Chapter Text
Warning: Timeline compromised. Narrative integrity at risk. Soul... damaged.
Solution: Substitute consciousness initiated.
It was a pretty standard day, all things considered—well, for Danny, anyway.
See, most teens don’t get handed a broom and told to sweep the lab in their basement. But hey, when your parents used to want to dissect you for science, a little cleaning duty feels downright heartwarming.
It’s… nice. Being trusted around the lab now that his parents know he’s half ghost and found it in themselves to accept him anyway. No more rants about “mindless ghosts,” no more suspicious glances—just full access to ghost-hunting gadgets and the freedom to use them on wayward ghosts. Honestly, it could pass as a family bonding activity– if one ignores the faint burn of ozone, weird green portals and the ever present sense of danger that is.
The only problem? The wires currently sprawled around the lab’s floors. Too many than necessary in Danny’s opinion but he isn’t the scientists here. Whatever his parents were building this month had the lab looking like a spaghetti incident waiting to turn for the worse, by, say, coming to life. Even Vlad’s lab wasn’t this bad—and Vlad made a clone of Danny via his future evil ghost DNA (Don't ask, Danny does NOT want to know how the Fruit Loop did it). Jazz fixed that, somehow. Redemption by sibling therapy at its finest. Next up is probably finding Dani and making her stay longer than a day.
Alas, this is not entirely a month of miracles even if it's suspiciously lucky.
Thinking over clones and the newly renamed Dante Masters– because of course he re-branded– had, however, made Danny’s fears for sentient wired spaghetti taste far too real as his foot gets caught in one of the blasted wires.
He stumbled forward. A crackle in the air, too faint it could be missed, follows.
And then there was a flash of light. A mechanical whisper. A hard pull on his ghost form and–
[System Initiating Soul Retrieval— Host for Red Hood located.]
At first, there was silence. His core purrs for a moment. Almost like a moment it had waited for happened.
Then there was a sting that spreads to his chest. A phantom feeling of smoke enveloping ice and a whimper muffled behind a veil. Something wants to reach out. Crawl out of his ribcage. Scream for a desperate escape despite no sound being produced at all.
The silence doesn't feel peaceful anymore. Not with a storm finding its way to settle between his ribs and waiting to strike with a vengeance Danny isn't even sure is his to really grasp. Never mind the bizarreness of the situation because he distinctly remembered being in the lab. Falling from wires doesn't cause odd sensations from his core. It's not exactly a near-death experience either. So why couldn’t he open his eyes?
Then came a chill. Not the one that indicates a nearby ghost, no. It rings close the first time he transformed into his Ghost Form. This time however, it almost felt like sludge sinking to his skin before dispersing with an electrifying pulse that made his ears ring.
He opened his eyes with a raspy gasp. Only darkness greets him.
Then came pressure.
His body aches all over. Tension crushing his lungs and his heart beating hard against his ribcage as his hands blindly grab the fabric of his clothes in a desperate attempt for some relief. A rather futile attempt, but in Danny's defense his head felt like it got caved in before getting stitched back together again so pardon me, I can almost feel Dan mocking him!
The air still felt smothering. Or maybe he just doesn't have enough of it at all, which is silly because—
His head smacked into a hard surface above him. He tried to phase through it. Nothing happened.
Oh okay. So maybe panicking in this situation is justified.
He takes a breathe. Counted to seven. He's not even sure if the next one should be three. That's one breathing lesson Jazz taught him going to waste. It doesn't help his body felt foreign. Like he’d been crammed into clothes that didn’t fit and got buried in them. Or had it rebuilt but he got the wrong blueprint.
Ancients, even his core felt different! The ice was still there, but its threaded with smoke—heavy and bitter too, like something burnt refusing to fade (Sir Lancer would be proud Danny somehow made that sound vaguely poetic). From what he could tell, anyway, considering its suppressed. Like something was keeping it from fully surfacing.
