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“Keep going,” Jason growls, nudging Damian ahead of him. The boy complies, racing through the winding caverns. The two are severely outmatched, as Jason hadn’t exactly been expecting to get involved in whatever fucking plot he’d stumbled upon.
Damian turns a sharp corner, pulling Jason in with him, and pressing up against the wall. “What are you doing here?” The kid demands, and Jason scoffs at the scornful tone.
“Rescuing your ass, apparently.” Damian gives him a flat stare. “These people have ties to some drug runners that popped up in Bowery,” Jason admits. The kid clicks his tongue, and glances back around the corner. They managed to get some good distance between them and their pursuers, but not for long. “Why did they have you captured?”
“They’re an off-split for the League of Assassins,” Damian mutters. “Mother must have missed this particular group.”
“Talia? Missing something? I’d doubt that,” Jason chuckles, as he looks for something to use. There’s slim pickings, other than some goddamn rocks, and he really hates how this is looking. “She’s not the type.”
“There’s been some… civil difficulties in the League,” Damian says. Jason laughs, only imagining how much Talia has been running around to clean up that shitshow. Perhaps he can let her off the hook for missing this one, they did relocate to another country and clearly don’t have the same resources as the League, meaning they limited how much they took with them. If they have to resort to selling to kids in Gotham, their financial situation must be particularly weak.
“Alright. What does that have to do with you?” Jason asks. He walks away from the wall they’re pressed up against, turning rocks over as he tests the weight of each of them. This area appears to be a less used branch, based on the debris that hasn’t been cleared like in more trafficked areas.
Damian scoffs. “Some half-baked plan about defeating the Demon’s Heir to establish them as threats worthy of attention.” Jason snorts, because that was just a stupid idea for a group that doesn’t have the resources to back up angering both the league of assassins and Batman.
“And they got the drop on you?”
“Well they seem to have done the same for you,” Damian snaps. “I don’t know what my mother saw in you.”
Rolling his eyes, Jason grabs the rock that suits his needs as best it can, dusting it on his leg armour. “If I had a nickel for everytime I’d heard that one, I’d be richer than B,” He comments. He doesn’t know what Talia saw in him either, for her to stick her neck out and shove him in the Lazarus pit, but he doesn’t exactly dwell on the shit that woman gets up to, for his own sanity. “And this was only supposed to be a reconnaissance, before I saw a caged little birdie.”
“I was fine,” Damian hisses. “I can handle myself.”
“Didn’t say you couldn’t,” Jason shrugs. “Just figured you’d appreciate a head start.” He holds out the sharp rock, and Damian squints at him in suspicion. “I’ve trained in the League. I know what they teach. You had the shortest Robin training time out of all of us.” Damian had really only had to be trained in the teamwork and cooperation side, as well as being non-lethal and avoiding brutal methods.
Hesitantly, Damian reaches out and takes the rock off him, tossing it between his hands as he examines the weight distribution. The kid seems thrown off, to be treated like this, and Jason knows he’s got the kid’s attention. “What is the plan?” Damian asks. “Will you call in backup?”
“No cell service down here,” Jason says. “So you’re backup.”
“What?” Damian demands. “What the hell do you mean by that, Todd?” Jason runs a hand through his hair, ensuring the mask is properly fitted to his face out of habit more than anything. “Neither of us have any weapons to speak of.”
“You have a rock,” Jason comments. “And I have something up my sleeves.” It better fucking work, though. If it doesn’t… well. He has Damian. Might give him an extra few seconds to work out a plan B.
“I am going to die in the most idiotic way possible,” Damian sighs.
Jason grins, clapping the kid on the back, “That’s the spirit! You’re an honorary Outlaw with that kind of attitude.”
“I mourn for your teammates.”
“Get in line. Now stay here, I can hear them coming,” Jason directs. He steps out of their hiding spot, ignoring the hissed Todd after him. Sure enough, a handful of the assassins appear from the shadows, illuminated by the lanterns they carry with them.
“Talia’s pupil,” One of them spits, and Jason simply crosses his arms. “Our fight is not with you. Give us the heir, and you may walk away.”
“See, I kind of owe Talia, and I wouldn’t be a good pupil if I simply allowed for her son to be slaughtered under my watch,” Jason responds. “So we’re going to do this quickly.” Inhaling a deep, steadying breath, Jason raises his arms, and summons the All-blades.
Twin glowing strands work out from his chest, swirling down his forearms and into his palms. They gather and elongate, sharpening into glowing dual swords. This display gives the assassins some pause, but one steps forward regardless, and the hesitation steels into resolve as they move in on him.
