Author's note: Last chapter, I really appreciated the opportunity to make fun of Batman Beyond music. I swear, the people who made that show's soundtrack gave the kids something that sounds like dubstep before dubstep really existed! Want a trip down memory lane? Check out *copy/paste the beginning of any typical short-line from the tube of you-ness* (slash) yEcc_Xoce2s
Before I begin this chapter, there have been some questions from reviews that I thought I should answer:
1) Yes, Terry is "legal" (18) here.
2) Terry isBruce's (unknowingly) biological child in my universe. Obviously, if Terry's no longer dating Dana, the reveal might be different than the DCAU reveal (although, it looks like the comic might be getting to that and doing it differently as well...) I would like to play with that detail, but it's a... far ways down the line. I have to decide whether to give this series a definitive ending earlier and then write a sequel, or make this story just, well, long. (If you have a preference, please let me know, folks!)
3) Does Bruce suspect Terry has been training with someone else? Hmmmm... that one might be revealed sooner. But, really, does anyone really have a hope of hiding something from the world's greatest detective?
Anyway, this chapter is one that I've been itching to write for awhile, so I hope that you enjoy!
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I don't own any characters mentioned in this story. The rights belong to DC comics, Bob Kane, etc.
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Darkness Cannot Drive, Part 11/? (Chapter 10)
Jason feels himself start to become dizzy as he sweeps his eyes across the Juice Bar. More people are collapsing left and right; those who are left standing seem to be starting to panic, but their legs are already wobbly and begin to buckle as they move toward an exit.
"I don't smell any kind of gas," Jason yells over the music, which is still blaring at top volume. "Do you think it could be poison in the juice? Or something with the music?"
"Don't know," Terry yells back. "Hey—is it brighter in here?"
Jason shields his eyes and starts to look up. "Definitely. It's the big projector at the back of the dance floor."
Terry growls in a voice that is all 'Batman', "It's the instillation! Look, everyone near it collapsed first!"
"What's the instillation?"
Terry shakes his head. "I fought a bunch of Jokerz in here—ones that worked actually for the Joker and who knew... who I am." Terry gestures at the back of the building, clearly trying not to look in that direction. "There used to be a giant lava lamp there. But the owners decided that it was really dangerous when it got busted in the fight. A bunch of people were burnt. So, when they renovated, they put a laser and light instillation..."
"Which is now causing people to collapse. Great."
"Yeah—the mirrors on the back of the bar reflect it from both angles too!"
Jason curses and reaches into his boot where he keeps his use-only-in-emergencies Nightwing-style domino mask. He presses the button which distributes the sealant and presses it to his face. Terry raises an eyebrow.
"Do you carry that wherever you go?"
"Yes, actually. I've been in way too many ambushes and catastrophes when lenses or night-vision would have been useful." Jason adjusts the lenses, looking for a filter which can focus on what the screen in the back is doing to people. "And where's yours, kid? Now would be a good time to go get changed!"
"Uh..." Even in the dim light, Jason can see Terry's face flush pink. "Didn't exactly bring it. Rest of the night off, remember?"
"Well, grab the bartender's phone and call the old man! Tell him to send the car with the suit!"
"Right," Terry leaps over the bar and grabs the service phone. He pauses briefly, "That mask going to shield you from whatever this is?"
Jason half-shrugs. "We'll find out, won't we? Probably not as well as my helmet but we've got limited options! Whatever this is, we—"
Jason doesn't even finish his sentence when the doors to the Juice Bar are flung open by a team of figures dressed all in black, their eyes covered with high-tech goggles. Behind them, walking with a sense of haughtiness that only comes from someone seeing himself as above everyone else, is a thin figure dressed in a swirl of red and black.
"Shit. That's Spellbinder. What's he doing here? Last I heard, he was working with Cobra in Central City."
"Yeah? Well, apparently you're out of date," Jason half-snaps. "What do I need to know?"
"His real name is Ira Billings. He was a psychologist and specialized in dreams and 'manifestations of unconscious desires.' He uses hypnotic tech which is like a kind of mind control. It can create illusions and hallucinations which seem awfully real."
"Got it. Piece of cake," Jason chuckles. "You go get that suit. I'll hold down the fort here."
