Me and the Devil

If I Had A Heart

"Pain? I know pain. Its molecular level.
It pulls at my atoms. It sings to me.
I'm ruthless, I'm poison. I'm a man with no face.
I'm fearless, I'm heartless. A ghost with no soul.
Possessed of the devil to sanctify, to consecrate"

When Jason awoke, it was with the familiar feeling of fear coursing through him. He remembered waking like this day after day beneath Arkham Asylum. It was an ingrained reaction at this point. When he was imprisoned by the Joker, being awake meant being in pain. Ordinarily, he'd coax himself down from the edge of panic by reminding himself it was over. He'd look at his room for comfort; to remind himself he wasn't there. The tremors might ease. He might only vomit once. But such comfort wouldn't be found now. The place he was in wasn't familiar. It wasn't safe. Then, the memories of what happened hit him fast and hard.

He bolted up so quickly, he nearly tripped over the chair he had been placed on due to a rush of vertigo. His heart felt like it was trying to climb out of his throat from the swift pace it beat. That feeling of intense fear only increased when he realized he'd been disarmed. No guns, no knives, not even the ones he liked to keep hidden in his sleeves. The place he was in was clearly abandoned for quite some time. It was covered in layers of dust and falling apart every which way he looked. The room was small with one door and shuttered windows all around. Another thing he noticed was the heat. It was sweltering in the room, which was impressive given the relative lack of insulation and structural instability of the place. This must be the lair of that assassin. Well, this certainly made Jason's effort to find his den obsolete.

The fear and anxiety buzzed beneath his skin like an electrical current. He felt almost ill and just a bit dizzy. This was too similar to then. At least he hadn't been restrained. That wasn't something he felt he could handle on top of being kidnapped. In an attempt to keep his composure, he paced his breathing. That was harder to do when it felt like he was choking on the past. He needed to get out of here now. Jason was betting that the door was locked, but it was old. He could probably just crash right through it. Given that he didn't know where he was, he didn't know how high up he was or if there'd be anything to catch him, so throwing himself through the shuttered window was a decidedly bad idea. Still, he'd rather throw himself out a window and hit the ground than be someone's prisoner for one second longer.

Jason nearly missed the assassin in his inspection of the new scenery. He was sitting amidst a pile of blankets, looking comically close to a nesting bird. Just a few feet away was a portable space heater pointing straight at the killer. How he could tolerate all that heat, Jason didn't know. He mentally filed away the information for further study. It could point to a weakness; probably the cold. Right now, he was a little more concerned about the fact that this thing just kidnapped him and is doing nothing but staring. Ordinarily, Jason would find the sight of the assassin peeking over a pile of blankets somewhat amusing. Right now he didn't feel like laughing.

He went still once the lean figure rose from their makeshift nest. And, god, Carmine had been telling the truth. It was unmistakeably Dick Grayson's face staring at him. But it wasn't. It couldn't be. Dick wasn't this...this thing. What Jason was staring at was a horror, a monster. It had to be someone - something - trying to mimic the acrobat. Because the alternative, that this really was his 'brother', no matter how hated, was unfathomable. Jason couldn't even begin to think of what could do something like this to the man. A curse? His brain felt too full, too scrambled with torturous memories and new discoveries to really process what he was seeing.

The assassin took a step toward him and Jason stumbled back. He wanted to keep as much space between them as possible. That was hard to do when the room was small to begin with and cluttered with junk. He hit the wall and yet the killer kept coming. His earlier attempts to calm his breathing went down the drain as his pulse picked up pace. Jason clenched his fists, sorely wishing for a weapon, anything, to hold. His eyes darted around the room in search of an escape or something he could use to defend himself. Any time his gaze landed back on a face so familiar yet so foreign, his heart clenched. He had to look away.