Swinging a blade, Jason meets the swing of a katana, and the fight begins in earnest. He sinks into the mindset of battle, losing everything except his awareness of his body, his weapons, and how they move to combat his surroundings. He swings to meet a sword, kicks out the legs of another attacker who’s stance is unbalanced, strikes a nerve that sends one crashing to the ground. He prioritises speed, getting each of them incapacitated as quickly as possible, regardless of how permanent a put down it would be. There is only so much time he can maintain his blades for.
The blades themselves pass through the bodies of the assassins, but he planned for that. It’s rare that he finds himself fighting evil, and it’s likely the blade would only deal true damage to the leader of this operation. Unless, of course, he bleeds heavily, but he isn’t really keen on chancing that right now.
Instead, he relies on his fighting techniques to take the attackers down. Striking weak points, nerve clusters, and dealing head blows that send them crumpling as they try to readjust to the ringing he sends pounding through their head. If he were to keep the all-blades swinging through their souls, he’d be able to build up enough damage, but it isn’t really a time or place that allows for it. So he settles for the pain and disorientation the blades give them, as it gives him a leg-up in this fight.
Once most of the assassins are incapacitated, leaving three still standing, he hears a scuffle behind him. Swinging around, he points his blades at the throat of the figure behind him, only to pull back at the last moment. It’s Damian.
“Get off me you insolent fool—” Damian snarls, squirming in the hold the man has on him. Pivoting, Jason places his back to the cavern wall, keeping the three assassins he was fighting and the kid’s captor in his sight. “This achieves nothing for your group but an early end!” Damian snaps.
“What happened to the rock?” Jason asks, crouching and keeping his muscles coiled as he runs the calculations in his head.
“Your rock was already used to knock out another assassin,” Damian answers. Wow, this kid’s privilege is showing. A rock can be reused for fucks sake. Not everything has to be brand new.
“Give up now, and this ends,” The assassin holding Damian orders, and Jason rolls his eyes. How many times does he have to say no for these fuckers to actually absorb it? Do they have some kind of script to follow? “We have no fight with you, Red Hood.”
Sighing, Jason retracts the all-blades, and feels the bone-deep tiredness wash over him. He manages to stop himself from swaying, but he knows his time is limited.
The action has its intended effect, as the man holding on to Damian relaxes his hold enough to give Jason a clearer shot. He moves, swinging his arm behind him and summoning his strength enough to pull an all-blade out again. To lessen the load, he summons a smaller throwing dagger, and sends it flying into the man’s eye socket.
Crying out, the man keels over, and Damian slips free. He immediately turns around, sending a kick to the man’s stomach, before taking a running leap at one of the three assassins remaining. Jason follows right behind him.
Fighting against two, Jason trips them up on each other, grinning as they fumble around trying to hit Jason and not each other. They’re skilled on their own, but their fighting is not suited to team work. Dodging a swing of the blade for his neck, he grabs the wrist of the assassin as they stumble back to keep the blow from connecting with the other attacker that was behind him. Digging his fingers in, Jason hears the crunch of bone and the assassin’s hand spasms, causing him to drop the blade. Sweeping it up from the floor with the tip of his foot, Jason catches the hilt, brandishing the blade in the direction of the two.
The one still armed leaps forward, colliding blades. Jason matches him blow for blow, stalling, because out of the corner of his eye he sees the recently unarmed one sprint off into the caverns, passing Damian who lifts another rock from the body of the third assassin.
Jason keeps the attention of the assassin, pushing himself to not allow a single inch to be yielded, and as the attacker struggles to keep up, he tracks Damian’s movements behind him.
Pain blooms across his chest, and he knocks the swing from continuing to connect. Just in time for Damian to slam the rock on the man’s head.
Standing over the unconscious form, Jason pants, holding a hand to the bleeding wound of his chest. Damian pants as well, and they look back up to each other. “Rock,” Jason says, gesturing to the defeated person. Damian rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue, and moves back over to the man who had been holding him captive.
Said man who is clawing at his chest, writhing in pain. Huh. Guess he underestimated how evil that guy was.
Damian crouches down beside the man, and Jason grabs the rock Damian had chosen, examining it for sharp edges. There are some, and so he carefully manoeuvres his arms free of his jacket.
He sets about cutting through the stitches along the seam of the shoulder.
“You can summon the all-blades?” Damian asks, looking back over to Jason. “You trained with the All-Caste?”
