Warnings for the following content: Minor description of injury, Bruce being a dick, Jason being .. Jason
Chapter Five
"Being with her I feel a pain, like a frozen knife stuck in my chest. An awful pain, but the funny thing is I'm thankful for it. It's like that frozen pain and my very existence are one. The pain is an anchor, mooring me here." ― Haruki Murakami, quote from Kafka on the Shore
Vlad seethed with an intensity that surpassed anger; it was an all-consuming rage. His search throughout the entire building for Daniel had yielded nothing—no trace of the boy remained, not even a strand of his hair. Someone had been there before him and had taken Daniel away from Vlad, leaving him with an emptiness that gnawed at his insides. Some had taken Daniel from him. But who?
After frantically soaring through the facility, Vlad found himself in the surveillance room. Despite the bloodshed, chaos, and rather .. repulsive scenes that surrounded him, he sat down in the chair, determined to uncover any leads.
Booting up the machinery, he began playing back surveillance footage. Most of it appeared mundane until one stood out prominently. Quiet literally. A figure in a bright red jacket, contrasting with a black suit adorned with a red symbol A blood-red bat symbol. The figure gripped a Ghost Investigation Ward member by the collar, holding them at gunpoint. A gun that glowed an eerily similar purple hue, catching Vlad's attention.
"You're not going to kill me," the GIW agent protested, desperation evident in their voice. "You're not going to kill me!" The video captured the moment when their voice cracked.
In response, the figure held the gun closer to the agent. Choosing to only move it as he aimed it under the Agent's chin, "Do I look like Batman to you?" There was a pause. As if the figure remembered the bat-like symbol adorned on his chest, "Rethink your answer. 'Less you want a painful death."
Vlad expressed his disgust with a hum before fast-forwarding the footage. Growing angrier by the minute by the lack of useful information during the period leading up to his arrival, he shifted his focus to a different screen. He searched each and every one of them, growing angrier and angrier as he found nothing. Just as he was about to give up, Vlad paused on a particular screen.
The figure in red was holding another figure bridal style. The figure in red was holding a boy that was disheveled and had the very same red jacket wrapped around his torso. The figure in red was holding Daniel.
The figure in red took Daniel from right under his nose. Just leaving right before Vlad arrived.
And Vlad may have had been able to catch up to the pair if he didn't spend the last hour or so searching the entire facility, and another hour searching through the footage. His frustration reached a boiling point, and with a resounding slam, Vlad's fist collided with the computer screen, cracking it in a display of sheer anger and impotent rage.
He had failed. He was too late.
Eyes clouded with anger; he hadn't noticed that the figure wasn't wearing his helmet anymore.
The creature stirred as lights inundated its vision, attempting to sit up but feeling an unsettling restraint on its limbs. Were its arms and legs secured to the table once more? It pondered, sensing an eerie familiarity in this situation.
If it was correct, when it awoke it would be the fifth day from the start of the week. The fifth day of the week marked painful poking and prodding towards the creature.
If its guess was accurate, it marked the fifth day of the week from its inception. On this day, the creature endured agonizing examinations and torment by the Agents. The fifth day seemed to be the Agents' preferred time for insults and degrading remarks. Was last night a dream? The creature rarely dreamed, but when it did, they were very vivid.
(It really wished it wasn't a dream. It had felt happy for once.)
"Ectoplasmic scum"
Expecting to face an Agent, the creature turned abruptly but found itself in a transformed environment. The once bright dissection room had morphed into an expansive, blank landscape, initially blindingly bright.
The landscape was bright. Too bright. To the point it hurt the creatures eye's and he had to squint.. but its eyes didn't truly hurt. It was more irritating than anything.
"Look at how pitiful it tries to be."
Turning around once more, the once bright landscape had now transitioned into an engulfing, all-consuming, dark void.
"We're helping you by doing this, you freak of nature"
It wanted the voices to stop. To shut up. It yearned for the cacophony of voices to cease. It desperately gripped its head as it called out in agony. The voices were loud. Too loud. With every syllable spoken, each reverberated, causing its head to vibrate painfully.
"Wouldn't this injure it?"
"Shut up." The creature murmured softly.
"Oh please. It's only acting that way to gain a sense of sympathy."
"Shut up." It spoke again, with more volume in its voice.
"Ah what were your late parents' words? 'I'm going to rip you apart, molecule by molecule'? A wonderful idea, is it not?"
"Shut up!" It was now yelling at this point, desperate for it to be heard.
"You're nothing more than an anomaly. You should have stayed dead when you were fourteen. At least then you were still human."
SHUT UP
Danny The creature abruptly awoke with a start, a cry escaping its throat. It clamped its mouth shut, aware of the Agents' aversion to loud disturbances.
(Oh dear. Oh gods. The Agents didn't like it when it got too loud. They would punish him severely over this.)
