Chapter Text
Foggy, half-there memories were the only thing Jason could remember.
The sight of dirt trapped underneath his fingernails, blood dripping off of them, the hard ground against his body, the feeling of rain plastering his hair to his face. Long, winding hallways were engrained to the back of his mind, the heat of fire underneath his cold hands, the comforting touch of someone , stuck in his head. The cruel flash of teeth, a grim smile, before the impact of a fist hits him, the pain in his knuckles as he fights back, blood splattering against hard floors. Violence is the only thing he reacts to, his retaliation more like a muscle tensing than a conscious thought.
He stands by a glowing pit filled with some sort of liquid, the sickly green color reflecting on the stone floors, the smell burning his nose. His thoughts drift, only vaguely taking in his surroundings with empty eyes. The sight of a man dipping under the acidic water, the large cave around them filled with sounds of bubbling water and the quiet screeching of bats. His thoughts blank out, eyes unseeing until he feels a push.
A strong hand shoves him into the pit, his nerves lighting up as if they were on fire. He flails wildly, the liquid thick and corrosive around him. Stars burst behind his eyelids, his back screaming in pain where it hit the bottom of the pool. A hoarse cry tears out of his throat, his hand desperately trying to claw out the water, reaching for something to grab onto. His head feels clear, thoughts beginning to race with clarity he hasn’t known for months, probably years. He breaks the surface of the pools, desperately gasping and heaving for breath.
“Come with me, now! ”
He whips his head over, looking for the origin of the voice. A tall woman stands at the edge of the pit, a bag slung over her shoulder and a hand outstretched to him. He takes it, hauling himself out of the pit with shaking limbs.
“What’s going on? What’s happening to me? ”
His voice comes out thin and panicked, his back aching as he forces himself to run with the woman. They run through winding tunnels that feel almost familiar, even though he can't remember ever seeing them before. The woman signals to a concealed exit, which led into a small clearing in the woods. The sound of a rushing waterfall can be heard nearby, a cliff right by their feet. He scans her face, now lit up from the moonlight, eyes widening as recognition quickly takes place.
“Talia?! What the hell do you–Where was–!”
She pulls him to a stop, her words brief and hurried.
“There is no time! I did what I thought was right! What I thought you deserved! Do not go find him, Jason . Learn the truth before you do!” She grabs him by the shoulders roughly, her fingers digging in hard enough for him to wince in pain. His back screams at him when he cringes away from her touch, confusion evident on his face.
“The truth? What–?”
Shut cuts him off, pulling in for a brief hug, pressing the bag she carried into his arms, making sure he takes it.
“You remain unavenged.”
Jason stares at her, his expression almost bewildered, when he feels a sudden shove. He opens his mouth to yelp, scream, or even just say something, but his mouth is filled with water as he lands into a pit of liquid for the second time that night.
The past few days have been difficult, to say the least. The bag that Talia handed him before he was pushed into the river contained file after file, all of them proclaiming the same thing; Jason Todd was dead at the hand of the Joker, and yet the Joker still lives. He could feel rage bubbling up inside of him, simmering under his skin, threatening to spill over. Talia’s last words to him echoed around inside of his head, that look of pure anger on her face. You remain unavenged.
He clenches his fist, hard enough to leave red, crescent-shaped indents against his skin. The knowledge that the Joker was still alive, still left to kill, still able to ruin countless lives is stuck in his head, leaving him a near-constant state of rage and resentment. Even now, somehow alive despite dying, he still can’t move on. The Joker had taken everything from him. His life, his family, even his place in Bru--Batman's nightlife. He had taken fucking everything from Jason and was still alive to do it again to countless others. And there was only Batman to blame, somehow letting the Joker walk away from Jason's still-warm corpse.
Hell, he can’t even feel comfortable in his own skin, closing his eyes as a bloodied, dying fifteen-year old and opening them again in the aching body of a seventeen-year old, his very skin feels foreign to him. The Joker even took away the safety of his body.
He runs a tense hand through his hair, grasping the strands. The front of his hair was beginning to grow out white, the color standing out starkly against the rest of his hair. It was like a constant reminder of his revival, a way to ruin him of the security of his own damn hair. He huffs, peeling his eyes away from the newspaper clippings he was reading, reclining back in his chair.
His back hits the chair roughly, and he jumps at the near-blinding pain.
The fuck was that?
He moves a hand to his back, just feeling around until he hits a raised bump. He presses gently at it, hissing when his entire back practically screams in pain. He doubles over, feeling the thing on his back move and flex, almost as if it was a part of him. God, he really hoped it was just a short-term side effect from the pit, not something bigger than that.
