Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lady Shiva hadn’t been expecting twins, had never even wanted one child to begin with. They cried softly in their makeshift crib, utterly helpless and useless. The woman couldn’t say she understood why David Cain wanted them, or for now, one of them. They could not do anything, could not speak, why would— it didn’t matter. It especially didn’t matter to her.

The motel light flickered ominously above, bugs flying slowly in the sweltering heat.

She stared at them, running a hand over her blade and testing it’s sharpness by pricking her finger to bring blood. They were so little, tuffs of dark hair on their head and looking so similar, she was barely able to tell which one was the boy and which one was the girl. This was the result of her sister’s death?

A presence behind the motel door interrupted her thoughts, the knock that followed only reaffirming her instincts.

She opened the door, staring up into the face of David Cain. He was far taller then her, glaring down smirkingly at her, but she only blankly shifted her body to let him pass into the room.

He asked, “this is them.”

She didn’t deign him with a response, slipping out of the room and closing the door behind her as one of the twins began to cry.

They were not hers. They did not matter. And she did not care for them.

Lady Shiva did not look back or even let herself doubt her decision as she left the old nondescript motel.

Inside the room, David Cain smiled sharply as he watched the twins as he waited for his transport to arrive. He had been mildly surprised, Shiva not having mentioned the fact that there were two of them, rather then the one child that he had been expecting.

But it was no matter.

This could work out for the better, with two working as a team, rather then one. Able to strengthen each other and cover the other’s weakness. And, if, by some reason, one of them was not turning out successfully, it was no loss to remove them entirely. Afterall, David had two chances this time.

Not that he needed chance or luck.

He stared down at the children, two empty slates to turn into vicious machines. They would be perfect, no need for language or an intellectual understanding beyond the fact that his, David Cain’s, word was law.

The boy slowly stopped crying, his sister still silent, both staring up at the monstrous man he would one day find out was his father.

The beginning of the end. The Ones who were All.

Chapter Text

His back was to the wall attached to his cot, staring at the small sleeping body across the dark room. His back ached with the reminder of the lashes he had received for failing another test, for daring to make a whimper and flinch as he was shot four times in the leg at close range.

She had made no sound. His… sister. He had heard one of the guards say it, a nice one who sometimes watched the room while the young dark-haired boy suffered from his punishments while the girl was trained further (he wasn’t jealous, he wasn’t!), and taught him words. The guard had pointed at the girl’s cot and then at the boy, then at the girl’s cot. The guard saying, “sister”, with the last gesture and accentuating the ‘r’ to make up for his British accent.

The guard repeated this a few more times, until finally (so very slowly) the boy opened his mouth and with a quiet rasping mouth asked, “s-ih-stir? Sih-stir?”

“Yes.” The man was happy, his body language was open with his body relaxed and the smallest closed-lipped smile inching onto his face. He was a good man. “Yes, she is your sister.” He said it slowly, trying to help the eight-year old boy understand (not that he knew he was eight).

“Sis-tir.” The boy nodded, eager to learn a few more words. The girl was his sister. She never seemed to like to learn words, always sent him a dark look when he tried to converse with the
few guards who wouldn’t beat him for making a sound. She believed that David Cain cared, the young dark-haired boy was doubtful. “You… Jay-sun?”

The dark-skinned man’s smile increased, “close enough, kiddo. My name,” he pointed it at himself, “is Jason Johnson.” The muscle-armed guard sighed, “I had a kid your age, god, I can’t imagine doing this to my own son. He’s in college now.”

The boy didn’t understand any of what the man had said, but he still smiled lightly. He rolled over to better see the guard, hiding his groan of pain as his movement aggravated his whipped back and wrapped leg. “sun-sun?”

“Sun-sun?” The man looked confused until it clicked, “ah, yeah. Jason Johnson sounds a bit funny doesn’t it.”

The boy pointed at the dark-skinned man and repeated his mumbled words a few times until it sounded close to what the man had said, “jay-sun jon-sun.” Pointed at the girl’s cot, “sis-ter, she… is g’url and, she… leeve.” Then pointed at himself, “boy.”

“Yeah, that’s great, kiddo—”

At the sound of approaching footsteps, both cut off and the boy’s face went painfully blank while the man snapped back to attention. Jason jumped to his feet, biting his cheeks to hide the pained groan, standing straight and staring blankly ahead. David Cain approached the cell, signalling to Johnson to unlock the room while the dark-haired girl slipped inside carefully and waving at the weapons to be at ease. He laid back down into his bed as she carefully walked to her cot, hiding the limp that was invisible to the men outside the cell and painstakingly obvious to the boy. It was obvious in the minuscule grimace on her face with the tightening of her left cheek muscle every time she took a step and the very light intake of breath when she put pressure on that leg. The boy was worried for her, but the girl always did so much better than him.

David Cain’s eyes passed over the boy, and the kid had to stop his muscles from tensing, before turning to Jason Johnson. “How’s the boy?”

“Fine, hasn’t done anything.”

“Will his injuries interfere with the mission?”

“Can’t be sure, but the fact that he hasn’t moved like normal might be a sign. Could be that his back is bothering him, Terrence didn’t hold back.”

“He won’t be going with her, then.”

“Boss—”

“I won’t have him screwing up the mission and her advancement. She’s doing excellent, while he seems to only be holding her back.” Cain sent the man a glare, “don’t argue with me.”

The girl didn’t react to the voices, staring back at Jason with worry in her eyes. He lowered his chin, telling her not to worry. The girl was all he had, and they cared for each other deeply.

