Chapter Text
If there was one thing that Jason hated dealing, it was magic.
But he was the closest thing the Outlaws—and even the Bats—had to being an expert on magic, nevermind that Ducra would twist his ear before he dared refer to the All-Caste training as one. But since he was the last of the All-Caste, she had no room to talk. Not really.
There was a small, tight bundle of thoughts and emotions in the darkest corner of his subconscious mind, hidden in such shadows of his own darker memories that he’d never paid it any mind before. He only noticed it now because it was pulsing with anger and… frustration.
Something was wrong.
Jason had some considerable reservations about touching that little node of darkness, but curiosity coupled with extreme boredom won out in the end. He reached out to it tentatively, and the moment that his conscious mind touched it, he felt himself yanked right into it. There was a vague sensation of traveling down a tunnel, or falling into a hole. It was dark and filled with the fear of not knowing if you were about to drop off into the Abyss.
Something crooned to his ears
Quietly. Softly.
Hissing in his ears. Gentle kisses that made his skin felt like there’s fire.
Grabbing hands.
Screaming.
Fingers slipping through his, intertwined.
It sounded wrong.
It felt wrong.
Why?
….WHY?!
And then it was over. His senses flip-flopped before settling again, and he found himself staring at Artemis’ worried eyes.
Jason shuddered, closing his eyes against the sensation of something crawling up his spine. It’s instinctively unnerving but whatever it was, the thing’s consciousness was too closely linked to his to reach real panic. Plus, he did know that he wasn’t really there. He wasn’t sure if the thing could sense him, but he knew that no one else was aware of him.
And he hated it.
“Jason, what happened?” Artemis’ voice broke through the barriers.
“Nothing,” Jason lied as he pulled out the chalk, finishing the runic circle that he’d abandoned before he got lost into the Pull.
Artemis looked disturbed in the corner of his eyes, but Jason didn’t care.
Everything felt slow and mechanic, the whole world felt suffocating, his ears ringing as if he’s underwater.
Come on, little one.
Do it.
No. He can do it. He’s done it before.
--Can you hear a voice breathed down his neck.
Do you feel me?
He nearly lost his grip on the chalk, but he continued.
He persisted.
You want to command me, little one?
When he’d woken from that first burning, he’d felt like his skin had been scrubbed completely raw. His eyes burned at the dim light, and he’d felt like he was running a fever. Bizzaro and Artemis had been concerned at his state, but it was not like Jason could just rest when they need to finish this. He was the only one capable of ending this reign.
Jason could have called Constantine. The man owed him a couple of favors for saving his life during his Europe tour. And that’s a subject that Jason was not getting into. But that meant there was a possibility the Bats would get a wind of this.
Ha! He mentally sneered at his own melodrama. There was no way he was letting Bruce get a wind of this. He thought things were getting better between him and Bruce, and Jason was only a fool for allowing himself to get comfortable in their presence again. But like a moths drawn to flame, Jason couldn’t help but crave for such companionship. Their love and care soothing like a balm to his wound.
He only felt stupid that he believed the old man again. That he allowed himself to be wrapped in their false words when all Bruce ever cared about was losing control over his precious soldier.
Jason sighed heavily and tried to organize his drifting thoughts.
If Jason's life was a soap opera, there was no doubt the writers of the show would have had a fantastic time making Jason's life more miserable than ever. He was sure the viewers would laugh at Jason's pain, finding it entertaining all the while Jason continued to internally curse those sadistic bastards.
Thank fucking god this wasn't a soap opera.
Actually, scratch that. There wouldn't even be a soap opera. Who the hell would want to watch a show about Jason's whole autobiography from him as a poor little kid in Crime Alley to getting kidnapped by a billionaire to dying and being brought back by an evil cult to turning into a vengeful Crime Lord? It would be a shitty plot and no doubt the show would get canceled in just one episode.
With a small sigh, Jason pushed those thoughts from his mind, and sent all others after them. He cleared his mind, as Ducra had always pressed him to do. As he never had when he brought madness to Gotham.
It took a long time, but Jason finally felt himself pull free from the grief, guilt, and self-flagellation that occupied his waking hours. Drifting in a haze of blessed silence, his weary body soon surrendered to exhaustion.
Jason felt like he was about to throw up. This morning had been a pain of an ass but he forced himself to get up, cook breakfast for his team while ignoring the throbbing sensation in his head.
His hands flexed when soft fingers grasped his hand, stopping the motion. Jason looked up and was met with Artemis looking down at him, displeased.
“Let me do this,” He nearly pleaded her.
I need to be useful. I need to do this.
Let me do this. For us.
Artemis’ eyes softened as she linked her fingers through his. The only thing grounding him. She didn’t need to say it, but Jason appreciated it nonetheless.
He went back to stirring the pot. He could feel the flames from the campfire brushing his legs, almost as if it wanted to tug his pants down, but he ignored it as usual.
“It’s killing you,” she spoke softly.