But that isn’t the only thing wrong here. (And of course not. He's now running a new tab of unhelpful things he can list out for this bizarre situation caused by wire spaghetti.)
There was an unmistaken softness under his back that does not remotely feel like a bed. Wood is scraping his elbows as he tries to move around. His forehead bumped up against a polished surface above him when he tried to sit up through blurry vision. He can’t even tell if his eyes really are open with how dark it is. Barely registered the expensive suit. Everything felt smooth though–expensive even. Not just the suit but the wood he’s trapped in. Maybe mahogany? Sam’s place had a lot of furniture made out of it. Never as someone encased in it like a gift box. Or…
Is this a coffin?
Please tell Danny this isn’t what he thinks it is, because everything feels too real to be a dream. In fact, he’d appreciate a ghost-mode shortcut right about now. Can't he have those protagonist moments where his powers broke out of a seal at his greatest time of need? Please?
Of course nothing like that happened.
And then—
[System Booting: Host Confirmed—Jason Peter Todd]
[Soul Integration in Progress…]
[Time of Death: 03:12 AM. Cause: Blunt force trauma, explosion, and smoke inhalation. Estimated interment: 6 months.]
[Plot Priority: Unresolved]
A voice echoed inside his skull. Smooth and mechanical, like an AI had decided to go insane. Tucker would go nuts for something like that.
“Wha— “ Danny croaked, or tried to. His tongue felt like lead at the moment. Worse, his lungs isn't pulling air in right anymore. Unsurprising, considering he’s currently in a coffin. Which, wow, he’s really breaking records here with how fast he moved on to acceptance.
[First Mission: Escape the cemetery]
If you hadn’t noticed, I’m still very much buried in a coffin over here! Danny wants to shout even as his body seems to move on its own. Like it knows what to do. And isn’t that a kicker, because why would anyone know what to do to get themselves out of a situation such as this one?
Just whose body is he occupying?
[Failure to comply will result to mission failure]
The voice droned on, completely unbothered by the fact that Danny didn’t understand a word of it. Nor can he mind it all that much right now, occupied as he is. His hands are moving on their own, clawing against wood. It brought splinters under his nails in the process which probably should've stung but it only made it apparent the numbness at the tip of his fingers. There was a growing desperation in his body's jerky movement. A totally understandable reaction considering all the oxygen Danny had wasted. It doesn’t stop the whimper torn out from his throat as soil poured into his mouth.
Unhelpful, because at the moment, he very much wants to scream.
He isn’t a legit zombie… right?
He doesn’t want to come to the surface to a zombie apocalypse.
Despite his doubts, Danny broke the surface with a gasp that tasted like rot and storm-soaked earth brought by harsh rain. Mud clung to his face and smeared itself across it as he tried to get it off his eyes. His vision swam with it, the long line of tombstones standing tall blurring from view. It does not make anything better, but there are no wandering zombies, so he’ll take the small blessing.
He can almost hear Sam mocking him for such an impossibly low standard.
[System synchronization at 46%]
[Warning: Internal contamination detected. Lazarus energy… unstable.]
Lazarus energy..? Danny thought faintly as he stumbled upright, legs barely remembering how to hold him.
[Synchronization On Hold]
[Initializing Marionette Protocol.]
“W-what does that–”
And then he was shoved under, and he couldn’t move the body any longer. Not that he could do so properly before with wobbly legs and aching fingers, but he’s now left with a bone-chilling feeling of his senses being there, but isn’t.
Danny is getting tired of the chill. Another record really, considering his ice core and Far Frozen.
[User shall follow the plot under strict directive. Deviation is strictly prohibited until the Contamination Purge is Completed.]
The …system made an odd mechanical hum. If it were any more human, Danny would say it would have sounded contemplative.
[Anomaly Under Main System’s Que. This System thanks User for their Patience.]
I didn’t even get a choice in this? Danny wants to scream. Nothing of it even reached his tongue. He's getting tired of that too.
