Chapter Text
Jason Grace did not expect to wake from being dead, fully dead, no resurrection potion, no godly miracle, death, total. He maybe expected to open his eyes to find that he was a translucent version of himself, staring down the retreating back of the impatient Thanatos and the solemn face of an incoming Hermes. He had always thought that was probably how the after life started: death walking away, and your one way only chauffeur coming to pick you up.
Instead, he opens his eyes and sees nothing. He's floating, and he's seeing nothing, but not really, sees the everlasting abyss (except he can't see), shapeless and incomprehensible. It's not a bright white expanse, it's not the impossible darkness, it's nothing. It does not begin, nor end. He can't see because there isn't any light, because there's nothing, so even if he could see nothing, there's no light for him to see it by. And he's floating. He thinks.
"JASON GRACE"
Well, he can hear. His name isn't loud, but it's something suddenly imposed into all this nothing, so it rattles his ear drums anyway. Then, blobs of almost color start blooming in his vision, like when you stare at a light too long, except there is no light, so there is no after image, but there's something, sliding into existence across the nothing and spreading, like spilled ink.
It's messing with his head. Giving him a headache. Making him wonder if he has his glasses on.
"SON OF ZEUS"
The colors slide and bloom into larger blobs, then shapes, then a person, then a goddess. She faces him with a regal expression set into chiseled stone. Instead of empty space over her shoulders, she has two more faces, pointing opposite each other and parallel from the one that watches him. Shoulders and heads and ears and hair blend together. Jason cannot decide if it is all still as a statue, or moving constantly. Her eyes are nothing like everything else is nothing, and the one face looks flat, like a piece of paper with holes cut in it to reveal the table underneath. Yet, everything else about her is three dimensional. 3 heads. 3 faces.
Jason wonders if his voice exists, still. "Hecate." It does. "What is this place?"
"IT IS A CROSSROADS."
Hecate's voice surrounds him. Her mouth does not move, and nothing stares back at him, eternally. Jason wonders if she is the nothing, but he has more important questions to ask.
"A crossroads for what?"
"THE PATH BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH IS A STRAIGHT PATH, ONE WHICH YOU MAY ONLY TRAVEL ONE WAY. LIVING TO DEAD. REINCARNATION STARTS YOU BACK AT THE BEGINNING AT THE BEHEST OF FATE AND DESTINY. THIS IS THE CROSSROADS, A STOP ALONG THAT PATH. MOST CANNOT COME HERE. THE THIRD ROAD IS CLOSED TO THEM."
"What is the third road?"
"UNDEATH."
"Undeath?"
"LIVING AGAIN, FROM DEATH, AS YOU AND ALL YOUR MEMORIES OF LIFE. UNDEATH."
"Like Leo? Has he been here?"
"YES. HE DOES NOT REMEMBER. MOST DO NOT. IT'S LIKE A DREAM: EASY TO FORGET."
"Will I remember?"
"I ONLY KNOW WHAT HAPPENS HERE, NOT AFTER."
"Oh… Why am I here?"
"YOU ARE HER CHAMPION. YOU MUST SAVE THEM."
"Champion? Whose champion?"
"THE QUEEN OF THE GODS. HERA."
"Oh."
"SHE ACCEPTED YOU AS HER SACRIFICE. NOW SHE SENDS YOU SOMEWHERE ELSE. BEYOND YOUR WORLD."
"Accepted? It wasn't for her! It was for my friends! Not for her! Not for any of you! What gives her the right! Another world? This—this wasn't supposed to happen!"
Hecate says nothing. Jason says nothing else.
"YOU ARE HER CHAMPION. YOUR SACRIFICE IS HERS."
Jason says nothing else.
"YOUR DEATH WAS NOBLE, SON OF THE SKY. BUT YOU DID NOT MAKE THE CHOICE OUT OF KINDNESS. YOU LOOKED IN YOURSELF, AND FOUND THAT THE ONLY HEROIC DEED YOU WERE WORTHY OF WAS SELF-SACRIFICE."
Jason wonders if his tears are floating, like he is, or if they are simply turning into nothing. He wonders if he is turning into nothing, or if he already is. Hecate's nothing eyes look through him, and he cannot spot his reflection, even though he thinks he should be able to. He wonders if his tears even exist. Where did his voice go?
"Where am I going?" Ah, there it is.
