#jason cass and damian are the ‘made into weapons of evil as kids through abuse and torture only to break free’ club

[inamindfarfaraway]

Listen. I like a good ‘Comics Tim gets turned into Joker Junior’ fic as much as the next angst-loving Batfam fan. But given that Batman: The Animated Series Tim is just Jason Todd under a different name, on all counts - backstory, place in the Batfamily timeline, personality, right down to his career as Robin ending with his capture, torture and in at least one sense murder by the Joker (literal death vs the death of his sanity and identity) that doesn’t stick - I maintain that if we’re transferring this plot to the comics continuity, it should be Jason. Fifteen-year-old Jason. Aka Robin II, adopted by Bruce out of poverty with a dead mother and criminal father who was killed by Two-Face, aka exactly who Tim is B:TAS. It just makes more sense! And it’s no less interesting!

A warehouse explodes in Ethiopia. Bruce searches through the debris, shouting for Jason, his only thoughts the need to hold his son and a growing banshee wail that he’s too late, too late, too late. He can’t even find a body. Instead he finds Sheila, with minutes of her life to spare. She uses her last breaths to tell him the Joker took Jason away somewhere. Alive. His son is alive. Bruce can - no, will find him, whatever the cost.

He and Barbara, and Dick the moment he returns to Earth, devote every available second (and many that really aren’t available) to looking. For Jason, Joker, his associates, his sightings, any hint or scrap of evidence they can find. But they can’t find much. How they long for Joker’s usual obvious calling cards and attention seeking. Now it’s like he’s vanished into thin air, taking their Robin with him. It speaks of a higher purpose; this isn’t simply luring Batman into a trap, Joker has designs for Jason himself. Bruce shudders to imagine them. That only makes him more determined to find his child. He eats and sleeps as little as possible, lashes out and communicates more with glares and growls than words. He can’t take joy in anything. He can’t give up, he can’t… he doesn’t know how he’ll go on if he’s lost Jay forever.

In the movie, Tim’s captivity lasts three weeks. In the comics, Bruce’s downward spiral after losing Jason lasts six months before Tim interrupts it. I think it’ll need to be a few months here to be long enough for Tim to get involved - you can go with the full six if you want, for maximum angst. Barbara was also already Oracle by the time Jason died, attending his painfully small funeral in a wheelchair, so Dick is out on the streets with Bruce. Tim Drake observes Bruce’s declining mental health and wants to help, as in the comics. He doesn’t become Robin here, but he does volunteer his detective services to aid in the search and grow close to the Bats.

They find Jason. The Joker dies. He takes a part of all of them with him.

Think of the fanfic potential! How does Jason’s recovery go? Does he want nothing to do with vigilantism anymore, not trusting himself to be a hero due to having such severe lifelong trauma, or eventually invent a new heroic identity like Flamebird or Phoenix? If he doesn’t resume fighting crime, what does he do instead? How does the Batfamily as a whole recover and evolve? Does Bruce ban child vigilantism or try to? To what extent do the others agree? Does Jason give Tim his blessing to be the next Robin? When Steph, Cass, Damian and Duke show up, how do their journeys unfold with Jason present as a sibling and role model and Bruce wanting perhaps even more to prevent or at least delay them from frontline crimefighting? How does how the expanding Batfamily operate? Wait, now there’s no Joker to poison Elaine and Doug Thomas’s minds, does Duke even get into crimefighting or associate with the Bats, and if so, how and why? You see how many questions I got just out of the aftermath? How are there no fanfics about this already?!

[beyondflashpoint]

Prologue 2: Homeward Bound :

“I don’t understand the detour, Todd. We could have made port directly in Gotham bay and gone directly to father. Your palaver with the addict in Steel city cost us days. Hours at best.”

Jason rolled his eyes. He could sense the kid’s unease even without glancing at him in the rearview. A slight vocalization from the passenger seat indicated that Cassie agreed with the kid.

