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darkmindsotome · 5 years ago

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Risque Rouge pt16

Tagging: @umbralaperture @otome-smut-queen @silver-fox-of-azuchi @tsundere-mitsuhide @jennacat84

General warnings for the whole fic: Angst, some fluff, Mental health issues, emotional things, trauma, blood, death and possible triggers. Please read responsibly.

Darkmindsotome Masterlist

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Chapter 16

After returning to the mansion Evie found herself trapped in a battle of wills with her two travelling companions. Napoleon was strongly insisting that she should get the injury looked at before it could get worse and Comte was politely ignoring her as she tried to explain she was always a fast healer so they really didn’t have to worry. She quickly found her protests to be completely powerless against them and it occurred to her that had she been someone else watching this farce play out that she might have thought it was rather funny.

Her argument in her defence would have been a lot more convincing if she was not struggling so much in removing herself from the carriage. Watching her shift uncomfortably, attempting to work out if her injured ankle could hold her as she tried to alight from the transport, caused Napoleon to chuckled as he shook his head. She was just like a troublesome child and he couldn’t seem to leave her alone.

Comte was also watching the rather stubborn girl with a look of amusement that was quickly removed from his face by the swift actions of Napoleon who had swooped in like an eagle wrapping her up in his arms and began carrying her towards the mansion.

“What are you doing? Put me down!” Evie yelped and began squirming as Napoleon carried her.

“Nunuche, just keep still.” His response was short and it was hardly for his benefit as even with her squirming like a fish on a line she was light as a feather in his arms.

The girl settled down apparently his warning had caused her to realise her raised voice and protests could attract an audience. She was blushing, casting her eyes down with a look that fell somewhere between bewilderment and embarrassment. It was enough to make him wonder if this was what having a little sister would be like.

From this close he could make out the dark shadows forming under her eyes, he recognised that look. It was one he had seen himself wearing when he passed every mirror and reflective surface during his reign as Emperor. He felt drawn more to her having seen this glimpse of familiarity. The weight of a crown, a title that was too heavy to bear and yet you had to continue moving forward as if it were nothing more than an illusion.

He crossed the entrance and went straight into the dining room. The only person there was Sebastian who was replacing the tableware. He looked up as they entered, his gaze moving from Comte to quickly fall on the spectacle of Napoleon carrying the girl.

“Mademoiselle Evie! Monsieur Napoleon what?” Sebastian quickly put down the silverware in his hands and approached them.

“Sebastian fetch the medical supplies and Arthur, would you?” Comte requested as he pulled out a chair for Napoleon to place the injured princess on.

“Right away Monsieur le Comte.” Nodding Sebastian noted the tension in the air and felt it more prudent to avoid pressing for further details and left the room.

Freeing himself of his burden Napoleon quickly glanced at Comte who was pouring himself a glass of rouge. He had felt the other man’s eyes in his back as clearly as if they had been daggers. It had been that way ever since they left the street to find the carriage. At some point during the trip home they had relaxed but they were back to being as cold and lethal as any blade.

“Thank you.” Evie felt incredibly stupid right now. She had not planned on being hurt and she certainly didn’t ask to be carried like that.

“You worry too much.” Napoleon smiled and ruffled her hair.

There was a brisk icy chill to the air and she knew it was something to do with Comte. He was angry, she really should apologise to him but she really couldn’t find the power to do so yet. Sebastian appeared with a basket of medical supplies and Arthur in tow.

“Well now I’ve heard they use the term ‘break a leg’ in the theatre my girl but you shouldn’t take it so literally.” Arthur’s jovial tone couldn’t have jarred more harshly with the uncomfortable silence. He had the same playful grin on his face she recalled from the night they met as he strolled into the room.

“It’s not broken I just turned my ankle. Why are you here?” Evie corrected him, her mood colouring her tone and attitude. She had missed breakfast, run out on brunch and she was past the point of having the energy to deal with anyone right now. What she really wanted was to return to her room and be alone.

“Why? I am a doctor after all.” Arthur gave a dramatic bow as he introduced himself.

“Doctor!?” Evie cried out.

Of all the people to get that qualification, she did not think he would be one of the ones to achieve it. She had seen him drunk, lecherous and he was clearly just as bad when sober with his liberal flirtations. He seemed far too carefree and focused on other activities for that to be his chosen career path. She clamped her mouth shut becoming aware that she had left it open and started to feel a little shameful for even having such judgemental ideas towards someone she had only met briefly.

“Arthur is a fully qualified medical practitioner. He has helped patch up all manner of injures during his stay here.” Napoleon interjected. Unlike Comte, who had taken a place at the table, he had decided to remain standing and was leaning against the wall staring out of the window at something in the sky.

“Oh, Napo you do care!” Arthur looked like a delighted child as he gleefully responded. Napoleon broke his gaze with the sky, rolling his eyes before moving to leave the room.