"A PLACE WHERE THE GODS CANNOT REACH YOU."
"Wait, what?"
"YOU WILL BE ON YOUR OWN, SKY SON. IT IS YOUR CHOICE: TO BE PLAINLY MORTAL OR TO BE A HERO. THEY NEED YOUR HELP, BUT YOU ARE NOT REQUIRED TO GIVE IT. THIS UNDEATH IS YOUR PATH, AND YOURS ALONE."
"Oh."
"I HAVE BLESSED YOUR JOURNEY. HERA HAS BLESSED YOUR JOURNEY. AS HAS YOUR FATHER, THE KING, AND YOUR BROTHER, THE MESSENGER. YOU WILL RECEIVE NO MORE FROM US, AFTER."
Jason is quiet, then, "Why can't I just go back, like Leo?"
"THE SON OF HEPHAESTUS MADE HIS OWN WAY HERE. HE MADE HIS OWN WAY BACK. YOU WERE BROUGHT HERE. THE WAY YOU CAME IS CLOSED TO YOU."
Jason didn't turn around to check, because he didn't think there was an "around" in this place. The thought of losing sight of Hecate stole his breath. If he got lost now, would he wander here forever?
"So the only way is forward?” To death, or undeath?
"YES"
Jason watched the terrible, beautiful stone face of the goddess. He wonders if the other faces are any kinder. He thinks they probably aren't.
"Thank you for your blessings. Tell Hera and the others that I thank them as well."
Hecate says nothing else.
______________
The second time Jason Grace woke up from his death, he opened his eyes to see a tree's branches stretching across a gray, cloud filled sky. When he sat up, he noticed first the gravestones, then the note taped to his chest.
He ignored all of it, layed back down, and closed his eyes. He needed a minute.
______________
Jason Todd was, personally, fucking tired of waking up in Wayne manor. You break one leg, and all of a sudden you can't be trusted to live in your own apartment. He blinked up at the crown molding of his childhood bedroom ceiling, sudden irritation quickly ushering away any lingering sluggishness. He was propped somewhat uncomfortably on his pillows, back mostly vertical but neck craned across fancy pillows 1, 2, 3, and 4. His leg, wrapped up in a cast, was propped on fancy pillow number five. Jason goes to wipe the sleep gunk from his eyes, and smacks himself in the face with the book he was reading before he fell victim to the midday nap. Vigilante situational awareness, his ass.
A rythmic knocking on his door has him groaning and realizing that he probably woke up because someone was walking down the hall.
"Whaddya want?", he says, dropping the book on his lap and rubbing his face.
"Rise and shine, Grumpy!" It was Steph, utterly and painfully cheerful. "We've got live footage of your good pal terrifying monster number 4!"
"Shit, okay," Jason replies. "I'll be down in a sec." He gets a hold of the crutches leaned against the side of the bed and carefully maneuvers his way off of the plush mattress. If he was at his apartment, his cheap mattress would've bounced him out of bed the moment he moved, but the luxurious beds of the manor work more like quicksand-- the more you struggle, the deeper you sink. Jason's convinced it's a conspiracy by Alfred to keep reckless and sleepless vigilantes bed bound.
Finally released from his fluffy prison, Jason leaves his room and starts hobbling down the hallway. The main elevator is nearby, installed even before Babs' accident, ostensibly a way for Brucie Wayne to support businesses implementing proper ADA accommodations, but in reality gets mostly used by vigilantes who've lost stair-capabilities.
Jason bypasses that elevator, though, and instead heads for the one that will take him straight down to the cave. Steph is waiting for him when he enters Bruce's office, grandfather clock already displaced from the wall.
“What's the rundown?", Jason asks.
Stephanie shrugs. "Duke caught the bull man cornering a couple of college kids in an alley. He got the kids out of the situation, but is still stuck. Red Robin and Black Bat are en route.”
"Batman?"
"He had a meet up with whatever Justice League dark members aren't M.I.A, and he's trying to get a message through to Wonder Woman."
"She’s still off world, then?" Jason steps into the elevator after Steph, and presses the down button. "So we don't know if the bull man is a mad science super-monster, or actual Greek Minotaur monster?"
"Pretty much," Steph replies. "We also don't have confirmation for any of the other crazy shit running around."