“First, the ‘addict’ has a name. Roy is an old friend. Second, that pal-whatever got us this car, so we aren’t walking. Third, the League would be expecting us to make landfall in Gotham, and I feel like an extended ninja fight would waste more time than my plan and also draw a lot more unwanted attention. Relax Damian. We’ll have you playing catch with daddy-dearest soon enough.”

“Smart.” Cassie said from beside him, her voice low and gravely from underuse. He couldn’t be sure, but Jason thought she sounded surprised. At least she was talking now, even if it was only one or two words every few days. The constant charades made his head hurt.

Damian clicked his tongue in that annoying way he did and prepared to retort, but Jason nipped that in the bud.

“Bruce has a bunker in Blüdhaven where we can swipe some equipment and feel out the situation in Gotham. According to Roy, Lady Shiva has been spotted in G-town, and there haven’t been any killings that fit her m.o., so it’s safe to assume the League dispatched her to catch us. So caution is the word.”

Cassie shifted uncomfortably at her mother’s name. They had never been close, but they had left things especially messy, as in duel to the death, excommunication messy. Shiva would kill Cassie on sight, and Jason probably not long after. Returning Damian al’Ghul to the Demon’s side was priority one. If he had to guess, Shiva would have deployed with a full attachment, foot soldiers and four other heavy hitters. A full Demon’s Fist, as the League called it. That could be very bad for G-town. Jason was by no means eager to put on tights again, but Bruce’s uniforms offered much better protection than swiped tourist threads, and he needed all the extra time he could get to figure out exactly how this reunion was going to go.

‘Hi Bruce, I’m not dead anymore. Ras dunked me in the Lazarus Pit. Also, I kinda kidnapped your son from Talia because Ras was planning on having him kill you. Also, you have a son. In case you didn’t know. Also this is Lady Shiva’s daughter, but she’s cool. She kicks ass and has decided to leave the League. Also the League is after us.’

Bruce would have a stroke. Maybe he should lead with the son thing.

Jason merged as they approached the exit he wanted.

Come to think of it, there were probably a few of his old friends running the streets of his old stomping grounds. Probably most of them were dead or incarcerated, but one or two of them had to be out and about. He could use eyes on the streets, and slum kids saw things that even the big bad bat didn’t. He’d look into it.

Five years changed things. Roy was a big indication of that. Before Jason’s temporary vacation from the mortal coil, Roy Harper had been a Titan, and Jason’s top guy in the team. Finding out that he’d dropped the mask game had been shocking enough, but the fact that he had been hooked on H AND working out rehab really opened his eyes. Roy had stayed in touch with Dick, as an unofficial sponsor, but he’d completely cut off Olly and the rest of the Star City crew. And now he was running a garage, just a few hours out of the Haven. Jason shuddered to think how the Batfam had changed. And now that he thought about it, five years may as well be fifty on the streets, especially in the Haven.

When Bruce had taken him in, the Red Hood gang had mostly run the Haven, and the less formal Hoodz had sprung up to replace the smaller crews and cliques that permeated Blüdhaven. Time served with the Hoodz could lead to an opportunity at the big leagues with the real Red Hood Gang. That had been Jason’s plan, which had put him in the alley where the batmobile had been parked, which had made him hungry enough for the cred that would come from boosting the tires from the Bat’s whip, which had led him to getting caught by the big bad bat, yadda-yadda, Robin, mother, Clown, crowbar.

But the Hoodz had already been on their way out even back then, with the Black Mask Gang snatching turf on the outskirts. Jason couldn’t begin to imagine who was running the Haven now.

They rode in silence until Jason finally parked in the alley. The sharpness and clarity of memory had to be a result of his dip in the pit. He’d only been to this bunker once, and it had been in the frantic haze of searching for his mother, the first stop on his way out of Gotham for the last time in his old life. Now it was his last stop on his way back to Gotham for the first time in his new life. Ka is a wheel, to quote Mr Stephen King.

He shook these thoughts off as he scanned the street, making sure their entry would go unnoticed, then opened the secret panel and typed the old code into the hidden keypad. The section of wall slid back, and opened to a flight of stairs and the blessed buzz of ac.