“Sebas, I’ll be back for dinner.” With a swirl of his red-lined cape, Napoleon exited the room. Sebastian gave an informal bow with his head as he still had hold of the basket.

“Well, I must say being able to treat the fine form of a delectable lady far surpasses treating Theo’s little bumps and scrapes.” Arthur spoke watching Napoleon leave before turning to look again at the swollen limb. “Now then would you remove your stockings for me or should you like me to?”

“What!?” There was something terrible that happened around Arthur. It was like he had hold of all the strings and could make her react to the slightest thing with very little provocation. Evie didn’t much care for being made into a puppet but she was also aware how little control she seemed to have against it. Would she have been more suited to this battle if she were a bit more worldly?

“Sir Arthur I understand you might be trying to lighten the mood but your little jokes seem to be having the opposite effect.” Sebastian gave a not so subtle warning as he flicked his eyes towards Comte.

“I will need to remove them in order to examine and treat her properly. It would be rather challenging to do so otherwise.” Arthur didn’t miss a beat or even show signs that anything was of his concern. His carefree attitude had Evie a little envious wishing she could imitate some of that cool detachment right now.

“Genevieve, I understand your concerns and Arthur is doing a fantastic job of adding to them.” Comte gave a pointed stare at the roguish writer from his chair at the table. “But could you remove your stockings please?”

“A-alright.” Evie traced the line of the top of her stockings with her fingers through the tulle of the dress locating the garter clips and then slid her hand under the skirt to release them.

She might have come from a world where an audience watches as others get undressed but there was no stage here and this was no performance. Self-awareness crept over her making her even more self-conscious as she tried to focus on her task.

Sebastian had averted his eyes busying himself with locating a length of bandage in the basket. He was the only one to show that level of courtesy. Arthur hadn’t taken his eyes off her movements since she started. There was a heat to his gaze that easily revealed something of his current thought process. Comte was also watching but his attention was directed more at Arthur than her.

She was grateful for her chaperone but she still couldn’t commit herself to make eye contact with him. Things between them felt stilted and awkward. She wanted nothing more than to lay the insecurities she felt inside her to rest but she also was not sure how to approach the topic again.

Comte could still feel his own blood pumping hard around his system from watching Napoleon’s interactions with Evie. Logic was currently winning in the balance of composure versus a less than elegant display of childish greed, although even he had limits.

He was not so naive to say he had no idea as to what he was feeling. This pent-up aggression that surfaced when someone was too close to her. How she recoiled from his touch and allowed others to handle her freely. He knew it as jealousy and he also knew how it could spell the end of everything in a relationship if it was allowed to manifest.

“Righty - ho let’s get this little tumble patched up then shall we? Don’t worry I’ll be sure to warm my hands first. Or would you prefer to help warm them for me, little dove?” Arthur teased taking great delight in the shade of pink that Evie had developed in her embarrassment.

“Arthur” Comte issued a warning in what was as close to a final proclamation as Arthur ever dared venture.

“Right right, as you command Daddy dearest.” Arthur busied himself with the injury. Compressing the swelling ankle and foot with a bandage in a completely professional manner that seemed to shock his patient.

Arthur had thought the night he discovered her in the hallway that she was rather entertaining. His first idea of her being a pure thing was not completely untrue. She had knowledge, that was obvious, so she was not completely ignorant of the world but the way she interacted with it felt intriguing. She had moments of being delightfully bold and then incredibly adorable in her introverted state. His smile didn’t leave him as he imagined her to be something of a female version of Newt.

The procedure continued on quickly in a rather uncomfortable silence. She thanked Arthur and did as he requested, removing both shoes so she could return to her room barefoot in safety. Her eyes flitted to the man sitting at the table, a glass of what looked like rich red wine in front of him. When their eyes met for the first time since returning, she felt her pulse race and was overcome with a desire to flee.

Comte watched as she fled the dining room. She was not as fast as she had been in making her exit from the café, he could have easily stopped her. Sebastian and Arthur both shared a look of confusion between them.

His eyes fell on the glass of Rouge he had poured for himself. The thick rich red that sat still enough to be a scrying pool. The only image it reflected to him was that of the retreating girl, he picked up the glass and drained it completely in the hopes of removing the painful illusion.

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A small chateau emerged after the carriage exited the tunnel of flowering cherry trees. The pale stone of the building had swatches of mature ivy and other climbing foliage latched on to it. Its dark grey roof was in direct contrast to the fine almost white gravel that created a pathway to its doors.

Latour made adjustments to his suit and straightened the tie he hated so much. Everything had to be perfect, where one plan failed this one couldn’t. In order to achieve that certain requirements had to be met and this was one of those moments where he had to laugh at how easy it was to manipulate cattle.

There were fundamentally very few categories that moved the pieces on the board in a way that both fulfilled his wishes and also had the pawns believing every move was their own choice. This was where the elements of his past were more of a help than a hindrance. It was not a new game, it had been played out by nearly everyone since the dawn of envy and he was a master at it.

