help him recover from almost every ailment and injury, including drunkenness.
Having the wherewithal to see the full extend of what he saw, his eyes opened wide. Harper himself being half-naked was no help either. Roy tried to explain, but Jason shouted: "What the hell is going on?" Jason kicked out, and quickly yanked his jockey's up, and spewed some defamatory and derogatory remarks that spit in the face of political correctness.
Harper went flying back, off the bed, and onto the floor.
Jason's face went beet red. Now fully awake, his drunkenness swayed, a remarkable polar shift of only an hour ago, he said: "Jesus Flippant Christ, Roy! You didn't…I mean…we didn't? I know I was drunk, and I know I told you I hadn't had sex in a while, but that wasn't an invite to…" He gulped. "You've never expressed anything like that to me before!"
Harper jumped to his feet and waved his hands in the air in a frantic motion. "No, no, no! I can explain things!"
Luckily, Arkells was there, and tried to quell things. He explained things in short order, because Harper was having trouble clarifying events that unfolded with Duela Dent.
After Arkells told Jason everything, Jason leaned back in the bed, handcuffs in all, and breathed out a heavy sigh of relief. "Oh, heavenly god, thank-you!" Jason looked up. "But in all honestly, Roy, if I was going to, you wouldn't be my first choice."
Harper slapped his hands on his hips, a little offended. "I'll try not to take that as an insult," he said, puffing out his chest.
He had a momentary flashback to when he rescued and then nursed Jason back to health, after Jason fought Bruce, and just after Jason almost murdered Penguin.
He could understand how Jason must have felt, Penguin attacking two of his closest friends in battle in a bloody onslaught. Harper was worried about his friend during his recovery. But after thinking about it, he came to the conclusion Jason may have deserved the beatdown from Bruce. Jason said he fought back, but that's not how Harper saw it.
It was sad affair, a father completely abusing his son in such a way as to almost kill his son, beating him to within an inch of his life.
But Roy had to think of it logically. There was a certain amount of perception when it came to being a hero, and the public's opinion was important to maintaining trust. Without trust, a hero became a villain, and that went against the core of being a hero. If the public loses trust in a hero—like seeing a hero murder a villain in cold blood—then the villains win no matter what.
Perception was very important.
Batman knew this all too well, often portrayed as a vigilante with a darkness about him.
But Bruce Wayne had good reason for what he did: the death of his parents at a young age. And he maintained that vigilantism was less about going after criminals, and more, above all else, about helping the public, and to prevent what happened to him from happening to anyone else.
It was a rotten way to look at things, but Roy supposed he could understand where Bruce was coming from. Beating Jason down was like disciplining a son in the wake of doing something so wrong that immediate punishment needed to be rendered as a life lesson for a child who broke a cardinal rule. And yet, violence was never the answer. To Bruce, however, sometimes he needed to teach his kids a hard lesson. It was like a father saying: "You do what I say, or you don't live under this roof."
Dick and Bruce were in a similar situation, and Dick had told Wally West about it in confidence, then Wally let it slip that it happened.
Bruce and Dick fought each other in the Batcave, each to a bloody pulp. And Bruce was trying to convey a life lesson to Dick: No matter what, stay alive. Never give up. That he had taught Dick to always fight. When you are pushed, shove back. Dick and Bruce had their disagreements, but that was how they settle things among themselves. It had been brutal, Harper was told.
In Jason's case, was it child-abuse? Yes! But Jason was no child. He was a full-fledged adult who acted of his own violation.
But sometimes a child needed to be reminded of their short-comings.
Harper let it be. It was up to them. And he had his own issues.
Bruce once said, he saw too much of Jason in Damian, and he didn't want his only biological son to turn out like him.
And yet, both had shared something profound: death and rebirth. They had both been murdered by criminals, and then reborn by supernatural forces. Death was becoming a non-issue for the Batfamily as of late. However, that still worried Harper. He did not want Jason to get hurt, or even die. For that matter, neither did he want to see himself in the same boat.
The situation Duela Dent put them in was horrid, but he loved Jason as a brother, and brother's stuck together to the end. He was a friend, and he would anything for Jason. But as the line said in that Meatloaf son: "But I won't do that."
Thinking back, Jason and Bruce had had their many disagreements, but Jason's injuries were similar to a victim not fighting back, like a person afflicted with Stockholm Syndrome—or even self-harm? Had Jason thought he deserved the beatdown because he crossed a line? When he was with Bizarro, Roy saw a side of Jason he never thought he'd see. So, he knew his friend had a kind heart and a strong moral compass. So, did he really think, in his heart, that he had crossed a line, and he deserved punishment in shooting Penguin?
Jason was a kind hearted guy, but when push came to shove, he could be dependable to help others in a pinch. But when his friends were in trouble, Batman's cardinal rule be damned!
Roy was not a medical doctor, but there were body-shots that Bruce got in that Jason could have easily avoided, places Jason easily could have protected. But Bruce had gotten through Jason's armour anyhow. His mask had been completely destroyed, too.
But Harper kept all these thoughts to himself. He knew Jason would deny any questioning that he didn't fight back.
He'd probably say: "Roy, you're not a philosopher. Stick to crime fighting."