“Alright gang, to the bat-bunker.”

He started in without waiting for a reply. Lights buzzed to life as the trio descended the steps and were deposited into the armory. According to Roy, Dick had lived here until he’d gotten on his feet after splitting from Bruce. He still used it as a backup base/crash pad, and Jason could tell from the ratty couch and scattering of clothes. But Grayson was running with Titans 3.0 at the moment, looking into the evil tech dealer called H.I.V.E. so they would have the run of the place for now.

True to fashion, though Dick’s personal possessions were a mess, the armory itself was perfectly organized and orderly. Jason could barely suppress a scoff at the tube containing one of Barbara’s spare batsuits. Vintage black and yellow. He always suspected the two were hooking up. He and Dick didn’t agree on much, but both were of one mind when it came to red heads in tights. It was a shame Roy had let himself go recently. Before he could get too lost in that thought, he realized Damian and Cassandra were both staring at him expectantly.

“Right. We have a few hours of daylight left. I don’t want to move on Gotham till nightfall. Till then, I want you two taking inventory of the gear we have available to us. While you do that, I’ll grab us some food, and scope out the situation street side.”

“If I never have to eat any more of that greasy slop you call fast food, it will be too soon.” Damian said as he made close study of a wall of weapons Grayson had no doubt thought were cool as hell.

“Now you listen here, boy. Big Belly Burger is a staple of American fine dining, and I will not have you blaspheme against it like that in my presence. Besides, you and Cassie order and eat twice as much as I do every time we stop there.”

“TT.”

Cassandra grabbed his shoulder and shared a look that said her next words would be of the utmost importance.

“Milkshake. Strawberry.” She managed without any of the usual false starts.

“Actually, since we’re in the Haven, I thought I’d treat you two to the height of fine dining. Bibbo’s Diner is only a few blocks from here, and you haven’t lived until you’ve had his chicken and waffles.”

Alarm flashed in Cassandra’s eyes, but before it could settle, Jason reassured her.

“And Bibbo’s happens to be the home of the world famous Robin shake. Strawberry, chocolate and banana. It’ll be right up your alley Cassie. And their homemade peach cobbler is out of this world.”

She looked as if she was about to argue, then considered, and acquiesced, lulled into acceptance by the promise of a new sweet treat. The poor girl had been practically made to starve as part of her training. Combined with the laundry list of other abuses she’d faced, Jason had no problem shelling out the extra cash to keep her quickly developing sweet tooth satisfied. Besides, it wasn’t really his money.

It had been quite the adventure so far, and while Bruce would halve balked at Jason’s decision to loot scumbags they’d encountered along the six month journey from Nanda Parbat, Damian and Cassandra saw the necessity of it. Jason had found his people.

“Pull that suit on under your clothes Cass, it’s Kevlar microfiber woven over a layer of high density impact gel. Might not look like it, but it can stop a bullet. There might be an old Robin suit around here somewhere. You’ll know it if you see it. That might fit Damian. Gear up, stretch out, and be ready to move as soon as I get back. If something goes down while I’m gone, find the tallest building in town and wait for me on the roof.” As he talked, he scooped up a spare utility belt from the shelves and clipped it on his waist. A cursory search rewarded him with a tank top sporting the blue bird Dick used as a logo these days (because of corse Dick fucking Grayson bought his own merch), a flannel Jason could tie around his hips to hide the belt, a Gotham Knights cap, and a wad of cash Dick no doubt kept for emergencies.

This qualified, Jason rationalized as he stuffed the bills into a pouch on his belt. Satisfied with his civilian disguise, Jason returned his focus to the duo studying the tools laid out before them. Damian had slipped a samurai sword into his belt at some point and was now testing the weight of the stylized throwing stars (Wingdings?) laid out on the shelves. Cassandra was running through forms with a pair of batons, and was mildly startled by the arc of electricity that cracked between them when she happened upon the triggers. Shock turned to awe, turned to a pleased smirk. They’d be fine for a few hours. Probably.