He was greeted by a member of the household staff and shown to one of the reception rooms where he was encouraged to take a seat. Family portraits filled the spaces between sconces, the tiled floor was partly covered by a large thick decorative rug at its centre. The high ceiling added to the feeling of openness in the room. Pale-yellow walls glowed like satin against the afternoon sunshine thanks to two large windows that flanked a set of large open doors leading out to a garden that would rival the Palace of Versailles.

There was just enough furniture in the room for it to feel comfortable without overcrowding, every piece by the latest design made to order from the finest catalogues. It was a display of subtle opulence that would be considered modest by the usual crowd of people that formulated circles around his host but it did nothing but generate bile in him.

Cattle breeding cattle, trading cattle for titles and money. Somehow, he managed to maintain his poker face as the staff filtered in and out of the room adding far too much refreshment to the low table in the centre of the circular seating for it to nourish a mere party of two.

As the room fell silent a man dressed in an olive-green suit appeared from the doors to the garden. His warm smile blended with the caramel brown of his hair. He gave the impression of a very affluent and approachable gentleman. His eyes, however, were sharp and belayed the idea that he should be easily taken for a fool.

“Well, now you must be the man who I have heard so many great things about. Welcome to my home Monsieur?” The gentleman spoke clearly as he held out his hand in greeting.

Latour was a quick study and was adjusting his own strategy according to his observations, raising from the settee to formally greet the man. A handshake was an easy to overlook and make or break detail in this subtle art. Too weak and he risked leaving the impression of lacking conviction, too strong and he would be seen as someone unable to negotiate with.

The trick lay in allowing the host to close their hand first and then mirroring the strength of their grip. Depending on the nature of the target you adjusted accordingly to either match their grip or appear a fraction weaker, thus giving the impression you are either equals or one that they could control.

“Latour. It is an honour to be allowed to see such a fine residence. I was very happy to receive your invitation Vicomte. Although I would be lying if I were to say I was not surprised that you should have heard of me.” Latour displayed all the actions of an honest and modest man. I was a perfect play that brought the right amount of flattery to the table causing the Vicomte’s body to relax.

“Nonscience. It is always a pleasure to be approached on behalf of such a worthy cause. Your benefactor spoke very highly of you at our last meeting. Please don’t stand on ceremony, sit.”

The Vicomte took his seat opposite and cast his eyes over the fine spread of amuse-bouche that was arranged on the table like finely crafted jewels. Latour could practically see the man’s mouth-watering at the sight as he replaced himself back on the settee.

“Merci. The pleasure is all mine Vicomte I really must thank you once more for allowing me to talk with you. Although news of your acts of philanthropy have left me feeling rather unworthy of such an audience.” Latour’s words of increased modesty moved the other man towards a desire to bolster Latour and his fictitious good deeds. It was another calculated move by a master in how to befriend someone quickly.

“Not at all my dear fellow I was very interested in your cause the minute I heard about it. Naturally, even in these enlightened times, there are always concerns for the weak and vulnerable. There really are far too many poor houses and not nearly enough safe havens for those upon release.”

Whether the Vicomte realised it or not he had just revealed enough valuable information to be vulnerable. Latour was aware of the news surrounding the man about how he supported charities that gave the impression of the balance of wealth supporting the less-affluent masses.

He could also smell the cheap scent and aftermath of daytime dalliances that removed the Vicomte’s saintly public halo. Cattle will be cattle. It mattered very little how far you travelled up the social scale you would always find signs of sinful temptation somewhere. Latour made a mental note of this information should he have need of it at a later date and pressed on with the meeting.

“You are indeed as open-minded and as kind as I have been led to believe. Indeed, a man that founded a refuge for women and sponsors so many dear sweet orphans could not be anything other than that.” Latour began the next phase of the game by fawning in convincing adoration of his host. It was a performance that worked like a charm every time.

“You flatter me too much. I am but a man who chooses to use my privilege in a manner that benefits others.” The aristocrat waved his hand dismissively.

“If I flatter you Vicomte it is only because you are so modest as to belittle your acts of charity seeking neither fame nor fortune from them.” Latour pressed on with his act of falsehood.

The sharpness of the gaze from the man before him had softened in the same way his mannerisms had become more relaxed. In a game of power and strength of will, it is a crafted balance of wit and experience that wins overall. Latour inwardly laughed at how easy these little games of influence played out in his favour.

“Well, then shall we get down to business? What exactly would you be requiring in order to turn this venture into reality?” The Vicomte selected a particularly gelatinous looking treat from the table and elegantly sliced into it with a silver fork. It slipped over his parted lips giving Latour a glimpse at his host's neck. The bob of their Adam’s apple as they hummed in delight and swallowed the sweet only added to the display that could easily unlock the hunger of the vampiric guest.

