Max ≠ Shiva (papermonkey) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-11-05 00:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | damian wayne, door: dc comics, lady shiva, red hood |
Who: Jack → Jason, Damian, Shiva
What: "Taking care" of Jason
Where: Gotham
When: Recently, after crazy!Jack crossed the door and became crazy!Jason
Warnings/Rating: Character death
It didn’t take long for Jack to make his way to the hotel, not when he realized he was being followed.
He had only been out doing his work for a short while when he realized someone was near. He wasn’t sure who, but steps seemed to dog him, and hadn’t one of them said something about finding him? It was hard to remember, hard to remember anything but the pain and the blood, and the Valkyrie beside him guiding him toward death. He wasn’t sure how many had fallen by the time he made his way to the hotel, his best chance at escape. He hadn’t kept count. Those he had killed doubled in his mind, tripled, phantom reflections and afterimages distorting the number. Not enough. He regretted the necessity of leaving, but on the other side of the door, he knew, Jason would do the work too. He had faith.
His key was in his pocket where it always was, though his bloody fingers slipped on the keys. Into the lock it went, clicking in a satisfying way. He paused, and he took her hand. He wouldn’t leave without her. He would be alone again. He was living, now, and he’d been dead for so long. She went with him through the door.
Jason didn’t see a woman. There was no one but him in the dark alley on the other side of the door. It should have let him out in the apartment he’d been sharing with Selina, but he didn’t even notice, because he hit the pavement immediately, fingers clawing at his skull to try to wrench the agonizing pain from inside his brain.
It felt like being set on fire. He didn’t know how the man on the other side of the door had stood it, and there was no time to wonder. It burned away anything that wasn’t important, anything that didn’t immediately relate to the Purpose, that one, the one he’d neglected for so long.
As it started to subside to a dull throb, he felt cleaner, better. Doubt had inched in thick and heavy, like a creeping vine, over the past few months. The fire burned it all away, letting something fresh and twisted grow there. People who did wrong, they needed to die. And people who let them do wrong. And people who stood in his way.
He was armed, when he came through the door, which was good. He unclipped his pistol, and flicked back the safety, and pulled his longest knife from its sheath. He moved through the shadows of the city with fast, rough speed. There was little grace in it. He had a purpose, after all, and things not devoted to that purpose had to go.
Jason didn’t have to go far to attract the attention of a small gang. He was in their territory, after all, and though he’d forgotten all about that, it didn’t matter. They remembered. They closed in on him as he darted down another alley, not realizing it was a dead end. There were ten of them, but they didn’t anticipate the ferocity of his first attack, the way he slit the first man’s throat and let the powerful spray cut across his face like a font of holy water.
From around the corner, for blocks around, you could hear the screaming.
Damian got the signal from Steph where Jason’s location might be and he set off running towards one of the city’s slums. For the first time, he was upset there wasn’t time to prepare for this. He usually liked to fly with limited information and whatever fresh gadget he cooked up, but having two of the bat family go completely rabid wasn’t exactly a typical night on patrol. He was worried about his father, who had already killed under the influence of Crane’s drugs. Worried about Selina. Worried he wouldn’t find Todd in time. And, on that note, at least he was right.
The screaming sounded more like an echoing howl from the rooftop he was perched on. “Contact with Hood.” Damian said into his comm and didn’t even bother to count the number of thugs below or try and figure out just how crazy Jason had gone. No, he just shot a grappling line and swung down quickly, feet aiming for Hood so he could knock the wind out of him.
Jason didn’t see Damian coming. He was too busy placing a boot on the chest of the man he’d just buried his knife in up to the help, and shoving him off with a rabid, spitting crack of bone and gristle. Then the feet knocked into his back and sent him rolling, over two of the bodies and into the wall. This window allowed one of the four remaining men his chance to grab for the feet of the swinging boy as he went past. Four men were already dead, five if one included the man Jason had just wrenched his knife from, who was burbling red from his lips and would be done living momentarily.
Jason saw nothing but red. It was nearly impossible to think through the haze, but all his training held true as he pushed himself up to his feet again, kicking the legs out from under the closest thug, who had tried to take advantage of his vulnerable position to put a knife between his eyes. Jason got up, still struggling for breath, black spots moving in his vision, and lashed out wildly.