He tried not to think too hard about the many ways they could kill, explode, or otherwise maim each other in his absence.

They’d be fine.

It took him an hour of scoping the usual hangs to get anything useful. The Row kids had relocated to an orphanage in G-town. The Brown girl and the kid that followed her like a lost puppy were m.i.a., Rome was in Blackgate, Garcia was dead, Diego dead, Carter dead, Crock m.i.a., Philippe jail, Jessie jail, dead, jail, jail, jail, dead, dead, Morales was working the youth center after a stint in Blackgate, which was good to hear. Finally he happened upon a decent lead, almost by accident.

One of his old crew from the Hoodz days was still out and about, and running a little cluster of the Hoodz.

Jason entered the ratty apartment Sasha shared with her father Nico though the fire escape. It was just as messy as he remembered. On the table beside the couch was a glass bowl, packed but untouched. It was tempting, but Jason hadn’t gotten high since his Robin days. The siren song of the crumpled pack of full flavored cigarettes, however, was irresistible. He plucked one free and lit it as he dropped into the tattered leather recliner across from the couch where Sasha snoozed. That first draw was harsh, and started him coughing. Five years had robbed him of his experienced smoker status.

Sasha groaned groggily, stirred by his hacking and sat up slowly, blindly groping for a cig herself.

“Told you to stop snatching my smokes if you can’t handle ‘em old man.” She chastised drowsily.

“Just out of practice Sash. Haven’t had one since the last time we talked.”

It took a moment for the strange voice to register, but when it did, her hand flew under her pillow. Before it came back out, Jason freed a birdarang (wingding?) and sent the glock flying.

“Fuck!”

“Shit, Sash, you pack now? I must’a missed a lot.”

Her eyes darted from her hand, which would be bruised for the next few days, and Jason, who chanced a longer drag from the stolen cigarette and pulled off his hat. This one went down smoothly.

“Jay-bird?” She stuttered as the pieces came together. Even without the shoot of white hair and the scars crisscrossing his face, five years was a lot of growing room.

“Nah. Nah, man. You died.” He leaned over the table, plucked another cig from the pack and offered it to her. She took it and let him light it.

“Didn’t take.”

“Dude, you definitely died. Me and the crew crashed the funeral, had to cause daddy Warbucks wouldn’t let no street rats in. News said you bought it in a skiing accident in the Alps or some shit.”

“I ain’t here for that Sash. I just want some info.”

She dropped the cigarette half smoked into an open beer can, opting to wake-and-bake instead. Jason couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t often you woke up to a ghost chilling in your living room. She took a few hits and offered him the pipe and lighter.

“Another time Sash. I got shit to do.”

“Right, and you need little Sasha to tell you what’s what. But little Sasha wants some info too, Jay-bird. Like where you been for five, and why you look like rough road.”

“I got blown up, and ninja’s in the Middle East brought me back to life and taught me ninja shit. My turn. Anyone strange running jobs in the Haven, or is it all Loco shit?”

“Hold up, ninjas? The fuck man?”

“Sash.” She hesitated, then took another hit from the bowl.

“Okay. Since you been gone, the Hoodz and the Black Masks called a truce to push out the Riddler gang. Falcone’s kid made a comeback, and is trying to take the whole Haven. Masks and Hoodz are gonna push him out too. His boys mostly run the Narrows. Then there’s this new guy my dad is running supplies for. Very strange. Outsider type. Fuckin spooky. He wears a pig mask and steals kids. The Masks are scared he’s gonna bring the Bat down on us. I’m not gonna lie, I kinda hope the Bat does come for him. I only seen him once and he freaked me out. Lucky you dropped in when you did. Dad’s talking about splitting soon. He don’t like Pig-face either.”

Jason listened intently. By the time she’d finished talking, he’d finished his cigarette. Paying attention was hard in that woozy high that came from the sudden influx of nicotine, but he’d gathered what he needed. The League wasn’t moving in Blüdhaven.