“Capitol. It is a sad and sordid detail but we cannot begin to even build one stone on the foundations without a massive injection of money.”

Not to be outdone by such a show of temptation Latour plucked a small cone-shaped pastry from the tiered cake stand and pushed it with a rather sinful action into his own mouth. He didn’t miss the way the other man’s eyes seemed to follow the cream-filled sweet with unbridled jealousy. Latour allowed a small smile to form on his lips that in turn saw the other man avert his gaze as he licked his lips unconsciously.

“I agree with you. It is such a sorry fate where many a good idea and man has fallen. Most of my funds are sadly tied up in other ventures at present. I can release a sum but it would not meet the demands in the long term.” The Vicomte adjusted himself in his seat the rest of his jewel-like jelly apparently forgotten.

Latour watched realising the gambit the Vicomte was probably hoping for. Among the many stories of the man’s good deeds, there were also multiple dark and suggestive rumours as to a hidden side. Most of these had involved members of the fairer sex and how he chose to reclaim debts owed. Latour was willing to bet that the way the man was practically salivating over him before meant he was not averse to the prospect of companionship no matter what the gender.

It hardly mattered to him. During his service to his Masque master, when he was a human, he had seen all and taken part in his fair share of forbidden temptations. What he was looking at was not so much a man who was denying his own desires but one lamenting his lack of leverage to force them into becoming reality.

If Vicomte couldn’t fund the project himself then he had to split the difference and share. Regardless of the charitable public persona, he was more the type to prefer holding the complete ownership of a debt owed. It made it so much easier when negotiating repayment on his own sordid terms.

“Naturally your grace I was not going to suggest—” Latour played the part of a humble man well. His voice took on the tone of grovelling without him even leaving his chair to prostrate himself at the other man’s feet.

This was his gamble. If the groundwork had a solid enough foundation it was little more than a nudge in his favour. If it wasn’t then his efforts would be for nothing and he should have to look for another source that could further his plan. Latour’s words were cut off before he could finish thanking the Vicomte for his time and excusing himself from the residence.

“I can certainly still help you in obtaining other sponsors who would though. My suggestion is that you allow me to host a fundraiser. I shall invite all my acquaintances and dear friends. That should provide adequate advertisement for your cause wouldn’t you say so?” The bait was taken. His suggestion was a power-play showing how unwilling he was to let Latour leave empty-handed.

“Vicomte… it is far more than I ever dreamed possible. I would humbly accept your offer and be forever in your debt.” Latour lowered his head in a bow hiding his wolfish grin.

“Come now there is no need for such declarations I am after all only suggesting hosting a small party. I look forward to working with you on this Monsieur Latour, I shall be more than happy to contact your benefactor and inform them of what I hope to be the first of many successful endeavours.” The Vicomte laughed happy to see that his suggestion would at least mean there was a chance for future meetings with each other.

It was a long game for the nobleman, if he couldn't hold a monetary value over someone he would hold a favour instead. Sadly for the Vicomte, it was a move that Latour knew would never work in his favour. One of them was far too good at playing these games for the other to really ever get what they desired.

“I am sure Monsieur Daga would appreciate that very much. I look forward to our little venture also Vicomte.” Latour stood this time and bowed. It was time to make his exit from the stage.

In the carriage ride back into the city quarter, he closed his eyes and thought of an old adage.

“It really is true you catch more flies with honey.”

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mizmahlia · 6 years ago

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Angst Prompt: You Broke Me

Taken from this list here.

This was inspired by yet another play-through of Batman Arkham Knight. During the scene where Batman’s being hauled off to Arkham to confront Scarecrow, Alfred tells Bruce he’s being tracked through the city. Bruce insinuates that Jason is the one tracking him, and my brain went “WHAT IF JASON TRIED TO STOP THAT TRUCK TO TRY AND FOIL SCARECROW’S PLAN BECAUSE HE HAD A CHANGE OF HEART?”

And, well, now we have 4.4k words of angsty Jason Todd fic.

Spoilers for Batman Arkham Knight

I borrowed a few lines of dialog from the game, as I wanted to fix the ending. Because of reasons.

Warnings: Mentions of torture, some swearing, Jason does shoot some people, and there are some mental health issues depicted.

Jason ripped his helmet open and leaned against the fire escape, trying to catch his breath. The sensor on the building where Scarecrow demanded Batman turn himself over was tripped five minutes ago and he'd sprinted over the rooftops from halfway across Bristol. He knew he didn't have much time until the truck left, taking Batman to Arkham for his unmasking, but he knew he had to try to stop it.

He hoped Bruce noticed the red Bat symbol hastily painted on the building when he'd gone in. He climbed down the fire escape and crept across the street to a deserted SUV that somehow hadn't been vandalized yet, breaking the driver's side window. He got in, hot-wired the engine and brought up his gauntlet screen to check the GPS tracker. At the same time, he tapped into the audio feed from the back of the truck. He was already listening to the audio feed from Bruce's cowl and had been most of the night.