Gotham thugs were about eight different kinds of stupid. They weren’t smart enough to run when someone like Hood went berserk on their asses and they were dumb enough to fight the one vigilante standing in the way of them and a knife to the throat. Damian knew he wasn’t supposed to enjoy breaking fingers and slamming heads against concrete, but he was doing them a favor. “Play dead, dumbass.” Damian whispered to a barely breathing, passed out thug. A rabid dog like Hood wouldn’t concern himself with someone already on the ground, right.
“Jason.” Damian said loud and sharp like a bird call, but the Hood was already coming towards him. With a quick dodge, he brought his arm down on Jason’s wrist. “It’s me, Damian.” He stepped back a little, knowing he’d probably have to personally knock the Hood off his head, but his father always taught him to try and appeal first. That said, he already had some Nightwing inspired brass knuckles on. If he was going to knock Jason out, he wanted to make it last.
Where had they gone? The thugs were down, and now it was just Jason and a moving black shape. The very world seemed black and white and red, and not nearly enough of the last. Enough blood, it seemed, and he could flood out everything bad, everything wicked, everything that caused pain. It made sense, didn’t it? What else could drive out pain but more of itself?
He didn’t recognize Damian. He heard the name in the way one hears an abstract concept, a word in another language, shorn completely of his meaning. He didn’t take the time to try to understand, or to be familiar. He just dove in with the knife, mouth twisted into a hateful curve, and dug for his stomach. The thugs were gone, but there was still a dark figure standing in his way - as always.
Damian stumbled back. Fighting someone wielding a knife usually involved a lot more dancing than an idiot with a gun or just his fists. Hood was trained well, but he was sloppy, always been too angry to really focus, and Damian decided to take advantage of that. “I’ll be honest. When I was ten I really wanted to steal your mask.” Maybe Hood wasn’t anything more than a crazed monster at this point, which was a good chance to air out dirty laundry. The youngest of the Robins activated the shock function on his brass knuckles and slammed his fist hard into Jason’s gut. “And, if I was going to rank the best Robins? You’d come in third.”
The shock sent Jason into a brief, still paroxysm, and the knife went wild, slashing to the side, toward Damian’s arm. The words had registered only as further provocation, but there was no time to think them through. Just the sharp pain and the burn of the shock, and then he hit the ground hard, limbs still jumping. It didn't keep him down for long, though. The drug in his system blunted the pain and kept his muscle fibers in line when the electricity should have left him paralyzed and vulnerable, and he stumbled back to his feet, unwilling to go down. He still had so much left to do.
It was not Shiva's first time through the door, but she had not done work on her previous visits. She had created a place for herself, a home, a place that was seemingly harmless, where a young Chinese woman would go unnoticed in her kimono and with her almond eyes and long, dark hair. She had created a new name for herself, and reborn she had quietly taken in the land. She knew this was not her world, but she did not question fate. She was here, and here she would remain. The unexpected things made life more interesting, and she did not mind some interest in her life when it suited her.
When the Las Vegas woman ran her through the door this time, Shiva already knew why, and she knew who. She did not speak to the woman in the desert, did not betray herself or make herself vulnerable in this way, but she listened and she watched. She had learned these things in a village across the world, a place very different from this place. She anticipated, as she had always done with a twin long since gone to peace. She waited, and now she was here.
It did not matter much to Shiva what the woman in Las Vegas had intended in crossing this threshold. She made her own decisions, and while she did not always enjoy killing, she also did not fear what must be done. She was loyal to Ra's, but she had her own mind, and this crazed boy was a danger to all, and those dangers must be eliminated. If something could not be predicted, it could not be controlled. She did not need to ask for permission before dealing with him in her own way. She was herself first - creator and destroyer - and she was a hired assassin second. This was not a job for pay, though it would help Ra's in his ultimate goal to bring down the detective. She had, herself, brought Batman down when she was but a girl. He was no great challenge, and he had lived because she had allowed it. She gave, and she took - it was her way - and then it had pleased her to give.
Shiva tracked the one called Red Hood. She kept him close, but she did not move in until the time was precise. She did not favor long-range weapons. If a life was taken, it was right to look into the eyes of the dying as they left this place. She was no coward. She killed close enough to smell the blood when it left the body, to feel the weight of the lives she took. This was her way. She had rules others did not understand, but they mattered to her, and they mattered to the universe, and this was enough.
The fight with the unknown man was watched long enough to determine if the boy - for he was only this, a child - was dangerous. Then, red and black and a katana in her hand, Shiva approached the boy from behind as he found his feet. She remained low, and she crouched like the leopard in the high grasses. This was not a fight. There would be no combat here. This was mercy and need, and she prayed over her blade as she watched the body movements of the man struggling to his feet. She remained low as she came within range, hidden from the younger opponent by Hood's girth, and she waited until his body tensed, prepared to move again against his opponent. The blade did not even hiss as she plunged it deep into his back, and the blade's reddened and glistening tip exited his chest in farewell.
