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Gotham’s lights are flickering through a nighttime, uninviting mist, and even this far away from the city, sounds of sirens still make it to his ears. He can almost feel the wet, ugly smell of the gutters already stuffing his nostrils. A blurry sky spreads high above, concealed behind a polluted layer of faint orange. Full Dark, No Stars.*
He’s home.
“Are you sure this is the way you want it?”
Jason shrugs, eyes still fixed at the great, hellish, concrete pit laying now just a few miles away. Abandon hope all ye who enter here.**
“There is no other way for him to understand.”
Talia crosses the distance between them, and now stands beside him, laying one hand over his new, red helmet that’s resting over the saddle of his bike. “All right. Red Hood, then.”
Jason is aware of the fact that she’s not one hundred percent positive about this, but… he can’t stand this anymore. He can’t wait any longer.
Talia doesn’t realize how his insides boil in wrath and bitterness. How he still can’t make it through an entire night’s sleep, jumping up every few hours or so, soaked in sweat, unable to breathe, trembling like a fish out of water. How his mind keeps reliving that nightmarish night over and over again. How it always comes back to him, provoked sometimes by small, insignificant things; certain explosives, during his training. An abandoned, rusty crowbar, laying at the side of a busy street, right next to a pile of trash. A glimpse of a clown, possibly heading to some children’s party. Purple clothes. A random laugh, a little more high-pitched than the usual.
And then it’s the other thing. The one he’d never openly admit; pain. A fiery river, suffocating him. He had died. Viciously, inhumanely beaten to it. He dug himself out of the grave they’d put him in. Lived a no-life, his mind and soul disabled, trapped. And if it wasn’t for Talia, he’d still be that way. Empty and lifeless.
He’d went through all of this. He was still suffering, because of this. And his kidnapper, his murderer, this monster, was alive. Alive and well. Alive and unpunished. Alive and thriving. In and out of institution. Hurting and murdering. Destroying everything and everyone he’d come across.
And Bruce? His savior? The man that Jason had reached as far as to call his father? To actually view him as his dad?
Nothing. He’d done nothing but proceed to bury him alive. And not only that… no. Not even a year later, his beloved dad, his precious partner, the one he loved, admired and respected, the only one he ever trusted, the only real parent he ever had, had shamelessly replaced him. His body would have barely gotten cold, had it actually been on that grave, but yes, he replaced him. Just like that. Because, apparently, all that Jason was to him, to all of them, was a simple toy to spend their time over. Instantly replaced once broken. And this time, by another golden boy. A good, sweet, obedient boy, a precious genius. A clear, astounding improvement, in every possible way. Did Bruce, perhaps, had his eyes on the Replacement even before Jason had kicked it, just wishing for a good chance to get rid of the trouble that he was to him, and get the new kid in?
Sometimes, Jason thought they might have actually been relieved that he was gone. Otherwise, why was his killer thriving out there? How come Jason had been so swiftly replaced?
Talia doesn’t know. Nobody knows.
“You’re starting off tonight?”
Jason slips out of his thoughts and nods vividly. “The sooner the better. But I don’t intend to fully get out there. Not for another month at least. Maybe even two. The shadows will do, for the time being. But even so, the mask is a necessity.”
Talia agrees, with a nod of her own. “Come by the car,” she says.
Jason follows her and waits, as she opens the back door and retracts what looks like a small tray with some kind of cake, golden and brown, with nuts or almonds on the top, covered by a cellophane sheet that she discards. She places it over the windshield of the car, casually leaning over there herself and offering him a small, plastic fork.
“This is…”
Jason moves, and takes the fork from her hand. “Basbousa, in Egypt,” he says quietly. “Namoura, in Syria. Ravani, in Turkey and Greece.”
The small smile Talia offers has none of the usual maliciousness of the smirks she has on store for strangers and antagonists. It actually causes her gorgeous, light brown face to shine.
They eat in silence, casually sitting over the windshield. By the time the tray is empty, Talia gets up and faces him, taking his face in her hands. Her lips touch his forehead and linger there. Jason closes his eyes, and stays very, very still.
“Happy Birthday, my Jason,” she says softly, and then proceeds to lightly touch his chin, causing him to lift his face, deep teal eyes meeting her golden-brown ones. “Better days will come. But until then… stay safe."
*Full Dark, No Stars; A Stephen King novel.
**from Dante's Divine Comedy (Inferno).