They’d never been apart for longer then a few hours, and only recently when the boy began to lag in his learning because he’d rather learn words.

But she trusted the ‘Day-vid Kay-n’ too much. No matter how similar the boy looked to the man or how many features she shared with him.

“Yes, sir.”

The boy desperately painfully wished he could understand the words. Oh, what he wouldn’t do for words. To be able to learn true language.

Something was changing, he knew that. He could feel it under his skin, could feel it in the way the evil man moved and how Jason Johnson looked worried. The boy wasn’t scared, he wasn’t. He’d never felt true fear, was never allowed to. David Cain made sure it was beat out of him.

The next morning, they ate the same normal breakfast.

The girl, his sister, helped him into a sitting position and holding a cup of water to his lips as he giggled silently and tried to push away her help. While they sat on his cold-steel block cot, he whispered into her ear, “sis-ter. You sis-ter.”

She smacked him lightly on the forearm, sending him a warning look with a slight raise of her eyebrow. She still glanced at the door, just in case. His muscles tightened, and he turned away.

She didn’t apologise (how could she? She believed David Cain could do no wrong, and if he said words were bad, then they were bad), only showed remorse for upsetting when she finished her portion of chunky liquid food.

But then everything changed.

Several footsteps echoed through the halls and the twins scrambled to their feet, standing straight and at attention as the evil man approached the front of the cell, several armed guards at his side. He wore an armoured-Kevlar suit with a hooded jacket and a sniper rifle slung over his shoulder.

David Cain flicked his fingers towards the boy’s sister, gesturing at her to come closer as one of his men unlocked the cell door.

Worry flashed through the boy, his eyes widening slightly as he stared at the evil man’s and guard’s body languages. He couldn’t understand it, so many emotions and ideas flashing through their bodies. It was too much; he didn’t even have enough words to describe them all. So little words.

But then David Cain’s eyes travelled towards the boy and he understood.

He didn’t have the words (not enough words) to explain, but the boy knew that if his sister came back, he wouldn’t be… around for much longer.

Two days passed, and there was still no word from the evil man or his sister. He still trained with his teachers, still eavesdropped eagerly trying to hear new words, but the atmosphere at the compound was different. The first night, he had only one person guarding his room like normal. Not Jason Johnson, so the boy didn’t learn any new words and he barely even dared to mouth the ones he knew silently in the dark with a hand covering his mouth. The second day, he had another guard who’d hum to himself a musical tune. The third? He had two guards, and something had changed that day.

The men were nervous, very nervous. Something had gone wrong.

Jason Johnson had been partnered with one of the meaner guards, but his worried glances towards the boy and then to the empty cot at the room beside him told the boy all he needed to know.

The fourth night, the boy laid on his sister’s cot and didn’t close his eyes all night. The rotation of guards that night watched. He’d never slept on her bed without her. Not even on the nights when she was in the intensive care unit at the compound rather than him.

Footsteps echoed through the hall, the sound of David Cain approaching alone eery.

That morning the compound was louder than he had ever heard it. The sound of dozens of men and trucks and barking dogs echoing in the boy’s skull.

The boy did not rise from his sitting position on the cot as David Cain reached the cell.

The fury practically seeped off the man’s skin, anger in every cell and in his every word as he spoke loudly with the guards. The boy did not understand the words, but the message was crystal clear. David Cain turned to stare at the boy who watched them, he was different from his sister. “We will be abandoning the compound, the mission was a failure because we lost the primary weapon.” The boy was less trusting or willing to follow instruction, but when given something he had an interest in, there was nothing that could stop him. “I will not make the same mistakes with him. He will be perfect.”

The guards all knew what that meant.

Jason Johnson sent the young boy a sad glance.

The boy would not survive without being useful. He knew that.

But before David Cain could walk away, the boy opened his mouth for the first time in front of the evil man in five years (he had been a babbling child, he learnt not to be). “Sis-ter leeve?”

She was gone gone gone. How could she be gone? Did she leave him? How could she leave him? Did she not care? Did his sister forget everything he had done for her? Everytime she wasn’t strong enough, or wouldn’t be quick enough, and ceded to her to save her from punishment because he loved her more then life itself? More than language?

Anger erupted in David Cain, worse than even watching the girl escape. The boy had managed to learn language? Was this why he was lacking in his abilities compared to the sister? Had
David not beat out any idea of rebellion out of him?

The boy nodded, swallowing thickly. “Sis-ter leave. Leave. I…” He paused, before pointing to himself. “Here. Me, here. Sis-ter, no. I… good. Fight good. I—” he blinked, touching his ear. “I,” he touched his ear again, “if word. Sister leave. I good, if word.”

They all watched in shock as the boy as he struggled to string a sentence along, missing important words and not knowing words such as ‘listen’.

David Cain stared at him long and hard, before snapping at Jason Johnson to open the cell door. The dark-skinned guard’s eyes widened with alarm but did as he was told.

The boy watched calmly.

Cain threw him off the girl’s cot, the boy’s head slamming into the ground violently.

He made no sound, pulling himself up again with his arms. The boy rasped, breathless from being thrown to the ground. “I…good. Fight. If word!”

David Cain hit him again and again and again, until the boy’s face was bashed in, his arm shattered seven times and bruises that would not disappear for weeks. But the boy did not stop repeating the few words he knew, stubborn even as his rib cracked. Stubborn even when he thought the evil man would kill him.