"You sure? Maybe you should give me the mask and go get your helmet. I know this guy and his strategies and you..."
"Have been fighting villains who fuck with minds since before you were born. Just go!"
Terry hesitates only briefly, then nods and bolts through the door marked 'emergency exit.' The bar's alarm starts blaring over the already obnoxious music and Jason wishes briefly for an aspirin.
"I see someone's still awake," Spellbinder coos. "Boys, take care of him."
The goggled men in black move sluggishly, like they're sleepwalking—which Jason realizes they very well might be. He tries to use minimal force—they're probably mostly 'innocent,' after all—but still take them down as quickly as he can.
"Fascinating," the man in red and black says, tilting his head sideways in a way that seems ostrich-like. Jason slams his foot into the back of the last goggled man's knee, causing him to buckle and fall. He turns to meet the spiral-cloaked villain, his plan being to take him down hard and fast before he can dispel whatever aerosol, beam, or wave that is causing the mass of unconsciousness.
Spellbinder's voice is raspy and tinged in conceit. "Illusions commend themselves to us because they save us pain," he says. Before Jason has a moment to react, however, there is a hand in his face. "...and allow us to enjoy pleasure instead."
Jason barely has time to see the image of the giant eyeball seemingly emerging from the Spellbinder's palm when there is a flash of white. And then blankness.
.
.
When he opens his eyes, everything is foggy, too distant. This body has a strange far-away ache and the lights are a bright, sterile white. 'I'm in a hospital,' his brain concludes. Growing up, his mom od'ed enough times—and his dad had gotten in enough fights with lowlifes—for him to recognize the specific harshness of hospital lights by instinct. He tries to piece everything together, but his head is still swimming. There... there was a fight. That much he knows. Apparently it was a fight that he lost too.
Jason tries to sit up, but he's stopped both by the IVs in his arm and a sharp "don't move" from his bedside. He looks up into a crackling intensity of blue eyes.
Bruce.
"You shouldn't be moving now, Jay." Something in Jason's chest tightens at the sound of Bruce's nickname for him, but he's unsure why. "You've been out for awhile and you still have a lot of healing left to do."
"What..." His voice is crackled and harsh in his throat, like he hasn't spoken for ages. "What happened?"
Bruce's face is pained and hesitant. "You don't remember?"
"I mean," Jason closes his eyes and sees flashes of light and pain, "a little." As his mind combs over the fractured memories, walks back to what he last remembers clearly, he can feel his eyes begin to water. "Shit... shit, Bruce, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... I..."
"It's okay, Jason. There's nothing to apologize for. I... I'm just glad you're okay." Bruce puts his hand on Jason's and, for some reason, Jason's brain can't comprehend how small his own hands are. He doesn't know why this strikes him—he has pretty normal sized hands for a fifteen year old, after all. But, for some reason, a part of himself feels that his hands should be bigger, maybe even more scarred. But that's a silly thought.
"I should have listened. Shouldn't have gone after my mom." Jason's voice breaks as he talks and he can feel tears begin to sting his eyes. "God, Bruce, but how could she have...?"
Before he can continue, Bruce is there, his arms around him. "I know, kiddo. I know."
He feels a flood gate break and he's sobbing now into Bruce's shoulder, his hands grasping and twisting at the shirt's fabric as if holding on for dear life is all he can do. Like maybe Bruce will disappear if he doesn't hold on tight. But Bruce just keeps holding him close, quiet in his solidness. Jason is almost vaguely embarrassed as his sobs subside to sniffles and quiet gulps of air. "I think I got snot and stuff all over your shirt," he apologizes.
"That's okay," Bruce breathes. "It's all going to be okay, Jay."
Jason wipes his nose on his arm and notices the orange light seeping through the hospital window blinds. "Looks like it's starting to get dark. Should you go change?"
Bruce winces and then runs his right hand through his dark hair, as if he's not sure how to say something and is stalling for time. "Not tonight. Actually... I'm not sure when I'll be out there again. In the suit. I'm... on suspension."
"Suspension?" Jason feels a laugh erupt out of his throat. He lowers his voice so no nosy hospital workers can overhear, "You're Batman! Who could suspend you?"
"The Justice League."