“You filled out good Jay-bird. I’d almost believe you were hanging with ninjas.”

Jarred from his thoughts, Jason stood, swiping another cigarette from the pack.

“I’d get out of town if I were you Sash. And out of gang-life.” He paused and scooped up the stylized ski-mask that marked members of the Hoodz. “I’d rather not have to crash your funeral.” She watched him make his way to the window, but said nothing.

With daylight to burn, Jason began his trek back to the bunker, taking a detour by Bibbo’s to acquire the promised delicacies.

He was not prepared for what his triumphant return to the bunker brought him.

Silence hung eerily over the now dark headquarters. The space had been tidied thoroughly, Dick’s discarded clothing organized, folded, and neatly stacked. Pinned to the chair in front of the large Bat Computer doppelgänger with a batarang (wingding?) was a note written in neat, curling scrawl which Jason instantly recognized as belonging to Damian.

“Todd,

In your absence I have determined that your course of action is actually strategically sound. After overcoming the computer’s laughable attempt at security, I have ascertained that there is a criminal element operating in this city which might draw,” the word father was struck through with two neat lines, “Batman, and potentially ruin any attempt at stealth. I believe we must handle the meeting between ourselves and Batman delicately, and on our own terms. Because of this I have determined the best course of action is to deal with this so-called ‘Professor Pyg’ with haste.

Should you return before we have settled matters, and wish to join us on this mission, you may find all the relevant information pertaining to Pyg (alias to one Lazlo Valentin) by pressing the large rectangular key which reads enter. I’m sure Cain and I would benefit from your expertises in these matters.”

Jason hadn’t believed it was possible to convey sarcasm through the written word. Until today.

“Ps. If you are determined to acquire sustenance before returning, I still do not like ketchup. Mushrooms are okay. Cain requests extra fries.

Pps. In keeping with the traditions laid out in your tales of the Batman’s adventures, Cain and I have decided to wear masks. If you do decide to join us, you might not recognize us, but we have agreed not to harm you.

Sincerely,

Damian al’Ghul, Grandson of the Demon, Heir to the Demon’s Head.”

Jason crumpled the note. The Batgirl uniform was gone, as well as a reasonable chunk of the armory. He’d have to move quickly.

-

The decision to pursue and subdue Valentin had been mostly motivated by three things. The first he had laid out in his letter to Todd. The second he had shared with Cain, boredom. The third he would reveal to no one, on pain of death. In the years since he had regained his memory, Todd had recounted every story he knew pertaining to Batman. Those stories had motivated him to come to Gotham and meet his father, leaving behind his mother and grandfather, possibly abandoning his great destiny. Those stories had told him more about his father as a man than his mother or grandfather ever had. They painted Bruce Wayne as a titan among men, a pillar of strength and will, and a paragon of virtue and honor. In all honesty, Damian was intimidated by that man. But he was also inspired. The third reason he had decided to pursue and subdue Valentin was to feel connected with his father.

Locating “Pyg” was a simple enough matter. First he plotted out all of the kidnappings that matched Pyg’s M.O. it would seem that Batman had been keeping an eye on Pyg, because he was the chief suspect in the manufacture and distribution of a drug gangs were using to pacify prostitutes. But he’d overlooked the kidnappings. By mapping those, cross referencing places that stored or manufactured components for the drug, Damian was able to triangulate possible hideouts this Pyg could be using. Of the three possibilities, only one was currently unused, an so Damian had settled on the abandoned theme park, ignoring how horribly cliched it was.

Cain had followed Todd’s instructions and donned the Batgirl uniform, but had decided against layering civilian clothes over it. He couldn’t blame her, with the summer heat stifling as it was. Damian had opted for the League’s stealth uniform which he’d carried across half the world. Then the two had gone at the veritable armory like children in a candy shop. Few of Todd’s stories included Grayson, and those that did made him out to be asinine and annoying. But his selection of toys was impressive by all accounts. Smoke bombs, flash-bangs, teargas, plastic explosives, acetylene torches, inferred flashlights, air powered line launchers, and many of the oddly shaped throwing stars Todd had called “batarangs.” The belts which Damian had crisscrossed his chest like bandoliers were jam packed with more of these tools than Damian had imagined was possible, as well as a first-aid kit and handcuffs.