The boy had no one left, only his words. His sister was gone, abandoned him just like he thought she would. She never thought of him, never cared to hold back her punches even when father was watching. She had no sympathy for him (or maybe, he was just so good at hiding his pain she never noticed).

He would get his words or die trying.

The man slowed, staring down at the boy.

He choked out, blood dripping down his chin. “I g- go…od. If w- wor- word.”

“You want to learn words?” David Cain finally asked, staring down at his son. Stubborn to death. And now that he thought about it, probably loyal to his sister too. Loyal to those who cared for him. If the boy could be loyal to his mission, loyal to his work with the promise of being to learn? It could be promising, he had only slightly delayed from the same level of training as the girl, but his determination to get what he wants would make him better then her.

“Yes,” the boy coughed out, nodding, “l-un… l-ur-n.” Please, let me learn.

David Cain stepped back, “fine. You will get your words, if I get my results.”

The boy didn’t understand, but he followed the man’s body language and he realised with excitement that the evil man agreed. That the man who was the reason behind all his pain was agreeing to give him words and to let him learn.

The sound of gunshots rang in the small cell, the boy snapped his head up and watched in shock as Jason Johnson dropped to the floor dead with two extra holes in him. The boy had never seen it happen before, had not ever even heard of death. But watching the death, watching the man’s spark leave him, gone forever… the boy finally understood the price of his words.

Jason Johnson was dead because of the boy.

And if he hadn’t been in front of the evil man, he may have wept.

David Cain chuckled lowly, “that English accent was far too recognizable, that man was a fool for having tried to teach you.” He turned to the bleeding and broken boy, “you won’t disobey me again.”

The boy slowly nodded, eyes catching on Jason Johnson’s bleeding body as he was led out of the cell, Cain’s hand heavy on his shoulder. The boy committed Jason’s name to memory, vowing to never forget the man. The man who gave him his first words.

Blood splashed under their feet, staining the boy’s bare feet red and leaving a bloody trail behind them.

As they drove away from the compound in trucks and cargo vans, the boy sat in the passenger seat of one of the military trucks, staring down at his red-stained feet. He realised that it was to serve a reminder: Jason Johnson had given him words, but David Cain took him away. David Cain gave him words in exchange for obedience, but David Cain could take them away again.

That day, the boy learnt to trust only himself and that everything had a price. Even words.

On that same day, the dark-haired eight-year-old chose to call himself Jason.

Chapter Text

Jason was eight when he lost his sister and the man who had given him words. When he had discovered that knowledge was power. Power which David Cain did not realise he had given his weapon as he trained Jason in every imaginable form of violence, from weapons to poisons to hand-to-hand combat.

And his personal favourite, explosives.

He was taught to read body language to a far greater extent, to the point of which he could sometimes predict and anticipate his opponent’s attacks. He was taught strategy, mathematics and espionage.

But most importantly, he was allowed to learn. By the time Jason was thirteen, only five years after he had been barely able to string a few words together, the boy was leagues ahead of other kids his age (not that he knew that, nor would he care. It didn’t matter to him). Jason had an unstoppable to drive to learn everything he could, from literature to different languages to various subjects (economics, chemistry, law, toxicology, et cetera).

He was obsessed, to say the least.

David Cain made sure to use that.

The first book David Cain had given him, came with a price (they all did).

He had still been eight, though body far more abused and broken from the new intensive training regime that he was forced to go participate in preparation for his future missions. Cain had not been joking when he had said that he would not make the same mistakes with Jason, as he had with the girl.

Jason’s first test was to kill a bird that had been brought to him. It had a reddish-orange chest, with a brown head and wings.

“Kill it, slowly.” David Cain smiled, gesturing with his hands as he knew the boy would likely not understand. He held up the book in his left hand; a small children’s story about a red dog. The warning was clear, the price for words was the loss of a spark. Jason would probably struggle to read it without help too, not that he would get any. Cain would not make it easy for the boy to learn to think on his own, he’d seen enough of what happened to those who were given an opinion and choices.

They disobeyed.

The boy would learn to never disobey.

Jason took a slow breath, opening the silver-wired bird cage. The cage had a dent, as if it had been thrown around with disregard. He grabbed it gently with its hands, running a hand over it’s soft texture with barely hidden awe. He didn’t know what the squirming thing in his hands was, nor what it was covered with, but it was beautiful.

Cain snapped, “kill it!”

The dark-haired boy took a deep breath and squeezed.

He watched mournfully as pain radiated its body, desperate for life. The cracking of bones followed and the little creature stopped struggling, the spark of life disappearing. Jason felt it. Jason let the creature drop to the bottom of the cage (in later years, he’d learn that it was a species of bird called the American Robin). He stayed quiet as Cain celebrated his kill, as minor as it was.

In the end, the book was worth it. He learnt what a dog was, that sisters and brothers had adults called mom and dad that took care of them. He learnt that the white puffs that covered the sky were called clouds and people liked flowers.

His training increased.

Drastically.

Brutally.

He no longer whimpered when he was shot, it no longer hurt when he was systematically poisoned, conditioned, trained.

He no longer thought of his sister and wished she would come save him.

Jason understood that hope and joy had no place in his life.

The first time he killed a man, he was eleven.

He’d crept into the man’s estate, passed the security stationed at every door and into his master bedroom where two nude little girls lay on either side of him. The sickly pudgy man was flushed, a pleasant smile on his face as he slept. Jason remembered feeling revulsion at the sight, he’d read enough books to understand that it was wrong.