It would be a good death. It would be a quick death. Over the dying one's shoulder, Shiva looked upon the opponent. Only a boy, he had the unmistakable look of his mother to him, and she tipped her head in question. Only this, before she moved enough to look into the eyes of Jason Todd, as she pulled her blade from his body. "You would have lost," she told the boy with Talia's eyes. This, only, did she say.
In the moments before the katana pierced his chest, Jason was sure, filled with rage, and ready to kill. In the moments after, as he looked down at the blood-covered steel protruding from his rib cage, level with his now pierced heart, he was suddenly very young indeed.
He blinked at the sword. His expression changed entirely, just as the woman he didn't recognize, the woman who he distantly knew had been holding the sword, met his gaze. There were a few brief, fuzzy thoughts, as the mixture of the drugs and the shock took him somewhere else. He fell, and his brain fired a few more times - he was in a warehouse, his back against a wall, breathing a few last, choked breaths of copper-stained air before the bomb went off. He was there, and he was here, warm blood pooling under his cooling body, blood soaking his chest. He was tired, very tired, and here and now, he choked out a bubble of blood, eyes on the dark sky.
This time, Jason knew what to expect. He kept his eyes open, waiting. When nothing came, it felt like nothing, and no one saved him, again. Maybe this time, he could stay.
“NO!” Damian screamed once he saw the blade and the woman behind him. He moved forward to grab Jason’s body on the way down, checking life signs even though he was already dead. “How could you be so stupid? I could have neutralized him. I was going to get him a cure!” Damian felt a familiar rage boil inside of him as he shot a look up at Shiva. His allies on the comm had warned him about her and Ra’s, but he thought if he could just find Jason first she’d back off. But, they never followed Gotham rules, did they?
Damian stood up, letting Jason’s body go as he put the brass knuckles away and brought out two blades of his own. “I was trained by my mother Talia al Ghul. I’m the grandson of Ra’s and the son of Batman. I could have defeated Jason Todd, and I sure as hell can kick your ass.” Forget trying to drag Jason’s body back immediately, he really wanted to teach Shiva a lesson in manners first. He stood protectively over Jason’s body like a wolf protecting a stray in his pack. If she wanted his body, she’d have to bring it.
Shiva watched the child's reaction, and she showed no reaction of her own. She was peace and calm with a blade drenched in red, and she had already said her apologies to the young man whose life had left the body that marked the space between herself and the boy. She was, perhaps, not very much older, but they were years apart in many ways. "It does not matter who your people are," she said, with that same infuriating calm. "You make yourself, and you are reacting emotionally. It will not benefit you in a fight, and it will not sway me in an argument. What has been done, has been done. Emotion only clouds truth and the way."
This did not mean she did not react internally to his revelation, but this was not the time to muse on these things. Ra's had not told her this child lived, but she already knew this Ra's was not the one she knew so well. Love, hate, and loyalty were still wound up in him, but she knew him to be different. She did not let her emotions cloud her in this. "You were given a chance. He yet found his feet. You failed." She had promised Ra's the body of the young man on the floor, but she was as fickle as the breeze when she felt it was the way, and she looked down at the shell on the ground.
Then she stepped back. "You may have him," she said. "He deserves to be mourned and tended by someone who cared for him, as you clearly do." She did not give him her back, but she began a retreat, one forward facing and with a modicum of respect for the dead. "If you use the Pit, he will know," she offered. Not a warning, not an encouragement. But a fact. The universe was filled with truths, and this was merely one.
Damian scoffed immaturely, like Shiva had turned down a schoolyard challenge. He wanted a fight, but she obviously was taught the same cool-headed logic his own mother tried to force down his throat. He came into this fight without anger, with the real belief that he could save Jason, and now here he was. Growling over Jason’s body like an animal. “I won’t let you take my family away from me.” Damian said softly, shoulders relaxing (more in defeat than he’d ever admit) as he put his blades away and stepped back to pick up Jason’s body. He was too heavy to carry very far, but away from the middle of the street and Shiva seemed like a good plan.
The pit. He had to get back to the cave and bring Jason back. He’d be mad, probably still a little insane, but Damian couldn’t risk knowing what a real death in the family felt like.