Jason sighs. Fucking fantastic. He broke a leg fighting the fucking Mintotaur, and it was apparently only one of many monsters that an entire clan of super-genius bats can't figure out how to incapacitate, much less kill. And, it's still mostly up in the air if killing would be like putting down a dangerous animal, or going against Batman's code. Some of the creatures seem to be sentient and capable of language and reasoning, even if not very good reasoning. Others seem to be just mindless animals. Some others still are somewhere in between, like the Minotaur.
The elevator moves silently and smoothly downwards until it stops and the doors swish open. The cool air of the cave hits Jason's face as he enters and heads to the batcomputer, currently being presided over by a haughty Robin and concerned Nightwing, both with gauze taped around their heads and bandages covering different wounds on their arms, legs, and torsos. Those fire breathing cheerleaders had done a number on them.
Steph and he reach the computer, and Jason finds himself a good vantage point to watch the feed. On the screen, the yellow-clad Signal continues to acrobatically dodge a gigantic creature with the top half of a bull and the bottom half of a very hairy man. Signal is clearly injured, red staining his yellow costume. A few smaller boxes around the main picture show things from the perspectives of different bat-body cams, Signal's feed blurring with sporadic movement and also, at times, giving everyone a big closeup of just how ugly the monster is.
"Dickhead, Demon Brat," Jason greets. "How's the show?"
Damian growls at the nickname, but Dick is the one who answers, "Duke's flagging, and all of his hits just bounce off the Minotaur."
"Yeah, I came across the same issue. We got audio?"
"Yeah, but right now it's just breathing and scuffling. I'll turn it on when Red Robin and Black Bat show up."
"Speak of the devil," Jason says, pointing to the screen. On it, two more vigilantes descend from rooftops at different points above the alleyway, Red Robin landing on the Minotaur's hairy shoulders, and Black Bat dropping in to pick up Signal before immediately grappelling back out.
"What's Tim's plan?", Jason asks.
Damian clicks his teeth. "He likely did not get much farther than 'distract'".
Steph flicks an uninjured section of Damian's shoulder. "Shut up, kid. He's also getting a DNA sample."
"Another one?" Dick asks.
Steph nods. "He's just going to keep taking them from different monsters until one gives him something."
Tim launches himself off the wide shoulders of the minotaur using his bow staff like a vaulting pole, just quickly enough to dodge a swipe from a huge, hairy hand. He lands on the roof next to Cass and Duke, gripping a handul of coarse fur.
Just then, the speakers of the batcomputer crackle, and a new voice comes over after the sound. "Heads up, bats, we've got a civilian on the scene." Oracle's voice herald's the appearance of a young man charging into the alley, stopping just past the mouth of it. The minotaur turns around, and O activates the audio remotely, the hovering bats' comms picking up a conversation that's straight up weird.
"Hold on," Steph asks, "does that guy have a sword?"
Jason checks again, and, sure enough, the civilian is holding an ancient style sword. It gleams, even in the grain of Gotham City cameras, and it's clearly gold. He squints, zeroing in on the kids face. The footage isn't the clearest, coming from a random alley cctv that Babs hijacked, and even the bat body cams have a bad view of his face. But Jason could swear that…
Dick turns the volume all the way up.
"Hey, ugly!" The boy calls. Jason registers that they are about to watch someone die, and at the same time comes to the heart stuttering conclusion that he totally know that someone.
But the Minotaur doesn't attack right away. The vigilantes present hang back at the scene, but Jason can see that they are ready to swing the guy out of the way at any second. The thing is, though, is that he wields his weapon with confidence, and properly, with a steady stance and strong grip.
"O," Jason says, "you getting facial on this guy?" Hopefully, she comes up with something that just proves his eyes are going, and not that one of the homeless kids he's been keeping up with for the last few months is in that alley, weilding a sword and taunting a giant fucking greek monster.
"Running it now."
After sniffing the air, the Minotaur lets out a great roar. Then it does it again, this time with words: "Demigod!"
The kid doesn't run, shit his pants, or squeal like a civilian should, though Jason didn't figure he would, based on what he's learned about his personality recently. Instead, he just bares his teeth and snarls, saying, "C'mon, asshole! You scared?"