The growing boy had experienced it himself to feel saddened that this loss of safety and security happened to others. He’d always just thought it happened to only himself, another cruelty that was bestowed upon his life.

David Cain had chosen a perfect target for Jason’s first kill.

He felt no remorse as he quietly slit the man’s throat from ear to ear, making sure not to disturb the two little girls (they were smaller than Jason) and utterly drowning in grief and shame even in their sleep. Their faces contorted, shoulders slumped and heads bowed.

Broken angels.

Why was the world so unfair?

He watched it all until the man bled out, until his body grew cold and the night was turning to twilight. Jason watched and felt a satisfaction fostering deep inside his gut, something he knew was wrong but didn’t push away. No, he deserved at least this for all that he suffered.

If his actions, his theft of the spark, allowed for others to find a better life?

So be it, he had long since lost his innocence.

There was nothing left for him on this world.

Not even… not even his sister.

Not even his other half.

He’d snuck out of the estate at dawn, with none the wiser. Just before he slipped out, he sent an anonymous tip to the police in Vienna. He could only hope that the two girls would be taken care of, saved from their non-living.

Because how could being raped by a monster every night be called living?

He learnt that word in a crime novel, the main heroine having been attacked by the serial killer when she got close to discovering the truth about his identity. The book had a happy ending, Jason didn’t think he would.

In the van, David Cain clapped him on the shoulders as a congratulations after seeing Jason’s blood-stained hands. Everything was blood-stained now, even a few of his older books that he would hold close to his chest after a particularly brutal day for comfort. Jason could see it in the man’s eyes, dollar signs and vicious triumphant that a child he had raised was successful. Because Jason was, in fact, successful. Even at eleven, he was able to hold his own against half a dozen men double his size. And unlike the girl, he had killed a man and returned back to them.

At thirteen, Jason eliminated a woman. Now, he’d done this before, because David Cain didn’t discriminate about death. Woman or men, no matter. He hadn’t had to hurt children yet, he couldn’t bring himself to do it the last time David Cain had forced him onto a mission in Sochi, Russia.

But, anyways, this mission was different because the woman had done nothing wrong. She had simply spoke against the wrong politician. They didn’t like how much popularity she had gained, she needed to be removed.

That night, once Jason’s hands were stained red and the mission was complete, he laid trembling in his bed (no longer just a metal slab, but an actual cot. A gift, in addition to the two new textbooks and Shakespeare play).

Jason was trained by masters all over the world, experts in everything, by the time he fifteen.

Somewhere far away from the Somalian compound they were currently in, a young dark-haired girl was given the mantle of Batgirl. She was highly skilled, and had survived for years in the streets, before the old Batgirl, now Oracle, had found her.

Oracle named the girl Cassandra, for she didn’t have any other. Nothing other then the word ‘sister’ that the boy from her memories had whispered to her when they were alone, safe from the pain.

Cassandra was adopted by Bruce Wayne, and because Cassandra Wayne.

She was loved, dearly cherished.

Jason?

On his fifteenth birthday, David Cain threw him into the Lazarus pit. He had been given to Joker, so the crazed man could instil some lessons into the young killer. The damages had been far too extensive for the boy to survive, with wicked scars pulling at the corners of his lips, splitting them open. But in the grand scheme of things, David Cain was fine with this development.

There was one last test to see if the boy was ready, if the boy was loyal, if the boy was worthy to hold his parental name.

He needed to rise from the pit and keep his sanity.

Cain watched eagerly from the edge, waiting as the tribal drums echoed a reverberating rhythm that began to move faster and faster.

On the other side of the pool, a woman stood with her young son. Talia and Damian Al Ghul. The little boy watched curiously, wondering why this assassin was worthy to be dropped in his grandfather’s pit despite his failure. He had seen the boy’s scars, his mangled face and broken eyes. If he had been allowed to feel guilt, he would have felt it for this older boy. Damian glanced up to his mother momentarily, praying that this boy’s future was not similar to his. It was impossible not to see the similarities, with both being raised from birth to be perfect weapons that had no room for error.

The Demon Heir huffed, shaking his head. Useless thoughts. Damian was the heir to the League of Assassins, the boy in the pit was Cain’s pet.

They were nothing alike.

The drums went silent, breaths held tightly as the pit sparked with ancient green light.

As soon as Jason’s head broke the surface, eyes green with rage and injuries healed to scars, vicious fury on his face, he was being pulled out of the pit by a dozen servant’s hands.

In his rage, he pulled one of the servants into the pit. The servant disappeared under the crashing waves of green and did not rise again.

He fought furiously as hands tried to hold him down, fighting savagely as rage and green and bloody hands and the memory of a forgotten sister fuelled him—

“Jason, enough.”

The boy froze, instincts shoving the rage and righteous fury below the surface. He turned his head slowly, to face the man that had spoken. He hated himself for submitting to the man who’s face took a few seconds to recognise, Jason’s heart beating wildly as he felt sick. Too much movement, too much change. Why was he here?

Why wasn’t he dead?

David Cain smiled cruelly and in triumph as he approached, reaching the boy still drenched in the cold waters of the pit. He placed a possessive hand on the back of Jason’s threat, calling out for the chamber to hear. “The boy has survived the pit! He has proven himself to be a worthy soldier, a good son! Let it be known to all that Jason Cain has been born again!”

He didn’t have it in himself to be shocked at the admission.

Nothing would shock him again (but he would one day shock the Joker, simply pay back for the treatment of electrotherapy. After all, no one liked being in debt).