Jason wanted to scoff, but he knew there was truth in her words. But it’s a risk he had to take. Just like when he decided to put on the scaly shorts and cape.
“It’s not going to kill me,” he said roughly.
She didn’t believe him. Of course, nobody did.
Not even the Bats ever believed him.
It all went wrong of course. It hadn’t been an hour before they were quickly ambushed by at least fifty men, quickly dropping down from the trees just as Jason was nearly done with the runes.
Jason yanked his opponent’s arm before twisting them in a painful grip. They hit the ground with another grunt, flipping over to their back and nearly kicking Jason in the face if he hadn’t ducked. He darted to the side, slamming them in the head with his elbows instead of his fists like they’d expected, then proceeded to kick them on the knees before rolling out of range. But his opponent kept a grip on his upper arm, before another hand was wrapped around Jason’s ankle, interrupting his flow so Jason turned his balance and weight by landing on his opponent instead followed by an ‘oof’ sound, knocking the wind out of them.
Jason grinned before knocking them out.
He quickly rolled away when another bullet was aimed for where his head had been, leaving the guy on the ground gurgling from a bad shot while Jason stuck the other before they could get another clear shot.
His next one eyed at him more carefully than the other two and dropped his gun once Jason got too close, yanking out a knife. Jason slammed his body against him, and before his opponent could punch him, Jason proceeded to drop to the ground just to pick up the gun that was dropped earlier before firing on the opponent’s knees, who howled in pain.
Jason ignored the blood splatter as he ducked under another swipe from a different opponent. Counter-block followed by another punch to the face. Jason decided to be an asshole by pulling an old trick he’d used to do as Robin by using someone’s shoulder to do a handstand. This cultist seemed too dumbstruck at what Jason just did and before the guy could think of moving, Jason allowed gravity to take his weight with a flip before bringing the other to the ground.
Something immediately tore through at his right shoulder. Jason grimaced as he immediately rolled to his feet, but it was long enough for his opponent to get a good slice across his ribs. The man was good with a blade, his grip sure and firm. Jason raised his arms to block the incoming strike, painfully aware that he was probably going to have to sacrifice one arm to impaling in order to get the knife away from the guy.
“HOOD!” Artemis cried.
Fear flooded through his veins as he followed her cry and what he saw froze him. Bizzaro was on the ground, still and motionless. That was impossible. Bizzaro was made of the same safe stuff as Superman and had been stable for a couple of months now. For these guys to be able to get a drop on his teammate.
It terrified him.
Jason could admit that Bizarro was, strangely enough, the first guy friend he's made since he was brought back to life. Roy didn’t count. While Jason would never admit himself to be the "leader" type like Dick, Red Hood had become a mentor figure to Bizarro.
Before Jason could take a step towards his teammates, a chant began to echo around him.
He saw a couple of the robed figures surrounding the runic circle he had made. The runes glowing in bright purple.
No. NO!
He aimed his gun at the leader and fired.
Before the figure could even touch the ground, Jason found himself fighting for his life again, landing a few solid stabs of his own as smoke was spreading through the air, thick and white, and Jason spared a heartbeat to glance at his teammates. Desperation gripping him at the back of his throat. He could only pray that Artemis had a sense to find cover.
He fired two shots. One at the incoming lunge. The other at the ground, the dust and soil covering Berkana.
That should buy us time, Jason thought as he ignored the pain in his shoulder.
Something deep in his core was getting closer to the surface. Familiar and green but Jason pushed it down as he quickly eliminated every single threat.
“You’re too late,” one of them said with a manic look on his face before a bullet knocked him down.
No, Jason stared, horrified as the chant still continued despite all the men dead on his feet. It wasn’t long before a bright light surged up the ground.
There was only one option left.
His heart was pounding. His skin felt like ants crawling around between the layers. Bile kept wanting to rise in the back of his throat, but he swallowed it down. His teammates were loud in his ear – louder, louder than they should be. But Jason tuned them out.
Jason took a moment to center himself, calling up the feeling from his core until he was overwhelmed by the force of it. He shoved the sensation into the runes as he began to chant an old language that only the Dead can speak.
And Jason found himself almost boiling with the power surrounding him, a giddy feeling building in his chest as it reached a crescendo.
There was a burst of flame within the circle.
Make your request, mortal.
“Let it be done!” Jason snarled in a high, cold voice, icy satisfaction suffusing him before he was blinded.
He blinked a couple of times, the dust and smoke covering his eyes. The chanting had stopped.
But it didn’t stop him.
“Hello Jason,” a familiar voice said that brought a spike of fear down his spine.
And he was met with familiar red eyes glowing as the smoke began to clear. The figure was big with broad shoulders and muscles in his black and white hazmat suit with a black cape flowing behind him. The suit and even the snow-white flaming hair, glowing in a silver luminous. The skin so pale in a sickly green color.
Not surprisingly, the All-Blades came easily to Jason as He smirked down on him.
“Missed me?”