The Minotaur charges, and the vigilantes whip into action. It doesn't matter, though, because the guy is already launching forward with speed and distance that rivals a super. He has his sword poised to strike. He misses his first hit, and dodges under one of the large, meaty hands of the monster. He's already bringing his sword up a second time, and it sticks firmly into the stomach of the beast. The Minotaur roars in pain this time.
Red Robin's comm crackles. "I don't know if you can see it on the feed, but the wound is bleeding.... glitter?"
"What?" Dick replies.
The Minotaur is swinging another hand for the guy, but he's going up, defying gravity and dragging his sword through the monster's front as he goes. Then, it's not a sword anymore, and is instead a spear tearing through the Minotaur's back. The monster roars one last time and explodes into a cloud of gold dust. The guy bends his knees as he hits the ground, and uses his free hand to help shake gold out of his hair.
"Holy shit," Jason says. Holy shit.
"Black Bat, bring Signal back to base for medical. Red Robin, do not let him leave the alley. O, where are we on information?"
"I've got shots of him around Gotham, going back a few months, but he doesn't have any public records. African American male with potential albinism, combat training, and access to a magical and/or technologically advanced weapon."
"Look into personal records. I'm calling Batman."
Jason gives Dick some room to rush across the batcave, but his eyes stay on the monitor. He doesn't pipe up with his own information on the kid, some part of him holding out hope that it's not him, and the other running through every interaction he's had with him since that day in a different Gotham alley.
Red Robin is dropping down from the rooftops, startling the person of interest. The guy is tense and ready, but he doesn't attack or look like he wants to. He's just on guard. Red Robin puts his hands up and says, "I'm non-hostile. I just want to know who you are."
The guy doesn't untense, but he does lower his spear-that-was-a-sword. There's a pause, then,
"My name is Jason."
Fuck.
_____________
The note taped to Jason's chest reads:
Dear Little Bro,
Sorry that we had to send you somewhere you can't return from, but the Fates want what the Fates want. It's not all bad—Dad had me leave you some gifts hanging around different parts of town, and he super charged your skill set. Hera and Hecate grated you some general protection, too. Me, personally, I made sure your soul didn't explode when you crossed the barrier between worlds (you're welcome). Though, I did include a little present. It's the type of thing that will be useful in the town we sent you to. They can unlock anything.
This will be the last you hear from of a god until you die (again), so make sure you read carefully. This world is getting a taste of greek monsters that aren't actually on its menu, and its your job to clean house. We can't make you, but you have your sword, your powers, and your heroic spirit, so you might as well make the most of it. If you don't, though, the local bat population would handle it eventually, after countless die. So, it's up to you, really.
Be careful. Avoid any water that is green and glowing.
Your Big Bro,
Hermes.
P.S.- check your pocket.
So, Jason's options boiled down to helping this world or watching it burn. And he had to figure out everything else by himself. Great.
The gift from Hermes turned out to be a set of lock picking tools contained in a celestial bronze tin, sort of like a hard-cased nail kit. Jason wondered what sort of place he was in if these were the useful tools he was given. He didn't even know how to pick locks.
The tin wasn't the only tool he woke up with, though. Only a few feet from where he blinked open his eyes to his second life, Jason located the golden gladius Hera had given him a while ago, at the beginning of the Second Giant War. As he walks down the city street with it gripped loosely in his hand, Jason can’t tell if the Mist exists in this place. On one hand, he is getting some weird looks. On the other, the Mist could be making it look like he was holding anything.
Jason had left the graveyard as soon as he built up the courage to actually stand. Now, he was wandering a city, trying to stay near businesses, looking for clues about where he could be. He’s not sure what to make of being in a different world. Is it like a copy of his? Or something completely new? Even though things look about the same, Jason is wary of the unexpected.
Considering that he was stuck here till his tragic second death, he supposes he'll have time to figure it out.
Jason stops walking, letting that idea wash over him. He isn’t in his world. He's somewhere completely new. A new world means he has connections to exactly nobody.
He figured, before, that when he died he'd at least see Nico again, if only from a distance. But in this world there may not even be an Underworld for the son of Hades to visit, much less the Elysian Fields (or the Fields of Asphodel. Or the Fields of Punishment. Jason's here, now. He doesn't know for sure where the judges would've put him. Will he ever?).
But instead of being dead, he's here. Alone.
