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The whole not being able to die without finding your soulmate thing was what gave Jason false hope in that warehouse. There was no mark on his wrist, no indication that he had found his best friend, the person that went past all forms of love, the person who would be your brother or sister, mother or father, son or daughter.
No, Jason didn’t have that when he took his last, smoke filled breath.
But when he came out of that green pool out of hell, where souls were dragged back to their bodies for another round of torment?
He didn’t want whoever they might be, it wasn’t fair on them. It wasn’t fair to have a drug lord, a man broken beyond repair to be such an important part of their identity.
Jason had a goal, and he would do anything to fulfill that goal.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
The humming of electricity above Jason was cut off along with the wires Jason slashed. It didn’t take long for the tower to go on a full lockdown.
There was no one but the cuckoo in the area, previously in his room, only to move to the kitchen for what would have been his seventh energy drink.
Jason prowled through the hallways lined with metal and stone, trailing a hand along the panels, feeling the grooves and gaps with gloved fingers. Rage seethed in him, making him feel lighter than since the green consumed his body, forcing his shattered consciousness back into a broken body.
Darkness wasn't an issue with his night vision, but as he continued forward red lights flickered on the walls, close to the floor. They cast an eerily glare on every object, including Jason’s imposing figure.
Jason stepped confidently into the kitchen, finding no birdie in sight. That wasn’t a problem, not like he could leave in the first place. Jason had an hour to work with, long enough to prove a point to B.
In his peripheral, something shifted, and Jason only dodged a moment before the kid’s bo staff made contact with empty air. Jason snarled, falling back into a fighting stance.
Robin looked confident, comfortable in the red, green and yellows that didn’t belong to him.
“Red Hood, what are you doing here?” His domino’s white out eyes narrowed, falling into his own stance.
With the security of his full face mask, Jason grinned. “Pest control.” Tim rolled to the side when Jason rushed forward, surprisingly nimble for the double door fridge of a man.
Tim dodged his next few attacks, but seemingly quickly realised that he was heavily outmatched, so he changed tactics. The teen had the audacity to use an attack the Dickhead blue bird taught Jason as Robin, trying a mixture of fainting and flurry attacks.
As much of a brooding bird Dick was, he was a prodigy sidekick and vigilante.
Jason used momentum from one of Robin’s kicks to set him off balance, sending him off kilter to the right. Using his imbalance, Jason grabbed him, pulling him into a headlock.
Tim was near silent the entire time, quietly hissing at the pressure on his neck, crushing his windpipe. He clawed at Jason’s arm, hands gripping onto his hand, Jason’s glove slipping off with a desperate tug.
Jason’s grip faltered and Tim used that distraction to slam the end of his bo staff into Jason’s side, loosening his arm enough to duck under. Jason didn’t let that go though, grabbing his cape and pulling back. Tim yelped, but it was replaced with a wheeze when Jason pushed him down, a knee firmly on his back, forcing him into a splayed position on his stomach.
This was it, the cuckoo was immobilised, all that was left was to clip his wings, a testament on how anyone who donned the colours of a target would always be shot right down.
Jason gripped the back of Tim’s neck, pushing his face into the metal, mentally revising his speech, but he’s distracted with a strange tingling in the arm holding Robin down.
It was like Jason was watching in third person as he saw himself reel back, stumbling away from Robin, clutching his arm in horror. There wasn’t a trace of green when he saw the small yellow bird on his wrist, taunting him.
Tim was shakily pulling himself onto his forearms, trembling in something other than fear.
“Jason?” He whispered, staring at his own bird on his wrist.
Jason flinched back at his name, looking down at the kid that should absolutely not know it was him. Tim looked up with a slack jaw breathing heavily.
“How-” Jason coughed to mask the weakness in his voice. “Where did you get that from?”
Tim pressed his mouth into a thin line, and Jason realised dumbly that Tim’s leg was bent out of shape. Had he done that? “The symbol is a red robin, and the Zeta Tube codes you used were your own.”
Oh, Dick wasn’t joking when he called him smart.
“So what?” Jason tried to add back some more bravado to his voice, probably failing miserably.
Tim tilted his head, somehow looking more dangerous than ever, even as he had a broken leg and was sitting on the ground. “You’re my soulmate, once B gets you back, you’re not back to wherever you were before.”
Jason felt a familiar green fill his vision, eyes narrowing. “Oh you? What makes you think I won't put a bullet in the old man's head?”
Tim had a wicked grin, a few flack of blood from his face slamming into the ground. “What guns?”
Jason felt ice creep up his spine as he suddenly realised the usual weight in his holsters gone, hands coming down to check frantically. “What did you do to them?” Jason growled, taking a step towards Tim. He was starting to hate that smile he had.
“What does it matter? B’s already here.”
Jason froze, not daring to turn around, but he knew. The kid had played him like a fiddle. He would have been impressed if he wasn't so shocked.
Tim smiled mockingly, waving to Jason “Good luck with Dick’s octopus hugs!”
How had everything gone so wrong?