Still, his body continued to move. There’s no grace in it as he feels the drag of his feet and the splash of the mud as the rain shows no sign of stopping. It's far messier than he prefers, but his body is going out of the cemetery so Danny can at least consider that a win. He doesn’t have to find out what the punishment was today. He’s already being punished enough, and for being contaminated? That’s just rude. It’s not like he asked to be here.
[Mission: Escape the Cemetery Completed]
The system cuts his train of complaints. Voice as cold as ever, yet has an underlying edge than before.
[50 Points had been added to User!]
There was fake confetti. Danny stared at it blankly. That triumph doesn't feel earned—not from the system, anyway, considering he and this body did all the work.
Speaking of, this body is still moving even as they leave the cemetery grounds. The wind tastes like smoke and wet concrete, but the body doesn’t react to it. Danny did his best to lifts his head—or rather, Jason’s—and stares up at the crooked sign as they pass under it.
Restwell Cemetery, Gotham.
Gotham. The name doesn’t ring any bells. It doesn’t sound like Amity Park, or anywhere near it. The unfamiliarity gnaws at him, though the body’s unnatural calm mutes the worst of it. Not that it helps much, even if autopilot at least gives him a direction to walk in.
Danny isn’t just out-of-state. This is... somewhere else entirely.
[Initializing Next Mission….]
[Mission: Escape the Hospital]
What hospital…? Danny questioned. He didn’t get far before he got his answer.
One second, he was stumbling along the edge of the road, soaked to the bone, leftover grime still clinging to his skin. Next, headlights were slicing through the fog. A horn was blaring loudly which made his ears ring.
His body tried to jump aside, but it wasn’t fast enough.
His body was hit by the front of a car. A wet crunch barely getting concealed by the pouring rain as the couple driving the vehicle looked at him in horror. The world went white the moment he slid down to the cold, harsh ground.
He wasn't sure how long he drifted in and out after that. Time blurred. Sometimes he was weightless, sometimes buried in pain. At times, he was lucid enough to hear beeping machines and hushed voices—none familiar. Sometimes, in the now familiar darkness, he could feel his body move without him. The system hums like the jury watching everything play out as it should be every time it does.
Every once in a while, in those irregular bouts of almost-lucidity, the smoke curled around his core would pulse, aching like a wound reopening. A name would rasp from his throat before he even realized he was thinking it, slipping out weakly like a plea.
“Bruce…”
Why did that name make his chest ache?
They said he was comatose.
A “John Doe,” ironically. No ID. Broken ribs, fractured arm, mild skull trauma. Whispers of being vegetative. Of Lazarus, when its Ectoplasm that’s very much in him. Because nothing could explain why his cells were regenerating too fast or why strange, green energy occasionally bled from his wounds. The hospital hadn’t noticed. But someone else clearly different from the other staffs had—and frankly, Danny didn’t have a good feeling about any of it.
So the next time his vision was greeted by the fluorescent lights and a faint buzz above his head, he knew he had to go. He’s not quite sure if the GIW still exists, but the scent of antiseptic is thick in the air and all the less comforting for his chances.
He wants his clear head back.
[Synchronization: Incomplete]
[Memory Access: Restricted]
[User Status: Disassociated]
The blinding screen blinked across his vision with a screech of digital static that only he could hear. It burned behind his eyelids even after it faded and consequently making the ache at the back of his head worse. Danny didn’t wait for it to pass as he pulled the IV from his arm, wincing as it tugged free leaving a red dot on the top of his palm. He doesn’t linger on it for too long as he stumbles to his feet. The hospital gown flapping uselessly against his legs as he grabbed a coat from a passing rack and staggered down the hallway. No one noticed.
It’s almost baffling how easy it was to get out through the door.
[Mission: Escape the Hospital - Complete]
[50 points had been rewarded!]
The system probably wants to drone out more jargon that's worse than the ones his parents spew out, but Danny ignores it. Bold of him he knows, considering he needs it to survive. But it’s also the reason he’s here in the first place. Not really a great start for him to trust it just like that either.
