Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Some of Two-Face’s goons had caught him unawares and jumped him.

He had no money left for food and only a moth-eaten tarp he’d salvaged from a dumpster to keep him warm. He was going to freeze to death. It was only the beginning of fall, but Gotham’s predilection (he’d learned that word three days earlier—the librarian was a kindly old woman who let the kids in for free, and that had been in the book he’d been reading, so he’d looked it up because he thought it was ‘prediction’ but that didn’t make sense in context—he was going on a panic-tangent again, wasn’t he?) toward rain made for a much cooler season than could be wished for. At least his tarp kept him dry, if not very warm.

He was so tired. But food came first, and he couldn’t—he hated the street corners, and he hated the men who drove by and offered a ride with their giant hands and grabby fingers—

He gagged a little and forced himself not to think about what he’d done for the money he hadn’t even been able to use. He hated this, and he missed mom so much—but going back wasn’t an option with Willis still living there.

He curled up in the small corner in the back of the alleyway. He was tired and he was hungry and his stomach hurt so bad from where one of the goons had flung him into a pole of some sort—maybe a sign? It didn’t matter—the only thing that did matter was how much he was hurting after the scuffle, with no way to get relief.

He just…he wanted Mom back. More than anything. She hadn’t been the best, but things had been so much worse since she’d died.

He forced himself up and moving. If he was going to die miserable and cold and hungry, it wouldn’t be on a dumb street corner in the middle of Gotham’s worst area. He’d at least make it to his hideout first.

He struggled to walk—his stomach hurt so much he could barely breathe. He hoped that goon hadn’t broken anything—and that he’d die from infection from the massive chunk of skin Jason had torn from his hand with his teeth (Jason was a bit proud of that—even if it had ended with him the loser).

He heard an odd noise as he passed a particularly dark alley, and proceeded to ignore it. Everybody knew to ignore strange noises in the bowels of Crime Alley. Or—he tried, at least. Only it sounded like somebody was begging, and Jason thought the voice sounded familiar—

So he edged his way down the alley and hid behind a conveniently placed dumpster. The begging was clearer—and so was the snap of bones, the tear of muscle. Jason hated that he was familiar with those sounds. Gotham was such a hellhole. Back when he'd been at school, he'd heard other kids talking about their out of town friends, who didn't even have toxic gas drills. Imagine.

“The Court of Owls has sentenced you to death,” the person doing the beating said in a voice so dry it made Jason need a drink. It was weird. Normally killers in Gotham were more—enthusiastic about beating the shit out of people. This person just sounded exceedingly (beyond expectations, according to the dictionary from the library) bored.

Actually—The Court of Owls? Like that jumprope song Jason had learned back when he was actually able to go to school? Or the nursery rhyme Mom had chanted to him when he was having a hard time sleeping (Mom hadn’t been exactly in her right mind, and hadn’t considered that creepy rhyme would make him even less likely to sleep well)?

Why were adults so fucking weird? The Gotham villains were just a freak show that liked to murder people in their spare time.

The man who was currently getting the shit beat out of him began begging even more, pleading and gasping and sobbing and it sounded strangely familiar—wait.

Wait a fucking second!

Was it—? It was! That asshole from earlier who’d stolen Jason’s money! Jason had to stifle a laugh. Karma sure came back and bit the dude in the ass! (And the arm, and the leg, and the face, and…)

He risked a glance from behind the dumpster and grimaced. As awesome as it was that the world was actually being fair for once, Jason had never seen somebody that bloody still alive. Dude looked like he’d been mauled by a rabid bear. On steroids. That had just been told his bear girlfriend was cheating on him.

Jason couldn’t see the angel of justice from his angle, but that was just as well. Bad things happened to people who actually saw the villains’ faces, so Jason would be content with his pseudo-revenge of the dude who would steal money from poor kids who didn’t want to freeze to death getting fucked up.

It wouldn’t bring his cash back, but it warmed his heart, and that was all that mattered in the moment.

“Wh’r y’—?” The man gurgled through what looked like a broken jaw.

“The Court of Owls has sentenced you to death,” the angel of death repeated tonelessly. This time they added a, “…painfully,” to their spiel.

The dick who stole Jason’s money and broke his internal organs sobbed as the death angel stepped closer. Jason could only see its shadow from here, and it had long, vicious claws…what was up with the demons in Gotham lately, and could they please return to whichever Hell they came from?

Jason paused as he eyed the shadows. Well. Returning to Hell after the bastard who jumped him was turned into a mince pie would be great. The demons could stay until then.

The demon didn’t waste time—its claws slashed down, and the man let out a gurgle-scream before the alley was silent. Too silent.

Except for Jason’s heart, which had picked up its pace and was now trying to win the Olympics. He swallowed and tried to breathe quietly. Which was hard, because breathing became louder the more it became a less automatic process—it was scientific fact.