Jason is roughly shoved to the side by a hurried pedestrian, a short woman with a ballcap squashed onto her head cursing him out as she continues down the sidewalk. He comes back to himself, realizing he's breaking up the flow of sidewalk traffic. Even though the street isn't terribly busy, there's enough bodies that he's the recipient of several vicious stink eyes. He backs away from the middle of the sidewalk and narrowly misses stumbling into someone standing properly at the inside edge of the walkway, quick reflexes the only thing stopping him from bowling over the wrinkled old man or smacking him with his sword. This time, he doesn't get cursed at, but the glare has a flare of outsider hating-bloodlust in it, so Jason quickly slips into the cafe next door.
Once inside, Jason quickly scans the interior and each patron. A middle aged couple with a toddler, eyeing him suspiciously. A group of teens with harsh scowls ignoring him and each other in favor of their phones. A cashier who eyes him up and down with a disgusted sneer. Door to the back of the store, potentially leading to an exit, but that can't be trusted. The door he came from behind him. Shitty lighting coming from what Annabeth calls (called?) Edison lamps and Percy calls (called?) gentrification.
"Ya just gonna stand there?" The cashier says, shocking Jason out of his stupor. He realizes that his chest is moving faster than usual, heart and lungs rocking against his ribcage. The break in silence causes the couple to snap their eyes away from him, focusing on their kid.
"Uh-" Jason coughs, throat scratchy. The last time he said something was in that not-space with Hecate (was that real?). Before that, it was when-
"GO! Remember!"
He tries again. "Uh- sorry. Um."
Well. It's not much, but at least he didn't do something ridiculous like scream at the top of his lungs, which is kinda what he feels like doing.
The cashier raises an eyebrow. She turns around and looks at the chalkboard menu, then gives him a pointed look.
Right. Cafe. Coffee shop. Whatever. Order something. Money?
He pats around his pockets with his free hand and tugs a crinkled, folded ten from the front pocket of his jeans. It's then that he realizes that, yeah. He's in the clothes he died in. There are bloody tears in the fabric along his thighs and shins, and his plain t-shirt has a ragged hole right in the center of his chest. Jason knows that the hole has a partner centered between his shoulder blades.
Jason crumples the slightly bloody bill in a white knuckled grip and starts mechanically forward. Thoughts of holes in chests, new worlds, and gentrification-edison lamps are shoved to a small, fortified corner of his brain.
He reaches the register and thrusts the money towards the cashier. She eyes his tight fist, the dried blood on his clothes, and pops a bored bubble with her gum.
"Just, like. A coke, please," Jason grinds out between chattering teeth. Ma'am, he is roughly 8 seconds away from a total meltdown. Please give him a break.
"At a coffee shop?"
Fuck. "Yes," he scowls.
She snorts judgmentally but shrugs anyway, reaching behind her and opening a small fridge of bottled drinks. Jason chooses to drop the money on the counter as she does so, not wanting to risk accidently brushing her with his skin. A writhing tingle covers his whole body, making his hair stand on end and his hands shake. He doesn't want to shock her.
As she rings him up, he takes in her appearance. A sharply cut bob of black hair with two long face framing pieces on either side. Straight bangs high on her forehead. Too many piercings to count without being weird– well, weirder.
If she were tanner, with closer shaved, curlier hair, and if she had a bow strapped to her back, he'd almost be reminded of Thalia. (He is anyway).
"One coke for the high, bloody kid," she declares, smacking the plastic bottle and his change down in quick succession. "Your change is 8 dollars and 23 cents, since I know you didn't hear me give you your total."
Jason blinks at her dumbly, then takes his coke with a start when she raises her eyebrow again. He mumbles a thanks and fumbles with his sword for a second before he picks up a newspaper from the rack next to the register, then goes to sit down. He finds a spot near the wall, away from family, teens, and cashier, but close by the door.
He sets his coke, change, and newspaper down in a wobbly inverted triangle in front of him. The sword, he lays over his lap, one hand still clinging to the hilt.
The dingy gray and black of the newspaper swims in front of him. For a moment, Jason thinks that he's spontaneously developed dyslexia, maybe due to the "power boost" he's supposedly been given. But no, it's just tears beginning to blur his vision as they well up. They drop onto the paper, and Jason cries harder when they crackle with tiny blue sparks. The electrified tears sink into the newspaper ink, and the bolded title begins to bleed.
GOTHAM GAZETTE.