“Your mother was the one who got me in,” Jason answers, frowning at the stitching he’s bent over. His hands are shaking, his head heavy with exhaustion, but he needs something to wrap the cut with. “I’m the only living disciple, from before the massacre.”
Damian is quiet for a few moments. “I thought only the pure of heart could summon them.”
“It’s about how you channel yourself. Ducra taught me to turn my darkness into light.” Damian wrinkles his nose at the phrasing, and Jason laughs. He reacted the same way to Ducra’s teachings, her metaphors and whatnot. ‘Metaphors help us comprehend the incomprehensible, my pup.’ He used to hate that nickname. What he wouldn’t give to hear Ducra, alive, call him that one more time.
“Mother spoke about them,” Damian comments. Jason remains silent, the only sound behind the scuffing of the man silently writhing on the floor, and the snap of the thread as Jason picks at it.
Eventually, Damian adds, “Will he die?”
“No. He’s not dark enough,” Jason answers. Damian gives him a flat look. Sighing, Jason caves and elaborates, “The damage the all-blades can do is scaled. Pure of heart? It glides through you like it is nothing. It can only deal a fatal blow on those who are evil enough. It’s pretty rare to find a human who constitutes that.” The man will just be sick, soul-sick, and then slowly recover as his soul replenishes. It’s the purest form of agony, sure, but he’ll live.
“Would… would it work on my grandfather?” Damian asks.
“Yes. I’ve tried it.” The kid doesn’t answer that, and Jason focuses his attention back on undoing the stitching. His hands’ strength is going, along with his coordination, but the reminder that the blood dripping onto the material serves as motivates him to keep trying. Out the corner of his eye, he sees Damian frowning at the writhing man. “You can kill him,” Jason says. It startles the kid, who looks over to him with a wide expression.
“But Batman—”
“Batman isn’t here, he won’t know. I’m certainly not going to tell him,” Jason interrupts. He’s interested in what the kid will choose. He’s lived a different life from all the other Robin’s B has trained. Even had a different trainer through Dick. But he knows the Family still worries about his killer instincts. “He victimised you. I believe in victims choosing justice where possible.”
Damian is silent, unmoving as he stares at the trembling limbs. Jason lets the quiet sit.
“Give me the rock,” Damian demands. Sighing, Jason throws it to the kid, who catches it with ease. He leans over, holding the sharp edge to the man’s throat.
Then he moves it higher, digging it into the man’s eye, the same one Jason struck. The man is in too much pain to make noise, and Damian draws back after twisting up the tissue. He nods once, decisively to himself, and then stands up and walks over to where Jason is sitting with the jacket across his lap.
The kid takes the jacket from him, wiping the rock on the ground and then unpicking the seams where Jason left off. Jason watches him.
After a beat, Damian mutters, “He’s going to suffer enough with the recovery. He doesn’t deserve a quick death. And… he’ll have to leave this life behind.” The kid’s cheeks burn brightly, but Jason just nods. And a message: Don’t fuck with the heir.
“Bruce will make you follow his rule because it’s his. But each of his kids, they all have found their own reasons for standing against killing. You have to make your own reason, too,” Jason says, and Damian frowns deeper at the stitches. He can tell the kid has a question on the tip of his tongue, but he waits him out.
“...Even Dick?” Damian asks, voice timid. Jason grins.
“Even golden boy.”
“Then why do you kill?” Damian questions, looking up to Jason’s eyes. “It gets you scorned from the family.” When I’m so desperate to feel a part of it, are the unspoken words in the kid’s face, but Jason just looks at his shaking hands, still trying to recover from using the all-blades.
“Because some people won’t change. They don’t want to. So to protect their victims, to give them closure, to allow them to finally feel safe, I kill them. Other times, it is because it is the most practical option. Threatening all of Gotham’s underbelly won’t work unless you kill some of the heads to back up your claims,” Jason says. Damian wets his lips, and looks back down to the jacket laying on his legs.
He picks at the next stitch, before murmuring, “Thank you.”
There’s a peaceful silence, for a few moments, before Damian changes the conversation. “Where did you learn to fight? That was… an acceptable level of skill.” Jason laughs, because of how much the kid sounds like his mother at the moment.
It’s practically a glowing review, phrased exactly like Talia would have.
Weeks later, Tim corners Jason. He demands to know why Damian just said to Bruce that Jason is one of the best martial arts masters to live. Jason cackles, as Tim blusters through questions about how he got in the demon’s good graces.
The fact that the kid made such a verdict is annoyingly endearing.