sheriffexe | [ WEEK SEVEN – KILL LOG (JASON) ]

[Thankfully, Jason doesn't have to wait long because even as much as Damian wants to put this all off, he's a Wayne, and Waynes are always early if not on time.

But he has something different than usual: A sword. A finely crafted, sturdy looking katana packed snugly in a shiny sheath. He's carrying it waist height on the left; the other hand, the right, is clutching something else.

He stops in the middle of the two backmost pews.]

It's time for you to go home, Todd.

[Well. That sure is a sword. Not that Jason has never seen Damian carrying a weapon with him before, arrows and a bow coming to mind, but this is different. There is a complete and utter halt in his thought process for a moment, eyes focusing on the weapon before moving towards Damian's face. Every beat his heart takes feels like the cold stab of a knife. It's funny.

There is... something he's feeling here. Could be shock. Betrayal, most likely. But whatever it is, it's not a foreign sensation. All that has changed is the location, the person, and the time. He supposes this is nature's way of slotting things back into place. Though a small part of him wanted to live, the rest knew this would happen sooner or later. It's not all that surprising that, after six long weeks, it ends up being like this again.

Still sitting on the pew, Jason can't really bring himself to do much beside huffing out a small laugh, devoid of all humor. Of course. Of course. Signing, the motions somewhat stilted, he says:

You said I was the only one who killed.

But if this is what Damian has decided to do, he won't fight it. Or, rather, he can't fight it. He had decided weeks ago that Bruce's son needed to come out of this alive, and, well. That sure as hell isn't Jason.]

[For a long time, Damian is quiet, standing in the shadows with half his face concealed by them.] It wasn't a lie. You are the only one who kills.

But that isn't the entire truth. You aren't the only one who has killed.

[He doesn't shift position. In fact, he doesn't move at all, not even waver. His balance is perfect, a statue. Trained. He's quiet again. If he tells, it won't matter, in the end, right? Maybe none of them will remember this at all.] My mother stole my father's DNA and created me outside of the womb.

Bruce Wayne, my grandfather's greatest rival, was supposed to be the heir to the Demon's Head, the terrorist organization my grandfather created. To sway him, Mother created me. I was a tool made to use against him.

I was raised as a placeholder for the al Ghul heritage in case Father continued to decline. My mother made me into a weapon. In order to meet Father, every year on my birthday, I had to duel her and win. If I won, I would be taken to stay with him. He didn't know I even existed.

Before that, I had to prove I was capable of becoming the heir to the Demon Head. To do so, I had to pass a trial called the Year of Blood. [That speaks for itself, right?] I did more killing and looting during that time than half the criminals in Gotham combined.

[Oh, Damian.

There's an ache in his heart as he listens to him speak, listens to him explain what he was created for. It's strange, he thinks, to feel sadness and empathy for his soon-to-be murderer. But this is different from his first death. There is no fear or panic, no sense of dread from knowing he would die by the hand of a madman. Damian called them a family. Jason would like to believe in that, even if it's not meant to be.

(Vaguely, he wonders if another version of him was able to find and take Damian away before so much blood covered his hands. They're both connected to Talia. They're both connected to Bruce. Maybe somewhere out there, the two of them are able to grow up with clean hands.

But that is neither here nor now.)

Jason looks at his brother, examining his posture and trying to make out his facial expression. The lump in his throat isn't going away, which makes the fact he can no longer speak somewhat convenient. After all, it'd be pretty damn embarrassing to be chocked up while delivering what could very well be his last words.

You're not their tool. What they raised you for doesn't define you, he signs, wishing to impress the words into Damian. So why kill me now?

There's no anger in his expression, just an all-encompassing sense of exhaustion and a need to understand him. Nothing more, nothing less.]

[Hey, Jason had yelled at him about being so tight-lipped. About "talking" and about it "being healthy." He figured he owed it to Jason, regardless of whether they remembered. He owed Jason his story if he made the choice to take Jason's life.] It doesn't matter.

I shed blood. I destroyed things that were sacred to many people. I stole objects they devoted their lives to protecting, laughing at how easy they were to defeat. I sacrificed the lives of men sworn to serve me because they were merely chess pieces in our clan.

[His eyes look up. Sadly, they are not Bruce's eyes, no matter the shape. They are the emerald eyes of the Demon.] I'm killing you so Jackson won't have to.