The red dot on the screen began to move and Jason put the SUV in gear and pulled out into the street after it. He heard Alfred tell Bruce the truck's movements were being tracked. Well, that was quick. What no one knew was that Jason installed the tracking device and microphone to make sure Scarecrow didn't double-cross him. He'd wanted his chance to end Bruce, after Scarecrow had his fun. But after their confrontation at the mall, Jason's mission objectives changed drastically and it went from being an assassination mission to a rescue op. Oh, the irony. So between the hacked comm feed and the microphones in the truck, he could hear both sides of the conversation. He rolled his eyes when Bruce replied. "I knew he would." He stomped his foot to the floor and took off after the truck, chasing it out of Kingston and over Mercy Bridge. He knew the fear toxin levels in the back of the truck were rising rapidly. He listened as Scarecrow taunted Batman, telling him the nightmare was almost over and his failure was almost complete. Jason's gut rolled at the thought he'd helped orchestrate this. He knew he had a lot of shit to work out now, but he couldn't allow Scarecrow to finish their plan. Not after what happened earlier. Not after he'd seen the look on Bruce's face. You can't fake that kind of shock, not even if you're Batman. He raced over the bridge and through the side streets of Bleake Island, the truck only a few blocks ahead of him. He just needed to stop the truck before it crossed onto the bridge to Arkham Island; if it reached the bridge, there was no cover and no way to get Batman hidden long enough for the fear toxin to work its way out of his system. As he rounded a corner, he spotted the truck at the next block. He needed to nudge the bumper with the SUV to force it off the road. He grit his teeth and gunned it through the intersection, ignoring the blaring horn from a car that had the right of way. The car clipped the rear passenger side of the SUV, sending him careening off course. "Fuck!" The SUV fishtailed as he tried to keep it from sideswiping a burned-out garbage truck. He cranked the wheel and caught up to the truck. "Brace yourself, Bruce," he muttered. Jason mashed his palm against the horn before colliding with the rear bumper, watching as the truck swerved and hit the curb, rolling into a vacant lot before coming to rest on its roof. He parked the SUV behind an empty school bus and climbed out, staying low and in the shadows as he crept toward the truck. In his ear piece, he heard Bruce groan, apparently still in the back of the truck in range of the microphone. "Mother, don't go. Please.." Jason froze and flattened himself against the side of a building, guilt and panic and fear churning in his stomach. He sank to his knees and clawed at his helmet, gulping in the cold night air when it opened. Bruce was reliving the night his parents died. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to pull himself together. It had only been a few hours since their confrontation, since he'd learned Bruce actually believed the Joker had murdered him almost three years ago. Hours since he realized every single reason he had for planning this entire op was bullshit; that the Joker and Harley had beaten him and scrambled his brain until he honestly believed Batman would give up on Robin. That Bruce would give up on him. He scrubbed his hands over his face and choked back a sob when he realized how thoroughly fucked up this all was. He was furious with Batman for seemingly abandoning him, for letting this happen and replacing him. He'd been through absolute hell- the beatings from the Joker, the meds Harley forced down his throat, the days and weeks of isolation. While most of it blurred together, he remembered the day he broke with absolute clarity. The exact moment he knew he was never going to go home, when he wished they would just kill him. It was the day the Joker showed him the photo of Batman and Robin. A Robin that wasn't him. He felt sick all over again at the memory and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. When he was sure he wasn't going to vomit he sat back against the building. He was shaking. The Joker did terrible and sadistic things to him just to spite Batman, because he wanted Batman's attention. And after everything Joker did, no matter how horrific, Batman never did what was necessary to stop him. It was a vicious circle of murder, terror and nightmare-inducing behaviour that Jason got caught in the middle of and had paid the price for. But then Bruce had seen his face and he'd been genuinely surprised. That's when the small glimmer of hope, hope that Bruce hadn't really forgotten about him after all, took hold and royally screwed everything up. Anger replaced the fear and the panic and Jason laughed, and it sounded so, so wrong. Suffice to say his mental and physical well-being were treading on some pretty thin fucking ice at the moment. A groan from the overturned truck drew his attention and he turned, leaning around the corner. The driver pulled himself from the cab and crawled toward the back of the truck. One of his legs was clearly broken. Jason took several deep breaths to ground himself and he stood up, drawing his sidearm and securing the helmet in place once again. He stalked around the corner and stopped in front of the driver, cocking his head to the side. The driver looked up at him, relieved at the sight of the Arkham Knight standing in front of him. "Sir. We got run off the road, I didn't see who it was." He pulled himself into a sitting position and looked up at Jason, the grimace when he jostled his leg replaced by a confused frown. "We heard you split after your fight with the Bat- you okay?" Jason flicked the safety off his gun. No, I'm definitely not fucking okay. "I'm fine. Change of plans. I'm personally escorting Batman to the Asylum." The driver nodded and leaned against the side of the truck. "You sound so different without the voice modulator. So young." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting the last one and tossing the empty pack back toward the cab. "The guy in the cab is out cold and my leg's broke. Wish I could help you get the bastard to Arkham." The memory of Batman standing over him earlier, offering to help him, saying they could fix this, flashed through his mind and Jason flinched. "Your help won't be necessary." He fired a round into the driver's chest and he went still, the cigarette dropping to the asphalt next to him. Jason knelt behind the truck and pried the door open, revealing a semi-conscious Batman. He holstered the gun and reached in, dragging Batman out and clear of the truck. Jason knelt next to him and studied him. The suit was in tatters; in addition to the bullet he'd fired into Batman's abdomen hours ago that appeared to still be lodged there, there was now a new hole in the right side of the Bat symbol on his chest. The armor plating was scratched and filthy. The cowl was scuffed and dented, and Bruce’s nose was definitely broken underneath it. He had some nasty bruising forming along his jaw. The cape had holes in it and his gloves were coated in grime and blood. All to try and save a city that tried to kill him on a nightly basis. "You look like hell, B," Jason said quietly. "You just don't know when to quit." At the sound of his voice, Bruce's eyes opened and he looked up at Jason. His pupils were dilated, the blue of his irises almost non-existent; he was still deeply under the influence of the fear toxin. Before he realized what he was doing, Jason released the catch on his helmet and opened it again, allowing Bruce to see his face. His eyes widened and he reached a hand toward Jason. "It can't be..." "Yeah, it can be." Jason sighed and his chin dropped to his chest. "We've gotta get out of here; Scarecrow's going to realize the truck isn't on schedule. C'mon." He tugged on Bruce's arm to get him to stand, but he remained on his hands and knees. "You can't be him. I watched Joker shoot him." Bruce's voice went eerily quiet. "I watched Jason die." "I wish I had," Jason muttered. "But we don't have time for this." Bruce backed away from Jason and shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. "No. I failed him. I need to find him. He was right here the whole time and I..." His eyes darted frantically around the empty lot, no doubt searching for the car. "I need to tell him that I didn't know." His eyes met Jason's and the despair in them made Jason shiver. "I searched that asylum for weeks. How could I not have known he was there?" Jason bit his lip and closed the front of the helmet again before he lost control of his emotions. He's afraid he failed me? He heard the rumble of a large truck down the street. "We need to leave. Now." He pulled Bruce to his feet and led him toward the back of the lot, away from the street. There was a mechanic's garage the next block over that probably had a vehicle they could use to get Bruce back to the cave. As they walked, he looked back over his shoulder at Bruce. He was completely lost in his own head and unaware he was being led through Gotham by the man who'd helped orchestrate everything he'd been through. But considering he was allowing himself to be led around meant he didn't believe himself to be in any danger. Something no one (apart from Superman) could do was force Bruce to follow someone he didn't trust. Jason wanted to cry at the irony. He picked the lock on the door of the garage and pushed Bruce through before closing and locking it behind them. He steered Bruce toward a chair and he sat the moment the backs of his knees hit the seat. "Hang tight while I find us a ride." Jason started rifling through the rack of keys hanging above the counter, momentarily forgetting about Bruce until he started talking again. He froze and dropped the set of keys he was holding. "I'm still in control, Joker. You won't get the upper hand." Jason turned and leaned against the counter, his hands gripping the edge tightly. "What did you just say?" Bruce looked up at him and Jason swore his eyes were a neon shade of green. He backed away from Bruce, knocking over a canister of rusted bolts. The sound echoed loudly throughout the shop and Jason flinched at the noise. Bruce was looking right through him and spoke to whoever it was he saw. "You won't break me, Joker. You can't." Bruce looked down at the floor for a moment before glancing up at Jason. His gaze was still vacant, his mind was long gone at the moment, but at least his eyes were back to blue. "I'm already broken." Jason picked the keys up off the floor and glanced out the window, using the key fob to find the Chevy they would use to get Bruce back to Alfred. It was parked just across the lot from the door and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Come on, Batman. We need to get you back to your butler." He turned back to find Bruce watching him. And he was lucid. "He'd love to see you, you know." Jason crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. Despite Bruce not being able to see his face, his focused his gaze on the floor anyway, too embarrassed and ashamed to look him in the eye. "I highly doubt that, after everything that's happened tonight." Bruce stood, carefully making his way toward Jason. He stopped several feet away. "We all thought you were..." he trailed off for a moment, clearing his throat. "I meant what I said, earlier." It's not too late. We can fix this... Together. Jason felt the anger rising again. "Not that simple. You have no idea what he did to me." The look on Bruce's face said otherwise. Jason narrowed his eyes, forgetting Bruce couldn't see it. "Based on what I saw in the video he sent me, I have an idea." Jason shook his head and turned toward a sedan with its tires missing. He punched the trunk, leaving a considerable dent. To hell with being quiet any longer. "That was five minutes, Bruce. He had me down there for OVER A YEAR!" Bruce, to his credit, said nothing. "You have no idea what they did to me," Jason continued, trying to keep from getting hysterical. "I held out for six months before I gave anything up. Six months! And do you know why I finally gave up, after everything they put me through?" He retrieved a photograph from his back pocket and flipped it at Bruce. He reached for it and turned it over, his face growing even paler. "Yeah. I found out I was replaced. So it turns out you deserve all the credit for this one, Batman," Jason said, his tone pure venom. "You broke me. Not the Joker, not Harley. Not the guards who took turns beating me. It was you." "I'm sorry about all of this, Jason. But you need to know there's more to it than that. Consider the source. Please." Bruce put the photograph on the chair behind him. "You know what the Joker was capable of." "I certainly do now." Bruce sighed deeply and his hand went to the wound on his abdomen when the muscles tensed painfully. He looked much older and wearier after the events of the night. He sat down again and reached for the medical pouch on his belt, before remembering he'd removed it. Jason reached into his own belt and fished out a small bottle of pills, tossing it to him. "Here. It's hydrocodone. Should take the edge off." Bruce nodded and took three of them. Before he could speak, half a dozen members of the militia stormed through the door. "Sir? You found him! We're here to bring Batman to the asylum. Scarecrow is waiting." Bruce looked at Jason and gave a subtle nod, a look of determination back on his face. I'll do it for you, if that's what it takes. Jason turned toward his men. "Get him there in one piece, or you'll all wind up like the driver. Are we clear?" "Sir, yes sir." "And don't tell Scarecrow I had to round him up. He's got enough to worry about." Bruce stepped in behind several of the militia and headed toward the door. He glanced behind him before he stepped outside in time to see Jason nod once. You won't have to. I'll get there.