Despite his reservations however, the bright line of blue continues to burn its way to his peripheral vision, and everything was a blur after that. Something to do with coping mechanism, Danny is sure Jazz would say. He won’t even fight her on it because being unable to move his body the way he wants to is not doing wonders to someone's mental health. It takes great effort to even do so, on the few times he does manage it.
(The smokey thing now nuzzling his core would hum every time he manages to take hold of his body too. Danny likes to think he's being cheered on. He calls it Smokey now as a promotion as his new weird best friend.)
Exhaustion filled his days even now. Especially with the system's frankly ridiculous requirement of [Avoid the Bats]. Whatever that means. This body clearly knows what it's doing though, since it proved itself far more trustworthy than the system as it navigates the alleys of what he discovered to be Gotham. Or Park Row. Or Crime Alley. Danny isn’t local enough to know. What he does know is that the city earned its moniker because these alley crimes are vicious.
It reaffirms this notion even now as a man tries to beat him up for taking his spot, like he has any actual claim to it. Who beats up a kid? Apparently this asshole! Danny doesn’t even feel bad when his body retaliated in return. With precision and power he didn’t recognize even as felt himself flip and land on broad shoulders. One hit to the head and the man went down hard. Danny staggered after, blinking. His hands were still clenched into fists.
“Cool,” he muttered, breath ragged. “That definitely was not normal. What the hell.”
He doesn’t like the way the system gives out a pleased hum. He can tell by now. That it's more sentient than what it lets on. He barely even noticed the man in the corner gaping at him if not for the faint blue highlight around his body. To that, Jason can safely say what the fuck?
[Chance Encounters: Meet Talia Al Ghul]
Who the hell is Talia Al Ghul?
Not someone that can be considered good news considering the twitch of his fingers and the heat rising up at his core. The woman meant business. Danny isn't sure its the kind he'd be all that pleased to have as company.
Besides, chance encounters? Nothing had ever been by chance with the system around. It's usual prompts are usually issued like a command. The constant [Survive the Day] and [Steal clothes from a clothing store] made that clear by now.
In what feels like an almost mutual sense of clarity on both body and core, Danny threw himself into doubling his efforts to hide his tracks. Every corner he had memorized and safe zone he mentally marked were cycled with a dedication that would probably make Sir Lancer cry in tears with a book cover muttered under his breathe. Maybe even an encouragement for him to put that energy into his studying too.
Smokey hums at the thought of it. He swore he heard a whisper of Pride and Prejudice when he passes by a rundown library nearby the new alley of the week. It felt almost nostalgic. Although sometimes the smoke pulses weirdly on certain alleys too. It makes him hear the sound of rolling tires, the clang of metal and a voice going What are you doing? in a weird voice sounding vaguely like they're trying to be this edgy creature of the night. Running a light commentary settles the smoke just as effectively.
(Some alleys have flickers of ghosts in them too, with one of them with a fancy looking couple that looked like victims of a shooting who waves at him when he passes. Danny wished he could wave back. They seem nice)
But of course, because the universe is out to get him, all this effort went down the drain. As the ever-persistent prophecy brought by the system's obvious strings, he meets Talia Al Ghul on a shady alley of the week. Because if he won’t come to her, Talia Al Ghul will. And what a sight she is to behold. Terrifying yet soft around the edges. A rather conflicting impression, surely, but that was the impression Danny got from her core.
And Oh Ancients, to think he’ll find someone with a core? Danny would probably look more surprised if his face weren’t frozen stiff. This doesn’t stop his eyes from tracking the way her core —bright and almost ancient even if its still very much mortal– burns a faint yet strong green. It almost felt like something carved from green fire that even got Smokey wanting to reach out for a second before faltering last second. Impossibly, this made her core calmer, sending a message that this one has no desire to kill him either.
Danny refuses to call it fate.
