Chapter Text
Jason feels him before he sees him. Feels a slight chill run up his spine before he feels the Pit wriggling and shrieking in his veins; frantic. He feels it press itself thin against the walls of his cells and make itself small before going silent, still. There’s only ever been one person that could make the Pit quiet; that could make it afraid .
“Phantom?” Jason whispers, eyes searching the surrounding area. He’s on a stake out (has been for hours), pressed to the tin roof of a warehouse overlooking a wharf. A low fog horn sounds in the distance and the faint sound of waves lapping the docks are the only response Jason gets. He shakes his head, trying to convince himself it’s nothing. (It’s not nothing. His head is clearing for the first time in months, pressure easing off him in a way he’d thought he’d dreamt.)
Either Phantom was here, or something else was.
“Phantom?” Jason whispers again, voice a little more insistent and grip a little tighter on his gun. Once again, he recieves no answer. Jason twitches, debating on whether or not he’s finally lost it. Just when Jason was about to drop everything and pull himself from the field, clearly compromised, a loud clang catches his attention.
Crawling across the roof to get a better angle on the other side of the building, Jason peers down into the dark walkway between two shipping containers. He can’t make out much, aside from the glint of distant street lights off the small puddles pooling in the chipped concrete. On silent feet, Jason leaps down, crouching as he lands. A low skittering sound catches his ear and he snaps his head towards it. A slight chill of unease creeps up Jason’s spine as he feels himself being watched. He unclips one of his guns, holding it low in front of him as he inches towards the sound. Just as he reaches the edge of one, ready to poke his head around the corner, a sharp hiss stops him in his tracks.
“ I would not look closer if I were you, Little Soldier,” a quiet voice tells him, gentle despite the chilling warning. The voice seems to slither between speaking in his head and speaking aloud; both close and distant at once. Jason swallows heavily.
“You aren’t Phantom,” he notes, the words feeling very thick in his mouth. He reminds himself to breathe as the air seems to become hotter, more humid; suffocating. The voice laughs and Jason swallows bile.
“No, I am not Phantom,” the voice seems to chuckle, though Jason wouldn’t really classify the noise it makes as such. It is… grating . There is a distinctly wet sound to the voice that reminds Jason of the squelch of blood and skin when digging a bullet out of muscle. Despite it all, despite the unholy sounds of the voice, the hot, oppressive air that is filling the space between the shipping containers, and the thick smell of sulfur and decay that seems to be circling him, Jason doesn’t feel particularly in danger. Entirely freaked out and disturbed, yes. But he doesn’t feel the thrill of adrenalin or a crippling sense of fear just…discomfort.
“Can I ask who you are?” He asks cautiously, wearily. Afterall, the only thing that had ever frightened the Pit like this was Phantom, and Phantom was basically a minor god if Constantine was to be believed.
"You know who I am, Little Soldier," the voice whispers. Jason feels as though there are cold hands running up his spine as the smell of sulfur intensifies. He suppresses the urge to gag. For a split second, the sensation morphs into something else. The sulfuric smell seems to mix with the air in a way that reminds him of the gutter after a heavy rain. The humidity reminds him of the Narrows in the summer, when the heat gets boxed in between the metal buildings and everything seems to sweat. It reminds him of the fire in the manor when Alfred has let it burn too long, cinder seeping into the walls and making the tapestries and drapes smell like smoke for days after. The feeling of the floor of the Batcave, colder than any surface he's ever known. The hands up his back start to feel more and more like Dick's, rubbing up and down his spine when he has a cold. The squelch of the voice's laughter starts to sound more and more like the way a knife cut is stitched up by Alfred's steady hands. It's whisper is starting to sound more and more like Bruce when he's running out of things to say.
The voice is right. He does know who it is. He just doesn't believe it.
"You can't be here," Jason breathes. A faint buzzing seems to fill the air and Jason can't decide if he'd better liken it to streetlamps or locusts.
"I am not meant to be," she agrees. "But here, I am."
"What do you want?" Jason swallows. His voice doesn't shake because he isn't afraid. But it almost does because he knows that he should be.
"Your help," she says. Jason nods.
"Okay," he whispers. (He doesn't really know how he would go about refusing, if he's right. He's gonna lose it if he's right .)
"There is Darkness coming. He brings Hell with him. Find Phantom. He has power. He will Protect Them."
"Phantom has been missing for months," Jason tells her. "Everyone thinks he's gone."
"Not gone," she disagrees. "You would know if he was gone, Little Soldier. You have the touch of death. And like all dead things, you would know if he were to Die."
"I can try and find him," Jason assures her. "This… Darkness . He got a name?"
"Names have power. He will know we're listening ."
"Right," Jason murmurs "of course. Can't have it be easy, now can we?"
She chuckles, a thick, heavy sound that Jason feels press over him.
"Rest, Little Soldier. War is coming. Phantom made a promise to me. Be sure he keeps it."
"I'll try," Jason promises, but he knows she's already gone. He abandons his stakeout, confident in finding his perp another day.
He has to go figure out how to explain he met Gotham in his mission report.
And figure out where the hell Tim's dead love interest is.