Once they were outfitted and armed, Damian led them to the car Todd had conned out of the addict. The drive to their location was in silence, both mentally preparing for whatever they might encounter along the way. They passed the location several times, marking potential hiding places, paths of retreat and places that could host an ambush.

Once Damian was satisfied he parked the car a block away and they took to the rooftops to preform reconnaissance from above. The park was dilapidated, derelict, and most likely overflowing with vermin. But for the most part it seemed structurally sound. After brief deliberation, the duo decided they were adequately prepared for whatever they may encounter, and thus began their assault.

There is an old proverb that Damian would often think back on when remembering this first act of vigilantism.

“Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.”

He thought he was ready for anything, but he was wrong.

-

Dick Grayson had apparently undergone a biker phase, which was good for Jason, because Roy’s car was gone. The modified superbike flew through the streets and cut between traffic like a dream. Jason had intended to return everything he’d stolen from Dick, but with every hairpin turn he grew more and more inclined to keep the bike. And maybe the jacket too. It matched the mask he’d swiped from Sash. And it was way too badass for Richard John Grayson.

He’d rushed out of the bunker with a stomach full of rage and fear, blended poorly so an acrid burn stung at the back of his throat. He imagined this was how Bruce must have felt every time he did something reckless. The dynamic dumbasses hadn’t even taken communicators with them.

He briefly wished he’d inventoried his belt before stepping out, but Dick had always been anal about his gear. So had he, now that he though about it. Bruce had drilled him on it relentlessly, having him empty and refill his belt over and over for hours until Jason knew exactly how much of what was in each pouch, and could find anything blindfolded or in the heat of battle. Thinking about it brought back the sharpened calm that came with patrols and missions. It was like the emotions were compressed and pushed back into a compartment on his brain’s utility belt. Not gone, just stored away. He twisted the throttle as far as it would go.

Once upon a time, he’d have cased the joint before getting close. Once upon a time, he’d have come from above, all stealth and shadows, and only dropped in once he had a clear vision of what was happening inside. Today he barreled through a hole in the fence at almost two hundred miles per hour with the engine screaming and fishtailed to a stop as close to the park’s rotting funhouse as he could without transforming himself into a pancake.

Kickstand dropped, and feet pounded against dry rotted wood. Jason had almost made it to the door before his ears registered the sounds of a struggle from within. He cursed his favorite curse as he filled his hand with smoke pellets and prepared to join the fray. With his free hand he pulled the line-launcher and took aim. He was topside in a heartbeat, and could practically hear the cape flutter that would have accompanied the motion in his Robin days. With practiced proficiency he located a skylight and paused to survey the scene from above.

Damian and Cass were surrounded. As if that wasn’t bad enough, their attackers were the aforementioned legion of League foot soldiers Jason had been eager to avoid. They seemed to be holding their own well enough for now, but outside their field of view Shiva was preparing to join the battle. Also moving in were the rest of the Demon’s Fist. Bronze Tiger, Cheshire, Ubu, and Mara al’Ghul. Things were well on their way to getting messy. Jason cursed again. Ubu was the meanest and the ugliest. Also the closest.

“Fuck it. Prison rules.”

He tossed the fistful I’d smoke pellets and dropped in as the cloud spread over the crowd.

Ubu was a hulking brute, and made a piss poor cushion, but he was a big enough target that Jason had no fear of missing. The sound the giant’s head made when Jason’s knee made contact with it was something like a watermelon falling off a truck at fifty, and was nostalgically comedic combined with the guttural grunt he released before flopping onto the floor like a sack of potatoes. But Jason couldn’t say if he laughed or not. All of his attention was on hurling wingdings (wingdings) into the smoke at the predicted positions of his foes. There were more than a few grunts, and a couple of clatters as weapons were dropped from struck hands. But not nearly enough, and the disorientation didn’t last long. This was League tactics, after all, and only slightly modified by Batman. Cass and Damian also got back to business, and everything was chaos once more.

