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It took Jason an embarrassingly long time to realize he was haunted. In his defense, he would like to point out repeated exposure to hallucinogenic gasses and injections tended to cause most Gothamites to see flickering shadows where there were none. And for months that's all Jason saw. A shadow darker than the rest, skulking along beside or beneath him. In retrospect, its permanence should have given away that this was no hallucination.
Also he hadn't seen it Before. But Jason attributed that to rotting in Gotham mud for who knew how long before the Al Ghuls did whatever they did to him to get him back. But the night everything fell apart, the night his own father betrayed him to his face, the shadow swept aside the batarang and buried it in Joker's spine.
Bruce stared at the still laughing —and now spasming— Joker. Icy and very tangible hands caressed his throat. He was bleeding. But it was just a scratch, the batarang had been redirected before it hit his carotid artery. Which it would have if left alone.
Jason stared at Bruce. Bruce made his opinion on Jason’s return to life crystal fucking clear.
“You really meant it, didn't you.” Jason said, pain and regret bitter on his tongue. “You fucking disowned me.”
Bruce looked pained. Well, the bastard looked constipated but that was as much pain as he'd ever show in the suit.
“Did you even fucking come for me? Or did you just have my fucking corpse shipped back whenever you finished sucking the clown's dick?” Jason snarled.
His shadow pulled at him. Jason spat on the rotting wood in front Bruce; saliva and blood, betrayal and hate.
Bruce started moving. Jason didn't see more than that, his phantasmic shadow pulled him in earnest now. Through the broken inner wall, through the plastique inside, through the brick façade keeping the rot and death hidden away from sight.
Jason didn't want to do anything other than lay down on his explosives and fucking die. There wouldn't be enough left for the pits to bring back if he was in pieces. His shadow apparently knew him well enough to keep going once out. He was dragged clear to the Thompkins Community Clinic.
Leslie was in and busy with paperwork. There was a full rucksack beside her. Jason was deposited on his feet in front of her. She was up and swinging a metal bat before he'd been fully settled. It passed through him. Leslie dropped the bat, staring at him in shock.
“Hiya Doc. How's tricks?” Jason said, smiling.
His phantom hissed and crackled and spat like a broken transistor radio. He gestured at Jason's neck. Leslie shook herself and pulled out this room’s med kit. Because Doctor Thompkins was prepared for near anything and this was Gotham.
“Jason.” Leslie said, voice heavy with emotion. Amazement, relief, worry. Even so she was getting sterile gloves on, getting ready to treat him. It wasn't until she started cleaning the cuts on his face that he remembered all the other injuries he'd taken this night. the back of his skull, his eye and cheekbones, his jaw, his ribs…
“Can you tell me what happened?” Leslie asked gently. Jason stared. Batman tried to kill him. How the hell did he explain that?
His phantom shadow crackled again, slunk over to Dr Thompkins desk. When it melted back to Jason's side a bloody batarang was there. Hadn't he left that in Joker's spine? What was the point of bringing it now? It was contaminated with that freak's blood, not Jason's. The smoke-like pale fingers of his shadow —that was new. Jason definitely would have noticed this phantom if it'd shown any color before now— caressed his throat. Framed the now treated cut with too long fingers.
Leslie's expression darkened. There was no doubt, no questioning.
“He…” Jason tried to say, he choked back a sob. That was the fucking adrenaline crash.
Leslie squeezed his hand, not broken, his knuckles weren't even bloodied. His gloves were good. The best the league of assassins had. Leslie, Doctor Thompkins, finished treating him. Jason blinked slowly. He hadn't tracked that. He needed to focus. He needed to be here and be now.
“I can get you somewhere safe, Jason.” Leslie said. Jason stared at her. There was nowhere safe from The Bat. Not in Gotham. Leslie smiled at him. It was sad. Pained. She asked. “How's your Swahili?”
“Passable.”
His phantom pressed insistently at Jason's palm. Jason opened his hand. A shiny, wet, 'so fresh it was still alive' human vertebra was left behind. Doctor Thompkins looked up from restocking the kit and frowned at him. Jason closed his fist around the bone and pulled it to his chest.
“Don't let that touch naked skin. The last thing we need is more of that bastard.”
Jason stared at his hand, still numb. The thought that the Joker's body was so filthy he could be spread around like a plague was horrifying. But anything other than heartache and betrayal were faint ideas he was vaguely aware of more than actual feelings.
His phantom made an absolutely unholy noise and swiped his hand though Jason's. The weight was still there. Cautiously, Jason opened his hand. The bone shimmered with icy iridescence. His Phantom made soft unintelligible whispers.
Doctor Thompkins finished and set the first aid kit back in its place. She gestured and Jason tilted his hand so she could see the change. She stared at it in thought.
“Alright. I have no idea what your shadow friend did to it but they clearly know enough to keep you alive. Don't lose it.” Doctor Thompkins told him.
“I won't. Maybe turn it into a keychain,” Jason responded, smile shaky.
Leslie shouldered her rucksack. “Let's get you in something clean, Jason.”
Jason looked around. He was in the cargo hold of a cargo plane. He was dressed in plain grey sweat pants and a soft long sleeved shirt. The shirt was green.
“Green’s my favorite color.” Jason said. His phantom lay across his lap, all dark shadows once again.
“He speaks! Mine’s purple. Doc said you know Swahili? Think you can help me figure out ‘hi I'm a nurse I have vaccines?’ I mean Doc said she'd help, obvs, but never can be too prepared, right?”
Jason blinked and stared. This girl was younger than him by a year or two. About the same age as the stupid pretender. She was in shit shape. Well. She'd been tortured. Doctor Thompkins was good. The patch job was good. But the torture was recent. Her hair was long, blonde, and curled in that way that'd be an afro if left down. It was pulled back.
“Sometimes. Sometimes I don't even shut up.” Jason said. He still felt wrong, numb. His phantom nuzzled him then laid back down over his legs.
The girl laughed.
“Call me Stephanie, I’d offer to shake your hand but, well,” the girl --Stephanie-- laughed and gestured at her broken arm in a cast and apparently not broken but very injured other arm in a sling.
Jason looked down at the phantom shadow laid over his legs like a blanket. He looked back over at Stephanie and smiled.
“Call me Chris. And this is Phantom.”