“Oh, Jason..” she starts. “What has happened to you? How did you come back?”
He doesn’t answer. She doesn’t seem to mind it. Instead, she puts her hands on his shoulders and guides him away from the City he has come to know. Its shadows reaching out on the shadows of his feet, yet doing nothing to stop Talia Al Ghul from taking him away.
[New Arc Opened: The League of Assassins]
[ERROR]
[ERROR]
[Synchronization: Frozen]
[Anomaly still Under Review Que. User is advised to continue as Normal]
What even is his life anymore, really?
If Danny had a nickel for every suspiciously rich and shady man with white streaks in his hair looking at him like meat, he’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice. He prays it doesn’t happen a third time. That is not a pattern he wants in his life, thank you.
At least Ra’s al Ghul has more style and presence than Vlad ever did. Still creepy? Absolutely. But there’s a burn in his eyes and core that feels far more dangerous than Vlad’s grasping obsession. Far more commanding than the Fruit Loop, surely. And he thought Talia Al Ghul was intimidating… she at least was softer about it even with [Demon's Daughter] as her glowing blue title. (That Danny totally didn't miss on their first meeting what are you talking about?)
Ra's al Ghul also got [Demon’s Head] as his introduction of a title. Big yikes.
Him telling his daughter—to her face—that her beloved won’t love her back, no matter how tenderly she nurses Jason Todd back to life? Double yikes.
It explains Talia’s motivations a bit better. Clears up the why, if not the how. But it still does nothing to explain why she’s been so soft with him. As soft as the daughter of the Head of an assassin cult can be, anyway. Surely it's not just because of the core thing? Nobody seems to be aware of the core thing if them not reacting with anything but weird looks every time he tries communicating with his has anything to go by.
At least it got Smokey poking at him curiously. It went back to nuzzling his core though, albeit with more force than usual. Maybe he's nervous around the Al Ghuls? Not that Danny can blame it considering they're in a literal nest of assassins.
Having said that, perhaps he also should've expected the training. If you can call those sessions that.
Danny is unashamed to admit those were a bit of a haze. Talia would put him in a room and then he’ll get attacked to prompt his body into action. And boy, did his body move. He isn’t sure what Jason’s parents were feeding him but it definitely was something. If only he had more autonomy over said body.
…Considering the damage done to Jason though, according to the clinical precision of the doctor Talia brought in if he was to be believed, Danny understands the headaches now. Whoever hurt Jason that badly wasn’t just cruel, they were practically inhuman. It made the whole revenge gig the system had been crowing about make a lot more sense. It didn’t make it any better though. Just…made it make sense.
Did they have to say it when he was around though? Granted, they probably thought he wouldn't understand considering the state he's usually seen it but Ghost etiquette really is non-existent here! Poor smokey was practically shaking in distress its a wonder it took Talia to notice of it despite her lack of experience with cores! (Never mind Danny not expecting the distress too, but perhaps Smokey's origin is….)
Then there was the moments with Talia herself.
She had watched over him rather diligently for a woman of many goals and responsibilities. And if the kid he saw glimpses of from time to time is any indication, Jason isn’t the only one that needs her care either. Regardless, she speaks to him softly about things he isn’t sure if he should fully believe in. The way Jason’s emotions surged in reaction to some of her words lent them weight, sure, but her angle? Her intent? That was harder to pin down.
She’s doing this for her “Beloved” who Danny had long deduced to be Jason’s father. But is that really all there is to it? Is that all the reason she needs to call him Jason with warmth in her eyes and a quirk of her lips? For her to look at him like he was someone worth saving?
Or was it for her to become someone that even this body knew instinctively it could never harm?
Is this the care one gives a weapon? Or is he just too deep into the whole assassin cult mindset to tell the difference anymore?
Maybe there is something here she sees—something she felt compelled to salvage and nurture.
Maybe that’s why she slapped him across the face after he beat down everyone else who so much as raised a hand against him. Why she screamed at the doctor on the verge of giving up on his “recovery”, swearing he would never fight back if she was the one hurting him.