Based on the radio chatter he was listening to, Scarecrow had indeed changed the plan. The militia were now under strict orders not to let the Arkham Knight anywhere near the Asylum. Their orders were to shoot him on sight and shoot to kill. It didn't bother Jason in the slightest. Considering the one man who'd been kicking their asses all over Gotham that night was the one who originally trained him in the art of covert ops?

He'd take those odds any day of the week. But one thing he wasn't ready for was how he'd feel being back on that godforsaken island and staring at the Intensive Treatment building. It wasn't even where he was headed; Scarecrow was set up in the mansion to the east, but in making his way past armed guards and sentry guns, he had to go the long way around Intensive Treatment to get there.

He barely made it to cover behind an overgrown hedge of ivy before he was throwing up, once again feeling the sting of the cold water they poured over his face and the phantom pains of a crowbar, and hearing the sizzle of a branding iron as it was held to his cheek. Strangely enough, it was Robin's voice in his ear piece when he spoke to Batman that brought him back to the present. He forced himself to focus as Scarecrow and Batman started talking. He shook his head and climbed to his feet when Scarecrow bragged about robbing Gotham of hope. He'd been robbed of that, too, once. There was no way he could let Gotham be robbed of whatever hope it had left after tonight. He was only a few hundred yards from the mansion and there were five men between him and the front door. Jason changed the display in his helmet to night-vision and quietly assembled his sniper rifle, taking position on his belly. On his next exhale, the man closest to him went down, followed by his partner ten yards to the right. And when the other three came to investigate he hit them with a smoke grenade before coming up behind them, choking them out. As he was dragging them into the bushes, he heard Commissioner Gordon and Scarecrow arguing, followed by a gunshot he heard both through the ear piece and through a broken window of the main entrance hall of the mansion. Jason froze. Gordon and Bruce were talking now and neither of them sounded like they were in pain, which means Scarecrow likely just shot Robin. Something in Jason broke loose, something he hadn't felt in a long time. An urge to protect someone. He knew full well Tim Drake could hold his own in a fight and he'd tested that himself on several occasions. But the fact a Robin was just shot so someone could prove a point? He didn't care who it was- the son of a bitch would pay for that. Jason sprinted toward the mansion, taking the steps two a time and running a thermal scan of the entrance hall. There were only four people on the screen: Gordon, Bruce, Tim and Scarecrow. He was about the kick the door in when he heard Scarecrow's voice, full of surprise and amusement. "Wayne? Bruce Wayne?" He was too late; he hadn't made it in time to stop Scarecrow from broadcasting Batman's identity to the world. Had he not panicked when he'd seen the Intensive Treatment building, maybe... With an anguished groan, he slid down the door and buried his head in his hands. But he heard Bruce's voice in his head, from when he was much younger and worrying too much about things outside of his control. What-if's don't help people, Jay-lad. Focus on what you can control. He opened his eyes and stared at the Intensive Treatment building, resolve replacing the panic. He could still stop this- he could still stop Scarecrow from killing Bruce, Tim or Commissioner Gordon. Jason stood and brought up an old floor plan of the building in his HUD as Scarecrow continued talking. "Now the world can see you for what you truly are. A legend laid bare. Powerless. Human. Afraid." He heard Bruce moan in pain after the telltale hiss of Scarecrow's injection delivery system pumped him full of the liquid fear toxin. He had to get in there as soon as possible if he was going to get them out alive. But he couldn't barge in the front door and risk Scarecrow shooting any of them just because he could. There was an old service entrance to the kitchen around back that he could use to gain entrance. He made his way around back through a maze of tangled shrubs, broken shutters and fallen bricks, listening to Scarecrow drone on to his live audience about fear and how necessary it is, and how useless Batman was now that he'd been unmasked. No wonder he'd been so insistent on killing Batman before their plan really got off the ground- the man talked constantly. Jason broke the lock on the door and carefully made his way in, listening as Scarecrow continued taunting Bruce, this time about his