Jason's eyes widen and he leans forward, the IVs pulling at his arm. "I can't believe Superman would be, like, okay with that."
"He is the one who made the official call." Bruce's voice is grim, slipping into Batman-territory rather than fatherly playboy. "In fact, he was very clear about the possibly consequences if I put on the suit before the League clears me. If it clears me..."
"What... why?"
Bruce's face darkens and Jason's breath catches in his throat as the slates of the window blinds cause striped shadows to cut across his mentor's face. "Because I killed the Joker."
For a terrifying moment, he can't breathe. Can't think. Part of him is horrified that 'Batman,' that Bruce, crossed that line. Another part of him sings with elation.
"Wha..." Jason feels tears whelming up again and he has to cover his mouth with his hand as a near-hysterical cry bubbles in his throat. "How?"
"Very easily, actually. He never was that skilled of a fighter. I didn't hold back. And, yes, perhaps I was fueled by rage, not thinking clearly. But... I honestly thought you were dead. I didn't know Clark had gotten you to a hospital, that you were still breathing. Barely. And after what the Joker had done to Barbara too. I... I knew he wasn't going to stop. It seemed like the only way. Or, at least, the right way." Jason can hear the conviction in Bruce's voice, his confidence and pride. "I don't regret it. Even with the relief of knowing you were alive, I thought it was right and just. I still think so." His smile is sharper now, bitter. "As you can imagine, the rest of the League disagrees. They think I've crossed a line. That I'm not to be trusted. So, they're debating what to do with me..."
"What... what will they do if they say you can't do it anymore? Can't be Batman? Will you fight?"
Bruce considers this grimly and then moves his shoulder in a half-shrug. "Perhaps. But... seeing you lying there in that hospital bed made me think about my responsibilities. I have more in my life now than my parents' murder. Maybe even more than Gotham itself. I may try and stay in the fight, but, well, maybe I'll let it be. I could fight the Justice League... or I could be there for you. Ultimately, Jason, you're more important to me than being Batman."
Jason's eyes widen and he fights back tears. After his mother betrayed him, after his dad neglected him and left, after everything that had happened and the tough times between he and Bruce... he felt... he felt...
"No." His voice in his throat is hard and cold, almost unfamiliar to his own ears. But there is certainty to it. Confidence. "That's not right. You'd never make that choice."
Bruce's eyes widen and his brow knits together. "Jay? What do you mean?"
Jason's hands ball into fists and he can feel a bitterly cold anger spreading in his chest. "The mission is more important to you than anything else. It's why I hate you, but it's also why I admire you. You're committed to Batman and to your cause before anything else. I couldn't hold a flame to that. No one could. You'd sacrifice anything for it. Any one."
"I'd never sacrifice you, Jason."
"Yes, you would! In fact... you have." Jason's mind seems to crackle with memory fragments. "I'm not talking about killing Penguin or Scarecrow or Dent. I'm talking about him. Just him... Well, I'm not going to give you the choice, Bruce. I'm going to blow his addled, deranged brains out and, if you want to stop it, you're going to have to shoot me. Right in my face."
"Jason," Bruce's voice is stern but artificially calm. "You have had severe head-trauma. You may be experiencing artificial memories that feel real, but they're not, Jason. Just settle down. It's all going to be fine. I'd never do anything to hurt you."
"Shut up!" Jason rips the IV from his arm and jumps from his hospital bed, backing into the hallway. "This isn't real!"
"Jason! Calm down!" It's full 'command' voice, the kind that usually makes Jason snap to attention (and feel mildly weak in the knees) but now he just shakes his head.
"GET OUT OF MY MIND!" A nurse pushing a cart full of medical equipment pauses at the commotion, and Jason seizes on the opportunity. He grabs a scalpel from the open drawer and brings it toward his own throat.
"Jason!" Bruce screams. "Think about this logically. What if you're wrong. What if this is reality? What if what you're imagining now—what you think is real—is the illusion?"
Somewhere, in a haze of remembered history, Jason knows there's someone he needs to help. Someone fighting. That he shouldn't waste anymore time.
"Then put my costume in a nice display case, Bruce. You're good at those." Before he has a chance to respond, Jason pulls the scalpel toward him sharply and slices aggressively across his neck.
TO BE CONTINUED...