He couldn’t correct her. Part of him thinks he wouldn’t even if he could, and how fucked up is that? He isn’t truly Jason. But if this cold, terrifying woman had seen something worth saving in him—
Part of Danny wants to see it too.
Even if he wasn’t sure where Jason ended and he began anymore.
(Smokey shakes around his core almost like he was crying. For the first time, Danny reached out with his own core too.
In his grasp is fragmented smoke, but perhaps there's a way to recover more? Maybe not just for Jason but for the person who refuses to give up hope.)
Talia tells him things sometimes. About fathers, sons, and regrets. Of a man too deep into thinking himself rational, yet loses himself too easily to grief. She doesn’t always say it outright, but the things she mentions always stir something in his chest as usual– even if the system keeps Jason’s memories locked tight. Smokey (Jason?) fills the gaps with figures that often slip like sand if he try grasping it too long.
Jason seems to still remember his father, even with merely shadows of his name and fragments of what he used to be.
Now, Danny and Talia sat at a cliff’s edge, watching the sun make its slow descent.
”He misses you, honestly, I can tell,” she starts softly. She didn’t have to specify who. She never found the need to.
“Since he lost you, he’s changed. He’s becoming …unforgiving. I know that most don’t see that quality in him..but you know”
I don’t. Danny wants to scream, chest aching as feelings not even his own latch upon his lungs. I don’t because I don’t remember. I don’t because I’m not Jason.
Smokey hums, digging itself a little deeper into ice.
”I know it too,” she continues, unaware of his plight. Stuck as he was underneath the flesh and blood the system had turned into his prison. That doesn’t stop him from wanting to move. To yell. Because Danny never did stop fighting, even as he finds himself slowly acclimating to the body he now inhabits and accommodating fragments not fully his. For even if his body moves in the battle of the training room, the souls nestled between his ribs never stopped crying for more.
All he feels now is this deep ache, he doesn’t know if it's his own. The restlessness that comes with it. The faint smell of iron even if all he should register is the tang of earth.
He almost didn't register Talia's perfume. A rarity, but today is one of those peaceful days. The hand Talia resting gently on his shoulders giving a brief reprieve from the chaos brewing in both his mind and body. Made it easier to bear the forced stillness enforced upon him because even here, the system watches from above his head.
“I think you, and Dick Grayson, gave him light,” she murmurs. “Gave him hope.”
She removed that hand all too soon, even as her voice felt like a soft caress carried by the wind.
”He feels responsible for you. Your loss is his failure. He misses you.”
He feels his hands tremble as every word leaves her lips. A shift. A pull and the rise of smoke as something surges—
“Jason..?”
And tears slip down his cheeks.
One.
Then two.
And it wouldn’t stop.
He doesn’t know whose emotions it is he’s feeling. Whose pain this grief wants to settle to even as it digs itself deeper between his ribs. Maybe it’s Jason’s. Maybe it’s Danny’s. Maybe its a hybrid of both as the line between them starts to blur after so long coexisting with smoke and ice almost intertwined the longer this charade goes on.
He can’t see the expression Talia is wearing upon such a display. If her actions for all the times she had taken care of him are any indication, though, he knew it wouldn’t be judgement. Not with this camaraderie she thinks they have standing as foundation. Not with the gentle crackle of blue flames impossibly reaching out for the first time like a shadow of an instinct he does not quite know the nature of even now. The hand that landed at the back of his head didn't exactly make it clearer. Despite his musings however, the hand stays steady. He's familiar with it by now, even down to the callus embedded into her skin.
He leans against it without meaning to. Or is it Jason that’s chasing it?
It doesn’t feel like it matters much. Not against the warmth of the setting sun and the gentle breeze, at least. He felt in sync with this body for once. More settled.