friends being hunted down and killed for his actions as Batman. It wasn't Bruce's reply that made his blood run cold, but the laughter that followed it. That cackle, the way it made his skin crawl and the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It sounded just like the Joker. Jason rushed to the sink and retched, the sound of that laughter too much to bear. His heart pounding in his ears muffled the sound of Bruce being injected with another dose of toxin. He struggled to breathe normally, growing lightheaded as he began to hyperventilate. He could hear Scarecrow getting angry that Bruce wasn't playing along anymore and Jason knew he didn't have much time left to intervene. He turned and studied the floor plan, following the maze-like hallways until they opened up into the rear of the main entrance hall. He stuck to the shadows and made his way toward the light thrown off by the bank of television monitors mounted against the eastern wall. Bruce was strapped to a gurney that was tilted upright, Gordon knelt on the floor next to an unconscious Robin, and Scarecrow was grandstanding in front of a lone camera. Jason watched in horror as Scarecrow turned from the camera and injected Bruce a third time. He chambered a round in his rifle and lined up his shot, but hesitated when he heard Bruce speak. "I'm not afraid, Crane." Scarecrow stepped back as if he'd been slapped, drawing a gun from his waistband and holding the barrel against Bruce's forehead. Now or never, Jason. Show him you're still here. Jason shouldered the rifle and looked down the scope, the laser sight landing on the gun in Scarecrow's left hand. One shot sent the gun flying. The second shot broke the restraint holding Bruce's arm. Bruce grabbed Scarecrow's wrist as he was going to inject him again, wrenching it around and forcing the maximum dose into Scarecrow's chest. "What's wrong? Scared?" Bruce towered over Scarecrow as the toxin took effect and as he let him go, Jason could see the panic on Scarecrow's face even from his vantage point. Scarecrow stumbled backwards, right into Gordon's fist, and wound up unconscious on the floor. Bruce looked up from where the shots were fired, immediately finding Jason's position. Jason froze, not knowing what to do or say. All he could manage was a nod. I'm late, but I'm here. For everything he'd been through tonight, Bruce managed a small smile and a nod in return. I knew you would be. With that, Bruce crouched next to Gordon and Tim. As Jason turned to leave, he heard Gordon tell Bruce that Tim would be okay. He made his way back out the way he entered and stood at the fence, looking out into the bay and back at the lights of the city. The skies were clearing and he could see the first signs of dawn off in the distance. "Are you going to be alright?" He startled when Bruce's voice came through his ear piece. That meant he was wearing the cowl again. Jason chewed his lip for a moment. "I really don't know." There was a pause and Jason could hear the jet approaching the other side of the island. He turned and watched Batman grapple up into the cockpit. "When all of this settles, whenever that may be, I'd like to talk. If that's okay with you." Jason's eyes watered and he swallowed hard before he answered. The jet hovered over the north end of the island and Jason would be money Bruce was scanning to see where he was. "I.. I'll be around. You'll know where to reach me." The jet banked and headed off toward the Manor, not back into the city. "I left something for you in our usual spot." Jason turned and began the trek back across the island, giving the Intensive Treatment building a wide berth. "The keys to the Bentley?" He could feel Bruce's eye roll through the comm link. "Information. Resources. Something to help you settle into life again." Jason stopped next to his motorcycle and shook his head. "When the hell did you have time to do that?" Bruce answered without missing a beat. "I have a butler, remember?" The link clicked off and Jason got on his bike, heading back into the city. He had some things to take care of before he went back to his safe house, mainly rounding up straggling members of the militia for the GCPD. Then he'd make a stop by the Gotham Knights baseball stadium, where they used to watch ballgames every Saturday, and see what Bruce left for him. He had no idea what his future looked like or what it had in store for him, but the very fact he was planning for one meant he was headed in the right direction. For the second time that night, he allowed himself to hope. And that felt pretty good.

#Jason Todd #Bruce Wayne #Batman Arkham Knight #MizMahlia's fanfiction #Angst like whoa #Fic Request

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