The game was never designed to win. In order to leave, we have to die. That was the catch. That's why the bodies were here. As hints.

I've already killed Maxwell. [The frown doesn't leave his face, but his eyes don't falter from Jason's direction. He owns it, what he's done, despite how terrible it is.] Papika is next. Barnham is killing Ash and Caelum. I've accepted his offer to duel. I'm going to kill him.

Jackson will be the only one left. [And the only one that can finish the job after his failure of a fuck up.] He has the merit, and I'm giving him mine. If he doesn't kill me, I'll do it myself.

I don't... [He's quiet for a moment or two.] It can't be me. I don't trust myself not to choose to reset in order to try again without anyone having to die.

[He... isn't quite sure what is that makes him start crying first. There are so many good candidates in what Damian has just told him, and something cold and tight squeezes his chest until it becomes far too hard to breathe. He squeezes his eyes shut, looking away from him to hide how stupid and pathetic he is. Even so — Damian will still be able to see the exact moment when Jason rubs at his eyes, trying to get rid of his tears as quickly as possible. This isn't right. This isn't fair. He doesn't want this to fall on Damian's shoulders.

But for a game that is said to be about "choice", they were never given much of one.

Milla is dead. He'll be joining her soon, as will Noctis. Damian is going to be killed by Barnham, no matter what he says. And then Percy will be left alone, the sole victor while surrounded by the corpses of all his friends. The thought alone is enough to drive him to tears again, but he stops himself before he can truly dissolve into hysterics over his friends. He's so, so tired. He doesn't want to feel the pain of dying again, but he has to.

After all, Damian wouldn't lie to him. This is the only way to win.

So when he looks at him again, his eyes are red and wet. It's stupid and shameful, but he finds himself signing: I'm sorry. It shouldn't have been you.

Shoulda, coulda, woulda. There are many things to regret about this, but meeting Damian Wayne is not one of them. If he somehow ends up retaining his memories of this horrific place, then it would have been worth it just for that. Hesitating for a moment, however, he adds something else:

There's one last thing I need to do. If I stand up, will you kill me or will you hear me out?]

[Most tears have been wrung out of Damian, but the impact of seeing someone else, Family, upset still clenches his insides. It could be Jason, it could be Dick, his father, Alfred. He can't believe how attached he's become to all of these idiots.

And he wonders if Bruce would be more disappointed in him choosing to kill one of their own, or if Bruce would understand.] Fine.

I'll listen. [Jason shouldn't have to die again. Jason shouldn't have to die again this young. Jason shouldn't have to die right after dying by an al Ghul sword in the hands of the blood son.

He makes no move to bring out the sword and attack.]

[Bruce will never understand. Or, at least, that's what Jason believes. Past conversations come to mind; the differences between him and their father never as clear as they were whenever the topic of murder came up. For Jason, the ends sometimes justify the means. If it's an act born out of love, or perhaps out of justice — then maybe it's not as bad as people make it out to be. But Bruce would never compromise that way.

And if Damian is right about his future. Bruce never will.

Standing up from the pew, Jason forces his body to move towards Damian. He's still sluggish and weak, a week of barely taking care of himself and only eating when necessary coming back to bite him in the ass. When he comes to stand in front of him, however, he doesn't feel any fear. Or not emotionally, at least. His whole being wants to recoil away from the thought of dying again — but he can't fight against Damian and he can't keep the game from coming to an end. This, too, must pass.

But before that can happen, he sighs at him. Bending over, just enough so he and Damian are closer to eye level, he offers him a weak smile. It doesn't quite reach his eyes, but it's as sincere as he can get. You're a good kid. I'm proud of you, is what he signs, slowly as if hoping that will help Damian believe it.

This is quickly followed by: I love you.

And then, you know, he's going to pull Damian into a hug if he allows it. This is what he needed to do. His last request, if Damian wishes to think of it that way.]

Edited (nitpicks) 2017-02-28 06:19 (UTC)

[Very rarely does Damian ever hear I'm proud of you, and very rarely does he ever hear it from his own father. When you know both Batman and Bruce Wayne, the man is a stickler for earning the respect he gives you.] You're an idiot, Todd.