Jason and Bruce had made up, but he knew it must have been difficult for Jason. He could admit when he screwed up, but he was also a proud guy. He had admiration for those who did the right thing and didn't care at all that much about masculinity. Starfire had once save Jason from a terrible outcome and he didn't care in the least that he had been saved by a woman.
Although Jason still said in confidence to Roy about he did to Penguin that he had no regrets about it.
Jason swivelled in the bed and planted his feet on the floor. He saw his clothes and began to get dressed. Harper did the same.
"I can't believe it, I tried to help that crazy bitch, and this is the thanks I get? That's it, Duela Dent is off my Christmas Card list." Jason stood and stuffed his shirt into his pants. "She joining forces with Riddler and Handles is like bringing together two robust carbines. We're in deep shit here. And since Handles knows our secret identities, she probably does, too. I probably know where they're going. And once Riddler finds out the truth about us, it'll be our ruin. Time to suit up! Roy, where'd you park your car?"
For emergencies, Jason always brought his Red Hood gear with him wherever he went. Currently, it was stored in the trunk of Harper's car they brought to his party, instead of his motorcycle.
Harper didn't think he would need his stuff. Who would think anyone would be stupid enough to storm Wayne Manor? But Jason persuaded him to bring his gear. Now he was glad he took his friend's advise.
There were secret rooms all around the Manor. Not necessarily escape rooms, but passages to leave without being noticed. One of which was in Jason's old room, for which Alfred continued to keep immaculate just in case Jason decided to stay the night. He used to use this passage often when he wanted to leave the Manor unnoticed back when was a kid, building it himself.
Roy Harper wondered why Alfred didn't tell him to bring Jason here to sleep off his drunkenness? Perhaps a guest room was easier to clean if someone had an accident, he figured, like vomiting on the bed or the floor?
Here, Jason lead Harper and Arkells to a hidden door in the wall behind a bookcase that lead to a narrow passageway housing an iron ladder leading to the roof. Jason went first, Harper went next, and Arkells followed. Jason opened a hatch to the roof and they filed out. It was dark, so no one saw them cross the length of the manor roof overlooking the parking lot area with its rows of cars.
Looking down, Harper scanned the area for his car and found it.
"Quick question," Arkells voiced. "How are we going to get from here to there? Jumping is not an option. Unless you want to brake both your legs?" He looked down the edge of the roof. There was nothing they could use to climb down with to get to ground level. "I suppose I could jump? With my AI, I could land softly by morphing my feet into something spongy."
Harper also looked down.
"Not needed," Jason's voice was heard out of distance.
Harper turned. He saw his friend retrieve something from a box attached to one of four brick chimney's around the Manor. Jason brought with him a piton gun, hooks, and a wound up thin tether line. All items were normally used for mountain climbing, and a line, depending on torsional strength could hold up to four thousand pounds. If it was made by Bruce Wayne, probably more.
Harper wondered why such a thing would be up here. And then he thought, it was Wayne Manor. Why ask why? Having such equipment instead of one of Batman's grappling guns would also throw off any idea of suspicion as this being the home of Batman.
If anyone asked why it was up here, it would be said it was for the very purpose they were about to use it for: escape. Just in case others were in a similar situation and there was a fire and people were on the roof. The escapee could scale down the side of the Manor to safety.
Jason inserted a metal spike into the piton gun and then fired it into the roof. He then clipped a hook it to the line and gave the gun to Roy, another spike inserted with a line attached. Harper took it, and wondered at why.
Then Jason said, "Time to prove your excellent marksmanship, Roy." Jason pointed near Harper's car. "It's not an arrow, but, do you think you can aim and hit that heavy-looking, but sweet ass-looking Continental GT V8 next to it? It's a shame to ruin such a beautiful piece of art, but it's necessary to get down. Once the line is taunt, we'll then use our black ties to zip down. And I can finally free myself of this penguin suit…of my own choice, that is."
He winked at Roy, and then whipped off his black tie, unbuttoning his collar.
"You're mocking me, right? I can hit anything."
"Just not women, and I meant hit-on."
Harper gave him a mock stare.
Harper then positioned his body and shifted his footing to the proper angle needed. He extended his right arm fully outward, and almost subconsciously, his left arm positioned itself back near his face, his hand and fingers at the ready, as if he was gripping the quiver of an arrow, pulling back the bowstring and nook, and took aim.
He paused for a moment taking in trajectory and wind speed for which he could judge on a dime. Firing a piton gun would be more difficult due to the weight of it. Normally used at short range distances, but this gun had been modified for long distance firings. Harper measured the distance accordingly, eagle-eyed.
He fired, but a sudden gust of wind took the piton off course, and instead of hitting the Continental GT, it shifted, and struck home elsewhere, embedding itself into the hood of Roy's own car, and locked down onto somewhere in the engine.
He swore.
Jason laughed. Roy looked at him scornfully.
"Wonderful shot, Roy," Arkells said sarcastically. "I hope you have insurance?"
"Oh yeah, I do. And Jay's going to pay the deductible when I claim."
With the next stage planned, Arkells return back inside the Manor—Arkells wanted to let Nightwing know help was on its way—as Jason and Roy zipped lined down to the car to get their gear.
It was time to get serious.
To be continued...