Hours later, as he stood in front of the mirror, staring at himself. He realised that there was a white strand of hair. Jason reached up and twirled it with a finger, the feature an extremely defining mark. His mind was trapped in memories, of the little robin bird who he had crushed with his bare hands.

Dead.

Just like he was inside. The beating heart and blood rushing through his ears was a lie.

He was dead.

And maybe, he had been for years.

Jason had no spark left.

The dark-haired boy tilted his head as he stared at himself in that mirror, but to his disappointment, he did have similar features to David Cain. In the way that his skin was light, his jaw was sharp, his body tall and his now-green eyes were not of Asian descent, unlike his sister.

He always had thought he didn’t look like her.

She was dead, and he was dead with her.

Pity, Jason thought, that the man who’d hurt him for so many years was his father. The broken boy who had been healed wrong, who had come back wrong, had always hoped that the stories and books he read told the truth or held some truth to them. That a happily ever after was possible.

Now, he knew that was a lie too.

There was nothing happy about the future of a dead man. A dead man with a dead sister, who never got avenged.

And would it not be fair, for his father to join him in this plight?

His father would die, painfully.

For Jason to finally get revenge for the sister he never truly got to know?

It was a matter of when, not if.

Chapter Text

At seventeen, Cassandra Wayne was discovering the life of a normal child and joining superhero teams with her beloved adopted brothers supporting her through every decision. She went to school and vocal therapy, took ballet classes, lived a happy life. She had friends, family, everything she could dream of.

She didn’t think about the life she left behind, didn’t want to. There was too much pain, too much suffering.

At seventeen, Jason Cain was planning the death of his father for years. His life consisted of missions his father auctioned him off for and the university classes he was permitted to attend. If, and only if, that so pleased his father. To do so, Jason had to correctly and efficiently complete his missions while continuing to show an improvement in his training. He needed to be perfect, no matter the mission, no matter what occurred. Failure could not occur.

He would only fail if he wished for death.

And he was already dead, so there was no need for that. He only wished for justice for his dear sister. He wondered what she’d thought if she saw him now, no longer the scrawny boy he’d been at eight when she’d died.

Jason cut off his thoughts slipped into the decrepit mud house, the cool hair of the night brushing past him. Personally, he hated missions in war-torn areas, they were so much grittier than being hired to take out a politician in a Spanish five-star resort. But then again, Jason had a longer leash when he was on missions where he had to crawl through the desert for weeks to reach his target, so maybe it was a blessing in disguise.

The camo-masked boy casually knocked against the wall of the archway into where the rebels were playing cards.

He instantly had half a dozen rusted guns trained on him.

Jason hummed, “your reflexes are lacking.”

The leader scowled, “who the hell do you think you are—”

“Your private contractor. I was informed that I was to arrive at this safehouse and join this little boy band of yours.” He leaned against the door, face blank even behind the mask. A habit that was annoying in missions where he was supposed to pretend to be a normal human boy, he just wasn’t used to having to express emotions on his face. “Unless I took the wrong turn several hundred miles back?”

Another one huffed, after a moment of silent. “How young are you? And what’s with the British accent?”

“None of your business. And it’s an identifying mark.”

“Have a name?”

They all trusted him too easily. “No.”

A dark-skinned man raised an appraising eye, “you can’t be that old, kid. You even legal to drink?” He’d probably asked jokingly, but Jason couldn’t really say he cared much for jokes. They were just used to gain one’s trust.

“In Ethiopia, ignoring all the countries with no minimum drinking age.”

They blinked. One asked, “uh, kid? Drinking age in Ethiopia is sixteen.”

“Yes, oh and I’m legal in the Central African Republic too.” At there stares, he shrugged mechanically. “Next up is eighteen pretty sure, and I’m not there yet.”

“You… you— You’re pulling our leg, right?”

“No.”

They were nice guys, it’s a pity he was there to kill them and their enemy.

Jason followed the rebels for two weeks, keeping minimal contact but ensuring that they trusted him, before he killed everyone in the same night.

They would never even know that he was the one to kill them.

He didn’t feel sympathy, Jason hadn’t in a long time, but he recognised that it was an unfortunate situation. David Cain had said he was hired by some government agency to ensure that the tensions in the Civil War in the backwater country exploded. What better way than to kill important members from each side and blame the other? But Jason did have to admit, war had a great profit for those who had their sticky fingers involved (usually the Americans or the British, unsurprisingly). It was a possible business investment for the future, when he finally got rid of his father.

Thankfully, when he returned to the Romanian compound, his father didn’t have anymore missions (he had offers, but none offered a high enough monetary reward. Only the rich could afford Jason. Didn’t that sound just great?) and he was able to return for classes at the University of Cambridge. It had been almost a dream when his father had agreed to let him enrol just before he turned sixteen. Jason was studying literature (he’d complete this one in a couple of months) and was beginning a biochemical major (because why not?).

The campus was beautiful, Jason thought as he stepped out of the taxi.

The only time he truly felt solid was when he was here, surrounded by knowledge and learning. Words were all he had after he lost his sister and Jason Johnson, they kept him focused and alive.

He approached two students, both older than him, but familiar.

Jason’s lips stretched into a forced smile as the older man spotted him, an individual who he was going to be sharing organic chemistry classes with and had met in introductory biology. The twenty-year-old major waved to his young friend, “Jay! How have you been? You’ve got a tan!”

Another girl, Hannah grinned. “Had a good vacation, kid?”