[His hands are full, and he's too tired to try squirming away when he needs to be this close to Jason anyway. It hurts to feel his forehead brush Jason's clothes when he's hugged. He doesn't hug back per say, though there's a questionable lean of himself forward.

Hilarious how Jason Todd turned out to be a decent kid. Hilarious when his father is so predictable, and he can see why Jason was taken in.

Saving people only ends in heartache, Father.

Milla didn't accept the offer of a tranquilizer, and he respected her enough to let her fight. So he has two when he jabs them into Jason's side at the hip, firm enough to get the tiny ball to break the release and let the anesthetic disperse. All of it he requested and made--for the killers, but now he's using it on his friends.

One dose is almost too much, but two is fatal with veterinary grade tranquilizers. Fast-acting, but not painful. Damian reaches up to take Jason by the elbow and bicep for when Jason starts to go down.] It's over now. When you wake up, you'll be on the train with the others.

Can you still hear me, Todd?

I'm here. You're not alone, and when you wake up, you won't be alone then either.

[So this is how it ends, then.

It's not as bad as it could have been. He's had worse, of course. And even if Damian had stabbed him with the sword instead of injecting him with the tranquilizers, his first death is a tough act to follow. Nothing will compare to the sensation of having being beating over and over and over and over again, until every inch of his body hurt and he was unable to move on his own. Nothing will compare to staring down at a ticking time bomb, watching each second pass and knowing that nobody is coming to save you.

His fingers dig into Damian's back when the needles are jabbed into his side, more of an involuntary reaction than anything with actual thought behind it. He knew Damian had acquired darts, of course. He had been told as much only a week ago — but there's something vaguely funny about the fact this is how they're being used. The purpose was always to end the game; it's just the intended targets were not the ones that needed to be taken down in the first place.

He doesn't get a lot of time to think about that, though. Or... about anything, really.

Jason goes down quickly and quietly, his thoughts becoming a jumbled mess and his limbs losing strength. But even as his breathing slow downs and he surely begins to die, he doesn't look afraid. Rather, he looks calm. At peace. Someone he cares about is with him — and isn't that enough? Isn't that more than he ever hoped for out of this messed up second chance at life? It's hard to say if he's able to understand Damian when he speaks, but it won't really matter for much longer.

His eyes droop shut. He takes one last, shuddering breath. And then he is gone.

Jason Todd is dead.]

[As best as he can, Damian helps Jason lower to the ground in the back of the church in the dark. Hilarious. A church. Damian had been in here the night before begging his father (his real father) to forgive him for doing this, to two, maybe three, people, and to Jason Todd, the boy who had already died enough.

Squatting beside the other boy, Damian doesn't let go of the arm.] You think Father hated you for always being reckless and an idiot, Todd.

He should have, but he didn't. He believes everyone always has a chance to do good, even the worst. [Damian doesn't know if he'll get to see Jason again before this is over. He doesn't know if he will go to the train, if any of them actually will, or if they will all wake up suddenly in their own world again, clueless and forgetful. Yet it feels good to say it, here, now, knowing Jason can't look at him, can't hug him, can't argue him.

It feels good to say it even if it won't matter. Jason needs to hear it, and he thinks Dick would tell Jason the same thing.] Father was proud of you, and he tried to save you, and it almost broke him when he couldn't. He kept your Robin uniform in the Cave in a showcase glass. He almost killed the Joker, not because he was angry, but because he was sad.

You're not the only one who died. I did, too. Mother made a clone of me, and I fought him, and he won. [He puts Jason's arm carefully on Jason's chest.] But we both came back, and we're going to come back again because death can't stop the Family.

See you on the train, Todd.

[Jason is the second of the three, excluding Barnham and Percy. But instead of sitting like he wants to do, feeling heavy, he continues, only returning when he's finished to heave Jason over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. He disposes of Milla, Papika, and Jason together in the bonfire so nothing can be done to their corpses.]

Edited 2017-03-02 00:31 (UTC)

[ WEEK SEVEN – KILL LOG (JASON) ]

you really did

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the longest damian wayne has ever talked in his life

you're going for the jugular what the fuck

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WHAT THE FUCK KYUU I'LL KILL YOU?????

um you're already killing me?? hold your horses

i cant believe i woke up to this and it wasnt a dream

shitty robins were a mistake, anna.................a mistake.................

SHRIEKS LIKE A BANSHEE