Ok. Chapter 11, as promised. I hope this is good. I had to keep rewriting this to figure out the details… I'm also giving you my take on Jason's life outside of the prison… ^^
This chapter starts out a bit confusing, but just bear with me, kay? I'm experimenting a bit. Thanks for the patience and all the wonderful reviews! The next chapter is almost done and should be posted tomorrow.
(Btw: go take the poll on my profile, pretty please? :)
Chapter 11
The blaring siren still echoed in his ears painfully. His mind pounded and adrenaline pumped through his system. His body was in overdrive, his fight-or-flight response in full swing. His eyes took in the whole picture, his digestive track and other systems had shut or slowed down for maximum muscle output and lung capacity.
He would need it. With Tim cradled in his arms bleeding profusely, and with Dick and Damian only barely keeping up with Jason limping along… They were all in bad shape.
Yet they couldn't stop, their feet had to keep beating the ground in a slapping monotonous pattern. Huffs of breath escaped their lips in small clouds of morning air, the cold just nipping at their limbs. They could not stop.
The escape had not gone as planned, not at all. They had still gotten out, but at a terrible price. And Barracks…
No, he couldn't think of that now. They were almost to the city. Once they were there, the sun would rise and warm their bones. They would find Jason's safe house, and they would be home free.
Bruce almost had to laugh out loud. When would he learn? No one can ever predict the end. Never.
The yelp of dogs at their heels kept their sour muscles in constant motion, Kept their minds trained on the prize, and kept their hearts beating at the highest rate. They would be easy to lose if they could just get to the city. Too many ifs, Bruce, the voice still dedicated to Batman screamed.
But what could he do? Though fatigue ripped into him parallel to the pavement, he had to keep pushing. His mind kept wandering back to worry for Tim and Jason, but he couldn't even spare that focus. Had to stay in the present.
Ah Ha! Skyscrapers finally surrounded them; the familiarity here almost made his heart jump with sheer exultation – if it had the energy to do so, it would. He'd never been so happy to see the mountains of garbage, to smell the ribald scent of wet dog, to hear the screams and sirens of the police… It was refreshing after months of hellish monotony. He pulled Tim onto his back and made a sharp turn into the alleyway to his right. His son tightened weary arms around his neck and Bruce came to the ladder that would take them to the roof of the nearest building. Bruce climbed the rungs two at a time, his body thrust into overdrive once again. Once he had made it, he let Tim down and reached a hand to help Damian, Jason, and then Dick.
They paused here in a rush of freedom, letting their bodies heal in the momentary peace.
Then they were running again.
They were running for their lives.
…
No matter how hard he tried to push it away, Jason kept seeing the past few hours written all over. He was every moment and he agonized over each detail with crystal clarity. The memory bit at him, chased his heart with each beat, and cried for his attention.
And then he was back there again.
And then he was trapped in the memory.
…
Jason raised his head from the bunk bed, after crying for what seemed like hours he was still exhausted. Nonetheless, he knew he had to get up. Bruce helped him with that aspect.
Pain erupted through him, but he pushed that ache down. Now was not the time.
Once the two were up and ready, Dick and Tim were there waiting with a man named Barracks in the background.
Jason had admitted to them that he had not yet regained all of his memory, but that it was coming back in small chunks. It was like his mind would flash a picture that afterwards Jason would have to play guessing games with. He could see Dick there in his mind, but never more than fractured glances. However, he did remember two he had not seen here, one beautiful, orange skinned Tamaranian (his mind supplied) named Kori, and one idiot named Roy who always wore a baseball cap… He vaguely recalled Damian, but nothing at all about the other boy – not even flickers.
He remembered Bruce, though. He remembered his father. Bruce trusted Dick and Tim and the little boy. Jason figured that meant they were trustworthy.
"We need to go now." They all nodded soberly, tonight would be bloody.
Bruce stepped forward, placing his hand on Jason's uninjured shoulder, "Collars first." Tim nodded. They made their way fairly quickly down the stairs with only a few wandering glances from the other inmates. For some reason, and despite his injuries, Jason found himself gravitating towards Damian. Just as his father had placed a hand on his shoulder earlier, Jason wrapped an arm around the boy and held him close. He was surprised (though, again, he wasn't sure why) when the child leaned into the touch.
It didn't matter, they kept moving.
Once they reached the blind spot, they were ready. Tim called his brothers over one at a time, pulling out a guard's electrified prod. This was how they had to remove the collars. It was the only way to counteract the constant flow of electricity running through the little nooses. Apparently, before he had lost his memory, Jason hade figured out the collars sent electrical signals to a main watchtower. If the collars were removed an alarm was sounded; however, if they were short-circuited, it would take the guards longer to figure out the source of the disturbance. There would be confusion, there would be searching, and the mayhem that ensued would open a window of opportunity.
Jason had to suppress a cry of pain as the stick came into contact with his neck, but felt relief when the satisfying click of the release was sounded. Still, he had to stop himself from reacting violently as Damian whimpered when it was his turn.
Soon enough all the collars had been removed. They were ready.
…
The door handle in his palms was cooling and Bruce had to remind himself that this door was not rigged. The key Jason had hidden was right where the boy had left it, and for that, Bruce was thankful. It was one less hassle to deal with. The key clicking into place had a calming effect on his mind and the threshold was opened to them.
Bruce was fully expecting a dingy apartment with little to no adornment, some spring-popped mattress, and moldy kitchen equipment. Instead, he was affronted by a sprawling space with a natural, yet disconnected feel to it. A bed of master quality sat in the corner, mahogany headboard acting as a firm support. The blankets were piled high, yet folded neatly in place with measured preparedness. The kitchen stood to their right with updated and shining steel equipment ready for immediate use, and matching mahogany cabinets. A work space was across the way, the wooden desk there kept silent vigil under a high-tech and seemingly well-maintained computer system. Stretching between all three was a plush red carpet and living area with an Ikea, long couch and Television set. Books and knickknacks were scattered here and there. Everything here was purchased top notch and probably very expensive, but the most striking detail of the room was the clean and detached bliss of it all.
There was a small layer of dust coating the room, but that only hinted at disuse, not disorder. Each stack of books was neat and in specific place of direction. Each piece had the same exact space between it and the next paperweight. Not a pen out of place. It was hauntingly familiar to a military home. Like a discharged warrior returning after terrible trauma to create simple organization in a world that no longer seemed to carry it. It reminded Bruce that Jason still thought of himself as a soldier. It reminded Bruce that he had failed his son.
It reminded him that Jason was still very much damaged.
Please leave a comment and let me know what you think because I'm honestly not sure.