Jason nodded, forcing his eyes to sparkle with a spark of life he no longer had. “Yeah, it was okay. Super relaxing. No good books anywhere. Got to meet a couple of my dad’s business associates, that wasn’t fun.” If you could call the rebels his dad’s business associates.

She nodded sympathetically, watching in amusement as the older friend forced Jason to do a complicated handshake with him. “Awe, our poor little genius.” She still brought him into a soft hug, “glad you relaxed a bit though, you deserve it.”

He nodded stiffly, and they let it pass.

All of them knew that Jason wasn’t as okay as he portrayed himself. And not that he didn’t act perfectly, if they hadn’t spent such long periods of time, they would have never noticed. But there was lot of little things, that set off alarm bells.

First, was his large number of scars.

Hannah had been the first to meet him, they shared a couple literary analysis classes, and she became friends with him when they had to do an analysis with a partner. It was odd, working with a fifteen-year-old. At first, she’d thought she’d hate it, but then it turned out to be pretty fun. Kid was smart, had a dry humour and loved learning. And he wasn’t narcissistic in the slightest, rather she didn’t think she’d ever met someone as humble as him.

He was very… centred in who he was. It was an admirable quality.

Back to the scars, there was far too many of them. He’d come to lectures enough times that she’d recognised that he’d sometimes be injured after long periods of supposed vacation. Even now, as she ruffled his hair while they joked about the newest drama in the friend group, she noticed a new scar along his hairline.

He never took off his shirt, always wore long sleeves and shirts. He always wore a glove on his left hand, a severe traumatic burn underneath

Jason raised an eyebrow at her when he noticed her staring, “are you okay?”

“It’s nothing, don’t worry.”

Second was his almost obsession with learning, sometimes it seemed as if he was almost scared someone would take it away from him. He preferred to be learning or studying over everything. Literally everything.

At first, they’d thought it was his personality as a child genius, but Hannah also studied psychology. And she’d been recognising patterns of abuse, emotional detachment and all the characteristics of a high-functioning disempathetic sociopath.

Hannah had first noticed when he seemed to not have reactions to violent terrorist attacks or the videos of people getting beheaded around the internet. And sure, maybe that could be explained, maybe he had a traumatic childhood.

But she’d also seen him pass a man kicking a dog while everyone rushed to stop the monster, not care if people died unless he had to say something polite, etc..

Again, not much.

He was extremely self-serving, saw people as objects to use for his personal gain and didn’t make personal connections with anyone. Even his supposed friend group, half the time Hannah had suspected he just stayed with them, so he didn’t look out of place. He seemed to like Hannah enough though, and that’s why she believed he wasn’t a psychopath.

But she didn’t say anything, maybe his father was just abusive? And they only had a few months before graduating, there was no point to create any extra drama.

In the end, none of it had mattered. Didn’t matter whether they cared for him or not, she realised that now.

The news shook them all to the core, only a few days after Jason and a couple others graduated. They’d all planned to go travel to celebrate graduating from the University of Cambridge, maybe go to a proper beach in Italy. Hannah hadn’t spared a second thought about Jason’s silence, it wasn’t anything out of the usual.

But if Jason had ever said he was actually coming on the trip, she couldn’t remember.

They never saw him again after that day.

June 18^th.

The entire world watched on June 18^th.

But for Cassandra, June 18^th was the day she first wondered that maybe the boy she sometimes saw in her dreams (the boy that looked like her father) was maybe real. She’d repressed so much from her time with Cain, but maybe she shouldn’t have.

Maybe she should’ve had.

June 18^th was the day the world learnt that Jason Cain hated his father.

Chapter Text

Jason glanced up from his plate, face blank as his father entertained the dinner guests. He never knew why his father put up such an act, after all no one even tried to hide their gazes as they stared at him while he slowly chewed the dinner.

He knew many did not truly understand his potential. They could not see how Jason, a seventeen-year-old boy, could be a world class hitman.

And yet, they paid all the same.

His father waved his hands as he smirked snidely, telling a ridiculous story about some past business partner. Some bad investment. All his words were used to mask (how could David Cain still not understand the power of words?) his anger. David was angry at Jason and had gotten even further pissed off when Jason didn’t seem to care or react.

But what did he expect?

What did he expect after he’d let the Joker torture and kill him, after he resurrected Jason from the goddamn pit?

He shouldn’t have expected care, or sympathy. Cain shouldn’t have expected a reaction. Because while he saw the entire affair two years ago as a proving and testing ground, to demonstrate that his son was strong, Jason saw it as a lesson. A very good lesson. A very tough lesson. A lesson that was seared in Jason’s brain to this day. And if David Cain could’ve listened to his own lessons, his own teachings about body language, he would’ve realised. And maybe he would’ve noticed that Jason lost his spark (because he was dead dead).

Tomorrow, Jason was supposed to go on a trip to celebrate graduating. Two degrees by the time he was seventeen.

However, today was the day that mattered. He could worry about tomorrow when the time came.

June 18^th.

Oh, it would be a glorious day.

Jason twisted the fork in his left hand, the golden spoon shimmering under the Swarovski crystal chandelier as the slow-witted woman beside him giggled at a joke her husband made that wasn’t even funny. He switched the fork to his right hand.

The rich couple wanted the husband’s mistress dead (apparently the wife found out and threatened to go to the media, the husband couldn’t have that, so together they decided to have the girl killed. Problem was the mistress was a daughter of a Chinese intelligence officer), and thus they came to negotiate a deal with David Cain.