Jason registered a shift in the cloud with barely enough time to dodge, and one of Shiva’s twin swords cut through the haze only millimeters from his chin. It was quickly followed by the other, this time arching towards his chest. Robin loosed a volley of wingdings in rapid succession, but the clash of metal on metal told him how effective that tactic was. Gripping one of the larger tools like a set of knuckle dusters, he advanced.

In his day the birdarangs had focused more on reducing weight than on durability, and it seemed that was still the case. Robin had only redirected a few glancing blows, and he could already feel the thing cracking. The smoke was fading quickly, and he could mostly see Shiva now. Which meant she could see him too. After blocking yet another strike which came way to close to opening his throat Robin stepped back and loosed one of the explosive discs that had been his favorites. Shiva was an expert, and had her swords prepared to swat it aside when it detonated, and the small explosion sent her blades flying.

Pressing the advantage Robin moved in. Hand-to-hand odds not in his favor either. Better than unarmed against swords. No cape to distract or disorient. Fight dirty.

Dodge high, block low. Opening when she kicks high, knock her off her feet.

It was alarming how quickly he fell back into his training. Batman had taught him a lot, and years of street fights had taught him more. Then there was his time playing amnesiac with the League. Jason winning.

Shiva was on her feet again before anything more than her shoulders touched the ground, and at some point she’d regained her swords, but Jason was ready, and before she realized what was happening, he clapped her ears. The pressure of the strike would have been disorienting on its own, but coupled with the detonation of the micro-flash-bangs cupped in Jason’s hands, Shiva crumpled like a rag doll.

The cloud had completely dissolved now, and Jason easily dodged the sai Cheshire flung at him. Of course this put him in excellent position to catch Bronze Tiger’s shin with his whole stomach. Breathless and airborne, he could do nothing about the pinwheel kick Cheshire dropped on his rib cage. The familiar crunch told him that two were cracked before the pain started up.

Jason landed hard, and Cheshire straddled his waist the second he had. Her other sai raised in both hands, prepared to fall into his throat.

“Enough.”

Silence fell in place of the killing blow. Cheshire looks to her left and Jason followed suit.

The few League grunts that remained standing parted as Talia al’Ghul strode across the battle field to Damian, who still held his blade in a ready position with eyes glued to his cousin. She hadn’t lowered her weapons either. The two had been bitter rivals from the day they’d met.

“Mother.” Damian said with all the tenderness of a freezer burned pork chop.

Without another word she dropped to her knees and embraced him.

After a brief awkward silence, she turned his face towards hers.“What is the reason for this foolishness, son?”

Damian freed himself from her grip. “Is it foolish for a boy to seek his father?”

Talia clicked her tongue in the same fashion that Damian was so fond of, and rose to her feet.

“I would have taken you to meet him in time, Damian. When I decided you were ready.”

“Taken me to kill him. Todd told me everything.” Talia turned her gaze to Jason, who waved awkwardly.

“Let him up, Cheshire.” The masked assassin complied quickly, and even gave Jason a hand standing.

“So this was your doing Ibn al Xu’ffasch?”

‘Son of the Bat.’ The name they had given him at the dawn of his second life. Jason pulled off the mask which was apparently doing him no good, and shrugged.

“Tt” Talia turned her attention to Cassandra, who had frozen in place with her baton less than an inch from a grunt’s nose. There was a circle of (probably) unconscious goons at her feet.

“I’d suspected you’d finally had your fill of your mother’s poor treatment and taken the boys hostage.” She turned back to Jason. “When did you regain your memory?”

“Midway through my second year with you all.” Talia nodded as if she’d expected as much, then turned back to Damian.

“I assume that you are serious about meeting your father, yes? Even if I were to drag you back, you’d simply escape again, isn’t that right?”