The irritable sound of a heartbeat reverberated in its head, the rhythmic thumping synchronizing with the pounding within its skull. Wincing in pain, the creature instinctively brought a hand up to its forehead.
Distracted, the creature physically flinched when the door suddenly slammed opened.
(Did it always have a door in its cell?)
A man barged in, panting and breathless, as if he had abandoned everything to come to the creature's aid. His hand remained stationed on top of the door—which had almost been thrown off its hinges—as he stared intensely at the creature. Worry and .. an indiscernible emotion dominated the man's eyes.
It took a moment, but the creature recognized him. The raven-black with a contrasting white streak. The buff and muscular build that that towered over it and could—and most like have—snap a man in halves with little to no resistance. The blue eye that seemed to glow a hint of green if an emotion overwhelmed their owner. Jason Todd stood in front of the creature.
(The creature could recognize its knight anywhere)
Something inside the creature purred softly, a comforting sensation that went disregarded. The creature couldn't help but question the reality of the moment. Was it dreaming, or was this another cruel trick orchestrated by the Agents, designed to uplift its spirits only to crush them into fine dust, as they had done numerous times before?
Many, many times before.
"Are you alright?" Jason's— The man's A voice from the creature's imagination called out. He winced upon noticing just how loud his voice was, "I heard you shout from the kitchen so.."
Opting to shield itself from the potential illusions, the creature chose to curl up into a ball, avoiding the pitfalls of its own imagination. Doing so will only lead to pain. Doing so will only lead to further torment. It would be easier to ignore him.
This approach seemed justified. After all, Jason had been missing in action for a year, the creature's close friends were deceased, and its family was gone. There appeared to be no reason to subject itself to further torment.
Thus, the creature remained motionless as Jason approached, convinced that the dream would dissipate soon enough. It didn't flinch when the man reached out.
Which is why the creature didn't lean into the touch as the man hugged him. But merely suppressed a wince from the pain his torso still held.
"Look I'm.. not the best with these things.. but," The man paused, "I'm sorry." A pause.
The creature slowly turned its head to face Jason. Icy blue eyes met dark blue ones as they held an intense gaze. The creature deliberately ignored the presence of red eyes in the corner.
Receiving no verbal response, the man continued, expressing his remorse, "You... God... It's my duty to protect you, and yet you're so fucking hurt. Danny, I'm sorry." The voice sounded strange, as it deliberately attempting to hide an accent. To speak .. formally wouldn't be the right word. But, it wouldn't inherently be wrong either.
Danny? Who is this Danny he speaks of? The creature wondered, unfamiliar with this name. The creature only knew Phantom, Scum, and Creature. Did the creature own a name before it? Before it was an 'it? Countless questions flooded the boy's creature's mind.
"Do you.. not recognize your name?" There was a hint of concern in the man's voice, but the creature ignored it. Choosing to turn away in thought instead.
So, it appeared that "Danny" was indeed the creature's name! The realization dawned upon it that it once possessed a name, prompting questions about why it was taken away. Did the creature commit some wrongdoing leading to the loss of its name, or did it purposely forget it to prevent the Agents from discovering it?
(Its days in the facility were a mixture of haze and clarity.)
Glancing back toward the man, the creature noticed his eyes growing luminescent green.
Jason's could not believe his eyes. Just what the hell had those fuckers in white done to Danny? The King of the Ghost Zone. The Pride and Joy of the Infinite Realms.
Like a tempest of anger, his ghost core and the Lazarus waters coursing through his veins blended in a unified ballet. The two elements pirouetted and entwined, akin to the delicate dance of yin and yang, portraying the eternal struggle between darkness and light, life and death. One emerged forth from the depths of anger, rage, and revenge, while the other welled up from the fount of desperation, worry, and concern.
Within Jason, the Pit clamored for carnage, craving bloodshed and retribution against those who had harmed the king. It yearned for destruction:
To kill.
To wreak havoc
To obliterate
To condemn their damned souls to the nightmare realm for eternity
To transform them into the ectoplasmic entities they had sworn to hate.
Yet, the ghost core nestled within his heart was conflicted. It wanted revenge for the king. But it desperately wanted to take care of the king. Make sure Danny was properly fed. That his ectoplasm was refilled. That he was okay. That he was safe.
To protect
To save
To seek revenge only after ensuring the king's well-being
To remain steadfastly at his side.
Jason found himself torn as he gazed at Danny. The boy appeared pitiful, battered, and bruised; his already pale skin now seemingly paler. The once-joyful icy blue eyes, which had sparkled with wonder and happiness the last time Jason saw them, now stared blankly. Eyes that had once radiated joy now seemed as lifeless as those of a corpse. Additionally, Danny appeared thinner, stirring a mixture of concern and anger within Jason.