It did not go away. And it would not go away, much to Jason’s anger and dismay. Over the next few weeks, no matter where or who he was with, his body absolutely ached. The lumps on his back have grown, a disgusting, thin patch of skin beginning to grow around the new bones forming. A couple times, gradually becoming more and more frequent, he had to leave the teachers Talia provided him with and just lay curled up on the ground, trying not to scream from the agony radiating across his very body.
Today was one of those days. One of those awful, painful days where all he could do was grit his teeth and try not to scream, while he felt his bones shift and move around inside of him. It felt as if someone was taking a spoon to his bones, hollowing them out and crushing them. It was miserable. It was terrifying.
It was if his own body was fighting against him, bending and breaking ever since his agonizing death, and rebirth.
Three months. It took three months for Jason to piece that whatever was happening to his body wouldn’t stop.
The cold air bites at his exposed skin, his hands stuffed in his pocket, the wind whipping his hair around. Talia stands next to him, an expensive coat wrapped around her. His back twinges and throbs with pain, the bandages he wrapped around his chest to confine the..thing on his back making it hard for him to breathe. They step into an inn, making their way to a pre-paid room. He opens the room door, gesturing for her to step inside. She does, turning to him as soon as the door shuts. Talia breaks the silence first, her voice calm.
“Why did you ask to see me, Jason?”
He swallows, a strange sort of anxiety starting to settle in his bones.
“There’s something wrong with me.”
Her eyes widen slightly, before settling back into the neutral expression she wore before.
“What do you mean by that?”
He lets out a breath, unzipping his coat and pulling off his shirt. The bandages stand against his scarred skin, wrapping across his entire chest and against his back. He reaches a hand to the back, unraveling them. She lets out a quiet gasp, a brief look of disgust painting her face.
“What are those?”
He flexes his back slightly, feeling the wings shift and move with him. They’re unseemly things, small growths of bone shooting out of his back, wrapped in a thin layer of skin, the veins visible in the poor lighting. A few small feathers jut out of the parts closest to his back, ruffled and a dark tan color. He snorts, letting out a dry laugh.
“Hell if I know. They started growing a couple months ago, ever since the pit.”
She hesitates almost minutely before touching him on the shoulder, making sure not to touch his back.
“I don’t know either, Jason. I’ll look into it.” She promises, a complicated emotion in her eyes. He nods, a barely-there grateful smile flashing across his face.
“Thanks, Talia.”
He lets out a shaky breath, fingers gripping the table roughly. His back twinges with every moment, the small, grotesque wings he showed Talia a month ago already growing enough to reach the small of his back, almost completely covered in those tan-colored feathers. He has to bind his wings every time he goes out now, the thick fabric sweaty and uncomfortable, making it almost difficult to breathe half the time–but he can't go outside without it.
His eyes scan the words flashing across the computer screen, a feeling of dread starting to settle in his gut.
I don’t know if I can fix it. I’m sorry, Jason.
Even through the screen, he can almost feel the weight of her gaze on him, a protective look on her face. He swallows, the mere action sending short bursts of pain through his body
He slams his fist onto the desk, sending a few pens clattering to the floor.
“FUCK!”
He pushes himself up angrily, nearly doubling over when the rough motion sends white-hot fire coursing through his veins, his back beginning to throb in earnest. He starts pacing the hotel room, his thoughts a near cacophony in his head.
“Fuck.”
He collapses on the bed, wincing when his back hits the hard mattress. A feeling similar to defeat threatens to swallow him, a few tears pooling in the corner of his eyes as he desperately wipes them away.
He can’t do this.
He huffs, forcing himself up, groaning slightly as his bones ache and protest.
He has better things he could be doing than wallowing in his own misery. There was still a revenge to plan.
Talia eyes him appraisingly as he wipes sweat from his brow, the body of his opponent laying limply at their feet.
“Are you sure you’re ready to go?”
A dark look passes over his face, before a threatening grin makes its way on his face. His knuckles are bruised, drops of blood dripping from them.
“Absolutely.”
She sighs softly in response, nodding.
“Alright. I’ll arrange a flight for you.”
The spinning engine of the jet whips his hair, the dim light of the clearing barley illuminating Talia’s face. She presses a bag in his hands, containing several guns and pieces of tech, no doubt. No words are exchanged as she gives him a brief hug, making sure she doesn’t press onto his back too hard. He breaks the silence, words nearly lost with the engine of the plane.
“Thank you.”
She gives him a small smile, stepping away from him.
“Of course.”
He turns away, stepping into the plane. The pilot quickly takes off, blending in with the dark night sky, on course to Gotham.