He switched his grip on the fork, it seemed like fiddling to anyone else. Cain sent him a warning glance, his body emanating displeasure and anger. And annoyed amusement about how stupid the couple was, but the two million dollars they were offering for the job made up for it.

Jason glanced up at the security camera in one of the corners of the dining room. It blinked a steady red.

In his business, anyone would do anything for the right amount of money. And after several years of having more privacy in his missions, the opportunity had practically thrown itself at him. David Cain practically dared him to do it when he first let the boy learn words nine years ago. Why wouldn’t Jason make some hidden money off of hidden side jobs?

And why wouldn’t he use that money to make June 18^th the most perfect glorious day?

Jason twisted the fork again, shifting his right wrist as he tested its weight. It had images of flowers carved into it. The dark-haired boy, with a strip of white in his hair, guessed that the spoons were probably only coated in gold. They weren’t heavy enough to be solid gold.

He didn’t like that.

The clock ticked slowly, and he glanced up at the cameras almost hopefully. No, not hopefully. Rather with annoyance, annoyance that it was taking so long for his hired help to complete their job.

But no one could call Jason impatient, so he continued to wait.

Everything needed to be perfect.

He chewed another bite when Cain sent him a look in the middle of the husband telling some stupid story about whales. No need for suspicion, no need for his father to question anything. The man turned back to their guests, waving towards Jason. “Yes, my dear boy just graduated from the University of Cambridge in England. He didn’t let it interfere with his passion and work. He’ll do very well for your little problem.”

“Well, how can we be sure—” The honey-voiced woman asked, her fat-bellied husband nodding in agreement.

“Jason has completed hundreds of missions in his life, he has easily eliminated targets far more dangerous.”

The boy twisted the fork in his hand.

“But it’s the Chinese government…”

Jason glanced up at the camera.

“…we can’t have it be connected to us.”

“And it wouldn’t be, my dear Mr and Mrs. Bogangar. I can assure you, if you give the job to my son, there will be nothing to connect you to.”

The camera’s red light stopped blinking for exactly three seconds, before switching as if nothing had happened.

Jason’s eyes connected with his father’s.

The man’s eyebrows seemed to start to narrow—

Jason twisted the fork in his grip. Facing it downwards. He spun his arm right. Body shifting with the movement. He didn’t even get out of his chair as he slammed the golden-covered fork into her jugular. Shoving the fork deep into her fork as her body was flung back with the blow, rocking back into the chair. Her eyes rolled up her head.

He ripped the bloody fork out.

It was silent, except for her hoarse screams as she choked and gurgled on her own blood.

Just as the husband began to scream, Jason smiled widely. With his teeth. If he had time, he would’ve chuckled like the Joker too.

After all, the world was his stage and he didn’t wish to disappoint.

But David Cain was never one to sit long.

Jason unholstered his gun from his hip and shot the fat husband (his brain splattering across Manet’s Spring painting) before David Cain had jumped to his feet. The dark-haired only tilted his head, still seated. The woman was still alive, apparently resilient despite her dainty trophy wife appearance. She’d be dead soon. Jason was glad David Cain at least recognised the threat, the dark glimmer in Jason’s eyes.

It was always boring when they didn’t struggle.

June 18^th. What a glorious beautiful bloody day.

David Cain asked, “what are you doing, boy?”

He slowly rose to his feet, placing the bloody fork onto the table. His gloved finger on the trigger of his gun. Jason’s British accent was enunciated easily as he spoke slowly. “At least call me by my name, father.” The adrenaline racing through him was unreal, the excitement stole his breath.

Jason didn’t think of anything else, didn’t think of his supposed friends or any false attachment. But he did remember the pain, the hours of torture and training. He’d never forget it either, not when evidence of it covered his entire body like a cursed map.

He pushed the chair away.

Cain took a step back, “stop whatever you’re doing.”

“I’m doing?” Jason could remember asking. “This is nothing more than retribution.”

“For what? For making you what you are? A god among mere men?”

“A god?” He stepped away from the table, his father taking several steps back. He could see the man’s eyes jumping around the room, analysing and categorising. Jason didn’t buy the man’s act; he knew that Cain was prepared to fight him at any time. “I am ruined!”

“Ruined, boy? You are not ruined, you are perfect! You’re exactly what I created you to be!”

“Created? I am not your freaking toy!”

“That’s exactly what you are. The hell has gotten into you—”

Jason sent off a shot, aiming for his father’s chest. Predictably it missed. His father twisted perfectly, avoiding the bullet as it dug into the wall behind him. Jason spent his entire round, firing at his father as the man dodged and sprinted out of the dining room. Jason easily followed (they left behind a room where the woman had finally died, and the man’s body was growing cold).

Blinking red security camera lights followed him through the hallway as he raced after his father, moving easily when the man tried to ambush him.

Jason pistol-whipped him, before he threw the gun out the window. Not wanting to give Cain another weapon to use, even if it had no bullets left. They grappled with each other, his father’s face twisted in frustration while Jason didn’t think he’d ever smile so wide.

Goddamn, he was enjoying this.

The man shouted at him, “how dare you betray me! I made you into what you are! I let you read and learn and study, and this is how you repay me?”

Jason didn’t deign him with a response as he shoved the man into a wall, old paintings worth thousands falling off their hooks. This was justice. Jason deserved this. Jason was going to get revenge, revenge for the sparks that he had stolen from the children and from all the innocent souls, even from that little Robin bird nine years ago.