“Yes mother.” Talia nodded again. Then produced a sealed envelope from within her jumpsuit.

“I expected as much you are at that age where you think you know everything. This letter will explain everything. Deliver it directly to your father, and no one else. Understand?” Damian took the envelope cautiously, as if expecting it to bite him. Once he had it in hand she knelt again, placing her hands on his shoulders tenderly. “I would never send you to kill your father. Nor you Ibn al Xu’ffasch. My father would do no such thing either.”

“But Todd said-“

“Do not misunderstand me, I do not claim Ibn al Xu’ffasch lied. There are those within the League that believe Ras al’Ghul has been too long the Demon’s Head. There are whispers of a coupe. I do not doubt such plans involve removing my beloved from play. I intended to see you in his care soon enough.” She turned to look over the assassins. “We return to Nanda Parbat. None shall further impede these three, by my word, or face my wrath. My will is the Demon’s will.”

The assassins snapped as one into a bow, and set about gathering the wounded. She moved through the crowd to stand in front of Jason and cupped his face, smiling gently.

“Father swore to make no move on Gotham for as long as my beloved draws breath. He made this oath before the whole of the League of Assassins, and forbade any of them to move on Gotham in his name, on pain of death. This was his penance for your death. His sole intent was to return the son he’d taken from my beloved.”

“Uh, okay?”

“I have enjoyed having you in my home Ibn al Xu’ffasch. You have been as a brother to my son, and a son to me. Look after him, Ibn, for he is too much like his father for his own good.”

“If he’s anything like Bruce, I won’t have to.” Talia chuckled, pat his shoulder, and turned to Cassandra, who seemed to materialize at Jason’s side.

“Cassandra, you are welcome to return with us. You have my word that you will have no trouble.” Cass shook her head.

“They die without me.” She said, patting Jason’s shoulder. His jaw dropped, he’d never heard Cass say so much at one time. Talia had never heard her speak period, but to her credit she only cocked an eyebrow.

“Quite.” She said then returned to Damian.

“When all is well once more, I will send for you, my son. Learn what you can from your father. He is a great man.” Damian nodded, and Talia only lingered for a moment before following the last of the assassins out of the building.

The trio stood in silence for a time, until Jason realized they were waiting for him to tell them what to do next.

“Well. That was fun. Who wants soggy chicken and waffles?” Damian narrowed his eyes, but Cass’s hand shot up. “What? So I picked up food. I wasn’t expecting you two to run off for some daring-do and stumble into an obvious trap.” Damian’s eyes narrowed further. “Okay, after we eat we’ll go straight to the Batcave, no detours, no shenanigans, scouts honor.”

Damian rolled his eyes and started for the exit. “I’ll drive.” He stated as Jason and Cass fell in behind him.

“My turn.” Cass retorted.

“Do you even know how?” Damian probed, eyeing her doubtfully.

“You’re mighty talkative today Cass.” Jason quipped. Cassandra replied by sticking her tongue out. He understood her good mood. Their six month misadventure was almost over. As they stepped out into the summer night Jason looked to the sky, and pulled the pair to a stop. From this side of Blüdhaven you could see it clearly enough. For the first time in five years Jason looked up at the Bat-Signal, and pointed it out to the others.

He couldn’t hold back the smile brought on by the wonder he saw in his companion’s faces.

Homeward bound.

-END

Author’s Notes: this chapter is long, and maybe a bit rambling, but mostly because there’s room for two whole multichapter fics in here. Seriously, I was half tempted to start writing a Damian Cass and Jason cross country road trip full of shenanigans and hilarity. For those wondering, this takes place five years after prologue 1. It took me longer than I thought it would to edit, between baking cheesecake, doing some bag work, and feeling out crafting with worbla. That being said, the next prologue will take even longer (unfortunately(?)) because I want to make sure my events make sense and everything is lined up perfectly and ready for the series proper to begin immediately after.

Feel free to comment, complain, keysmash, or just like and reblog. I THRIVE on your reactions.

Till next time!