The conflict within Jason intensified. He grappled with the duality of his emotions—anger fueling the desire for revenge and the innate need to protect and care for Danny. As the internal struggle raged, Jason couldn't shake the image of the king in distress. The need to retaliate battled with the instinct to nurture and safeguard the vulnerable figure before him.
Fortunately for the both of them, Jason had been cooking breakfast right before Danny woke up.
"Hey, how about we eat some breakfast? Don't know if you've eaten in a bit," Jason attempted to make his voice as .. gentle as possible, altering his tone to avoid intimidating Danny with his "Crime Alley" accent.
(Even if that sounded pretentious in itself.)
Danny paused, "Breakfast?"
Oh.
Of course, those fuckers never gave Danny breakfast. How many other experiences had this boy missed out on? Had forgotten? How long had Danny endured their treatment?
The thought fueled Jason's anger even further.
Attempting a small smile, Jason explained, "Food you eat in the morning, come on."
There was a pause as if Danny was searching for the right words. After a moment, Danny spoke up, "You're hugging me."
"..? Oh—shit, sorry. I'll uh, let go now," embarrassed, Jason quickly released Danny and moved toward the doorway. "Come down whenever you're ready. I'm making sausage, pancakes, and eggs. They may not be hot for long." After a momentary pause, Jason walked back to the kitchen, mentally cursing himself as he replayed the scene in his head.
(He somehow always ends up embarrassing himself.)
Jason looked at the eggs on the stove, still lightly sizzling just as he left them. A dim light seeped through a crack in the window's blinds. Even Gotham, the most dangerous city on earth, occasionally witnessed sunny days, albeit rare enough to be considered mythical, like the Northern Lights.
Picking up a spatula, Jason severed the breakfast onto two separate plates. Making sure to give himself just enough food that it didn't seem like he had given Danny any extra. After all, the boy needed it more than he did.
(Should he really be calling Danny "The boy" when he himself is barely older.)
Jason sat down at the table and began to eat some of his breakfast, or rather, he had been mostly picking at his food while waiting for Danny. Despite knowing the boy wouldn't come down—given that he couldn't even recognize Jason after waking up—deep down, he hoped for it.
Mere moments later, the still very disheveled boy entered the room. He had changed out of the rags given to him at that disgusting facility, likely into some of Jason's or his brother's clothes. Damian occasionally stayed at the warehouse with Jason when Bruce had managed to piss him off him enough. Nevertheless, Jason found it hard to tear his eyes away from Danny, following him as he cautiously approached the table and took a seat.
Danny shifted nervously in his seat, "Jay.. Where am I?"
Ah. Danny seemed to regain enough memory to call him his nickname. That was reassuring. At least they weren't at the stage of 'Danny considers him a stranger' anymore, or were they ever truly at that point? Jason remembered Danny calling him that nickname last night too, but the boy could very well still have been delirious.
"Jay?"
Quickly snapped out of his thoughts, Jason responded, "Ah, sorry. You're in a warehouse I stay at a lot. It was the safest place I had in mind, after..." 'Rescuing you from that place' went unsaid, but they both understood it.
"But what about their trackers? It's how they .. It's how they caught me in the first place. I remember them stalking about it.. Jay I.. Oh god.." The boy trailed off, fear evident in his eyes. He worried about the organization running the facility detecting them, taking him again, and subjecting him to torture...again.
"D, it's alright.. I already," Jason paused, eyeing the boy warily, "dealt with that matter. You're safe here. At least, for a couple of days. Relax and eat. You need it."
Danny looked at Jason slightly before sitting down with him. Picking up a fork, Danny took a bite of pancakes and paused. Hundreds of emotions seemed to flood his eyes as he let the food settle in his mouth. He glanced at Jason as he swallowed.
"With the way you word that, 'Oh yeah, I dealt with them. You're never gonna hear from them again,' you make it sound like you killed everyone in that facility..." Danny remarked dryly, his dull eyes shifting down to his plate.
Jason cracked a smile, choosing to remain silent. Danny, obviously, picked up on it, his eyes widening in shock. "...You didn't."
"Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't." Jason chuckled as he took a bite of food. Holy shit, he made it well. Is this what Alfred meant to cook with the soul?
At this point, Danny's voice had transitioned from barely audible to nearing a shout, "You're a Robin though! Robins don't kill! That goes against Batman's entire code of honor!" Danny pointed a fork towards Jason.
Jason smiled at this. There's the Danny he knew.
"Was a robin," Jason corrected, "Does it look like I'm that bats little sidekick anymore?" There was a hint of distaste in Jason's voice.
Danny paused, letting the information sink in, "Wait... You stopped being Robin? So, who is?"
Jason laughed at the implication Batman cannot function without a robin, "One of my brothers. I think you may even be wearing some of his clothes."
"Oh, shit, sorry. I'll go change out of it—" Jason held up a hand, cutting Danny off.