He was going to be free.

The man should’ve listened to English poets like Alexander Pope who said that too much knowledge (words) was dangerous.

The heroes and vigilantes were struggling to (couldn’t yet) pinpoint the livestream, the hackers actively working against and protecting the global connection from the likes of Oracle and Cyborg. They’d find it eventually; Batman was sure of that. But eventually would be too late.

Everyone had been confused when almost all cellular connections were hijacked, by an unknown group or entity, to livestream four people sitting in an immaculate dining room. It took Batman longer then he wanted to admit for him to recognise the wealthy Bogangar couple. They didn’t visit Gotham often, preferring to stay in Europe, even for business transactions.

But then, the boy sitting beside Mrs. Bogangar stabbed her in a throat with his fork. And then he shot Mr. Bogangar, shutting up the man’s screams. And then Batman recognised the assassin, David Cain. Then realised that the boy who had just killed two civilians was most likely Cain’s apprentice or student.

And then they started fighting, shouting about things that didn’t make sense.

Well, they did. But Bruce didn’t want to think about that now.

But they couldn’t turn the livestream off.  

The entire world was watching, and they couldn’t stop it. The battle was violent, two people had been killed and there had been no warning. Any children who’d seen it were probably traumatised. There had been so much blood.

Absentmindedly, Bruce noted that Mr. Bogangar’s brain splatter had probably ruined the seventy million-dollar Manet painting. He even heard Tim muttering to himself, wondering if this would increase or decrease the value of the old painting.

Cass smacked him gently, not really paying attention. Her eyes were glued to the screen, and anyone who knew her well could see that she was furrowing her eyebrows under her Orphan mask. They were all in the Watchtower, hoping they’d get a chance to stop this fight.

The younger boy shoved the assassin into the wall, paintings falling off their hooks and crashing to the floor.

Cass stared at the man on the livestream who she knew was her biological father. Her eyes then drifted to the boy who fought him, a young man who spoke of horrors that she had escaped when she ran from her father. It looked like David Cain had succeeded.

She shifted on her feet as she tried to figure out why the black-haired boy looked, felt, so familiar (“sis-ter. You sis-ter.”).

Hannah was sitting on the floor of her room, several other close girl friends from their fround group around her as they chatted and packed for the trip. They were leaving tomorrow, June 19^th. It was going to be a great trip, Hannah could feel it. It’s been so long since any of them had really been able to relax, there last year before graduating stressful.

It felt like the entire world was against them, with half a dozen almost-successful alien invasions, planet apocalypses or villain masterplans, their school year had been very interrupted and unorganised.

But they all had managed.

They deserved this break.

Her phone buzzed her pocket and she pulled it out, smiling when she noticed it was Anthony, and answering it on speaker. “Hey Anthony, what’s up? Me and the girls are just packing for tomorrow. You’re at Clarence’s house, right? What about everyone else?”

“Are you watching the tv?

“What do you mean? What’s going on?” She sat up, feeling uncertain. The other girls had finally quieted down.

“No, I— Hannah, just listen. You need to turn on the television.”

“The television?” Someone asked, “but why?”

“Just… just turn it on! Any channel. Wait, no, just choose BBC. This is… you’ll understand when you see it.”

She could hear Clarence in the background, probably on the phone with someone else, speaking very quickly. Hannah sighed as she picked up the remote from where it fell beside the bed. Turning the bedroom television on. “Honestly Anthony, I don’t get what the big deal is—"

Her heart froze.

The screen was divided into two sections.

In the corner, there was a square with two people fighting in it. At the top of the square, blinked the words ‘live’. However, on the main part of the television was a different scene. There were warnings about graphic content everywhere, but she barely even saw them. It was a large expensive dining room, and all the girls could only watch in pure shock as she watched a man stab a woman and shoot a man on replay.

The video was on a loop.

One of the girl’s jumped to her feet and ran into the bathroom, retching.

Hannah couldn’t breathe.

She picked up the phone from where she had dropped it, “is this a joke, Anthony? This isn’t funny.” It didn’t look like a joke.

“No, no, it’s not. I… What is even happening?”

The reporters from the BBC were speaking quickly, relaying information as they received it. “Just in, the young man murdering the married couple on live television has been identified as Jason Cain. A recent graduate of the University of Cambridge. His father, the man he is currently fighting with live, is David Cain. David Cain is allegedly a world-class assassin.”

Hannah was shaking her head; she couldn’t believe any of this. This was… this couldn’t be happening.

Another reporter added, “we have contacts that believe this attack was premeditated. A response to what is to be believed years of abuse that Jason Cain has survived, where he was being trained to follow in his footsteps. More on this later.”

“Yes, thank you, Jeremy. Right now, government agents will be reaching out to anyone who was a known associate to Jason Cain, offering protection and mental support in the next few days. They believe that he’s been living a lie for several years to blend in, leaving many none the wiser.”

Downstairs, someone banged loudly against the door. “Hannah Davidson? This is MI6, we’re here for your protection! Please open the door.”

She blinked, hands trembling. “Please go let them in.”

Nineteen minutes later, agents stormed the mansion and the stream cut off.

But David Cain was dead, and his son was nowhere to be found. Jason hadn’t bothered to hurt his father for long, he didn’t care enough for the man. David Cain didn’t deserve anymore of his time. He didn’t even deserve a thought.

For Jason, June 18^th had been a day of justice and rebirth.

For everyone else, June 18^th resulted in a lot of trauma and headaches.