Or maybe its the green flames purring back? Danny isn't sure he truly wants to know just yet. But…
Just this once, he doesn’t want to feel guilty for receiving the care meant for Jason. This time, he wants to accept it for himself. For this body may be a tomb for two dead boys, but both deserve something out of it, right?
[Mission: The Warmth at Cliff’s Edge Completed! Congratulations! 50 points had been added to the User's account!]
Could you have chosen to come later? Danny thinks bitterly.
But he lets it be. Let's all that is unspoken be buried under the sea as the sun soon gets swallowed by the horizon. Dual cores in sync as fragments that almost feels like fire cools itself to dig deeper into an ice berg.
Someday, he’ll be able to say it. Someday, the fate written by one dead robin will grow its own wings.
Talia drags him down a winding staircase, embraced by shadows that leads to a secret base. Which, okay— Danny should probably be more concerned about, considering this is the League of Assassins. Rationally speaking, nothing about this screams “safe”. But he trusts Talia. Every logical impulse tells him not to trust a literal assassin, of course…but Danny trusts her. Smokey does too. He would even go as far as to say it's down to his core– for hers never truly lied to him either. It burned like a wildfire: fierce, focused, unyielding. And right now, it burns with purpose.
And when they were met with corrupted ectoplasm that made both of their cores sing? It felt inevitable that he would dip right into its water even without the system blaring it as destiny. Fate. Whatever. Does it matter when he falls into its pits? When it swirls around his form like a siren pulling him deeper into bringing him back home?
He barely even registered the system glowing blue in celebration to a mission done considering the ectoplasm glows brighter. Perhaps another point he should also be concerned about. Him going along with the missions issued by the system with less resistance than before.
Such worries didn't stay long however, as his core starts to burn. Smokey seemingly screaming as his fragments stitch itself together even in its state of being embedded into Danny's. Almost like molten lava going through a crystallization process as it met ice.
Then came the static. An almost mechanical scream that accompanies the one now escaping his throat as he feels his body and core fracture and reforms. The ectoplasm invades every inch of him. Surging through bones, his flesh, his marrows, and cleansing everything it touches as it goes. Even the system.
Holy shit. Even the system.
It fought hard against it, but Danny’s core sings louder with renewed vigor. Another joins in– Angrier. Familiar. Still Smokey, but sharper now, like a crystal piercing through rebirth
And as the song turned into a chorus, the boy knew then that the system wouldn’t win. Not here. Not in this grave. Not as the core between his ribs cools into a crystal worthy of being embedded into a throne. For a moment, Danny could even fool himself into thinking there's another voice singing with him. A distant burn of something ancient yet bold. The Lazarus Pits flaring green at the embers of an unspoken blessing. Shining brighter than it ever has as it swirls around the body of a boy. It siphoned over what appears to be a glowing crown before it sinks deep into the pit and cleanse everything in its wake. Even the other occupant of its pools that had froze at the sight of it all was embraced by the Pit, as if coaxing him to join the cycle anew.
And as Danny rose, eyes a toxifying green, he met Ra’s Al Ghul’s gaze.
The Demon’s Head stills at the weight of it, expression twisting momentarily like a knife unsheathed. Then it cools to something worse– calculation. Like he’d just unearthed the answer to an eternal mystery. Like a miracle now balanced on his fingertips.
Behind him, Talia stood with a bag carelessly discarded on the ground. Her gaze has an equal intensity to her father’s, yet holds fascination. Triumph. A match catching fire, and the world with it in her grasp.
Even the assassins watching in silence from the shadows don’t move. Frozen stiff into uncertainty upon the a mystifying ritual caused by a boy barely at the edges of his teens. The world seems to hold its breath.
The sight of it made Danny smile. Crooked. Tired. Alive.
It felt like Jason was smiling back.
“So,” he rasps, licking cracked lips. “I heard you wanted to know how I came back from the dead?”
Something at the edge of his vision lit up in static blue before it disappears without so much as a blink. The Pit sings behind him at the wake of it. And before him?
The Demon smiles with all his teeth.