"Nah, it's fine. He wouldn't mind it.. probably."
"You don't sound confident at all!"
Richard "Dick" Grayson could always sense when Bruce was upset. The entire household possessed this ability. It manifested in Bruce spending an extended period in his office or lingering in the bat-cave without any apparent reason. However, when Alfred approached Dick to request a talk with Bruce, he knew that something was wrong.
(Honestly, Bruce acted more like a child than his literal children.)
As Dick made his way to Bruce's office, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. He hadn't run into Damian yet. Despite Damian's claims of only tolerating his brothers, he would usually be found around the manor or in his room. Even after encountering Tim in the kitchen, Duke and Cass in the living room, and stopping by Bat-Cow's barn, Dick had not caught sight of Damian anywhere. Having not seen him once. Having not seen Damian once.
And he would have assumed Damian was merely in his room if not for hearing Damian and Bruce conversion themselves. Of course, Alfred had sent him to be a mediator between the two.
"Father, Todd is an adult, as you are. He can be allowed to miss family dinners," Damian's voice echoed from behind the door.
A muffled sigh emanated from Bruce, and Dick sensed the tension, "I know that. The circumstances leading up to it, however, were suspicious."
"Suspicious or not, Todd is capable of taking care of himself," Damian retorted, and Dick could sense the narrowing of his eyes even without seeing him.
"You weren't there when—" Bruce attempted to explain but was swiftly cut off by Damian.
"Nevertheless, he has been getting better. His control over his anger has improved these past few months, Father."
An indescribable emotion seemed to lace Bruce's voice, "He still kills criminals. Killing is killing no matter what context there it."
Thinking about it, it was disappointment, wasn't it? Even if others might not have noticed it, he observed how Bruce carried an air of disappointment around him whenever Jason was present. It left him conflicted. While he understood Bruce's perspective, Jason had genuinely been making progress. He hadn't harmed any of his siblings in months, his control over his anger had improved, and he consistently monitored the pit waters—that flowed within his veins—to distance himself before anyone could get hurt.
(So what if he killed criminals? He was the only one protecting Crime Alley in the entire family of vigilantes. Did he honestly have a say in it?)
"So, you are afraid he chose to miss the dinner to, instead, kill criminals?" Dick couldn't tell if Damien was merely twisting his words or not.
"Now, that's not what I meant, Damian," Bruce clarified.
"Have you forgotten that I hold a higher kill count than Todd, Father? Will there be a day that you no longer fully trust me either?"
Deciding he had heard enough, Dick knocked on the door frame of Bruce's office before entering. Damian turned slightly upon noticing him, but his expression remained unchanged. In front of Dick stood Bruce, regal, in all his glory behind his desk.
"Dami, I think Alfred's looking for you in the kitchen," Dick said softly, gesturing behind him with his thumb.
"Is that so? I shall be off then," Damian muttered before leaving.
"Bruce." Dick started.
"Dick." Bruce ended.
Sighing, Dick pulled a chair away from the desk, turned it around, and sat on it. Crossing his arms over the chair, he leaned closely, "I understand you're worried about Jason. But I was there; he was fine." It was a half-truth, as Jason had seemed tense before leaving, but Dick wasn't going to bother him about it.
However, it seemed Bruce could tell. Curse him for being the head of a family of detectives.
"Either way, are you not worried? Jason only ever misses family dinners when something is wrong or if he's too injured to come."
"Of course, I'm worried, Bruce. But you cannot helicopter parent him like this."
"I'm not sure this would be the best course of action. To just allow him to abide by his own rules. I'm afraid he's influencing the others to be like—"
Dick didn't mean to cut Bruce off, honestly. For what it's worth, he truly wanted to wait until the man in front of him had finished speaking, but he had heard this speech far too many times and was far too tired.
"Well, I am. We aren't— hell, Damian isn't being influenced. He's not Jason, Bruce. But if you keep up this act of *'Jason kills people, he's a disappointment to the family,'* maybe he will be." Bruce fell silent at this. Emotions seemed to flick across Bruce's eyes. Daring to reach forth, but never truly making it.
The silence didn't last long, "I don't consider Jason to be a disappointment, Dick. I'm just worried."
Dick stared at Bruce blankly, "Look, I understand you're worried. I was when he told me he'd miss dinner. Everyone was when he didn't show up. But you're pushing him away and wondering why he doesn't treat you like a father, and why you don't trust him."
"Killing is still killing, Dick." Bruce retorted.
"And I know that. But you're tearing him away from the family with this attitude. And not only that, but pushing Damian away as well," Dick replied as he stood up from the chair and pushed it back in. When Dick walked into this conversation, he hadn't expected his tone to become this harsh. Dick wanted to give Bruce a wake-up call.
But from the look in his father's eyes, at most, all he did was create a crack in the barrier Bruce had constructed.