It was also scientific fact that Jason almost pissed himself as the demon’s shadow grew larger as it loomed closer.

Fuck.

It totally knew where he was.

And Jason had been total catnip to demons lately, and he really should have left earlier, and he was feeling dizzy—holy shit he wasn’t breathing why wasn’t he breathing he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t—

The shadow loomed over him, the angle changed. He swallowed deeply, heart jackrabbiting and breathing still evading him. He slowly looked up and—

There were eyes, staring at him upside down from where the creature dangled over him. Its eyes were spotlights, golden and bright and glowing and staring right at him.

He let out a noise (that he would deny was a squeak until the day he died) as it came closer and closer, face unnaturally white.

Jason trembled, and closed his eyes, and swayed a bit because he still wasn’t breathing—

“…Good?”

Jason didn’t recognize it at first, because he was trying to force his lungs to work—but after a moment he snapped his eyes open to stare at the very familiar white mask, breath coming so suddenly it felt like he’d been punched (or maybe that was just his injury acting up).

“You?” He demanded, voice coming out in a heavy rasp.

The demon that had saved him from the Bat and had now given him justice tilted its upside down head from a body that was—twisted in half and contorted to stay at the edge of the dumpster while looking Jason in the face, and if he’d had any doubts about its unnatural existence before, they’d be quenched now (he’d never had any doubts—it was a demon for sure).

“Good?” The creature trilled, voice still heavy with disuse and accent rippling like the rapids he’d seen when he went camping with his class a couple years before.

Jason stared for a long moment, and finally huffed an amused snort. “Yeah. I’m…good,” he winced as a sharp pain in his stomach gave lie to his words. The demon’s head tilted and it—

Jason couldn’t describe it. The demon leap-fell over the dumpster, rolling off and over somehow, twisting like a cat as it landed in a crouch, mask to nose with Jason. It lowered its head to where Jason’s arm was clamped across his stomach.

“I’m fine,” he hissed as it lightly—but firmly, holy shit it was skinny as fuck but stronger than a fucking bus—pulled his arm away with one hand and his shirt up with the other.

Jason had never been so humiliated in his life, and Willis Todd was his father.

The demon tutted as it ran its claws lightly over the purple and black bruise, and—oh, it looked worse than when Jason had checked it earlier, that didn’t look good. He blinked rapidly as the pain came back, made worse by actually seeing the bruise. He’d been doing just fine until then, thanks nightmare demon.

It hummed lightly as its claws skimmed over the bruising, and Jason blinked away tears. He didn’t cry when Willis broke his wrist, he damn well wasn’t going to cry over a bit of a bruise and the first person—demon—whatever to be kind to him since Mom had died. The demon tilted its head and leaned closer—

Between one blink and the next, Jason was being held princess-style and the demon was moving, but—

“Wait! He might still have my money!” Jason snapped as he whacked the demon’s shoulder—the only part of the demon he could reach from this angle, with his arms being held against his sides the way they were. Jason had his priorities, and the money was at the top of his list. Who cared if he was treated, because he’d only freeze to death afterward.

The demon tilted its head at him (what had that jumprope song been? Or the nursery rhyme? He thought it said something about birds in the court and then maybe he’d know his—the demon’s title) before whisking around.

Jason almost gagged as he saw the goon’s mutilated body. He deserved every second of pain, but Jason didn’t deserve to see that corpse. The demon leaned over—still holding Jason with one twiggy arm, what the actual fuck—and shuffled through the man’s pockets until he came up with a blood-soaked wallet. The demon shuffled through it, pulling out—bills, glorious green bills, it didn’t matter if they were Jason’s or not, they were now—and handing them to Jason even as it tossed the wallet back on the due.

Apparently demons with claws didn’t have to worry about fingerprints.

Although, now that Jason was looking closer, being held like he was—and not out of his fucking mind with terror, like that first day—the demon didn’t actually have claws. They were just…metal claw-glove things?

What a lame demon, that needed fake claws because it didn’t have its own. Jason wanted a refund. He paused and glanced at the cash in his hands, at the arm holding him surprisingly gently for an actual demon.

…Never mind. He’d keep this demon, thanks.

Chapter Text

Jason curled into his blanket contentedly. The thug’s wallet had more money than Jason had ever seen in his life, the doctor the demon had dropped him off at hadn’t made him pay in any way, just treated his wrist and bruises, and he was warm even though it was winter.

Selling his soul was totally worth it.

He stared up at the ceiling (it was why he’d chosen this abandoned complex as his home—it had a full ceiling. And walls. One of the best places he’d ever stayed). He was a bit bored because he’d been a little sick and hadn’t had a chance to get a new book in a few days.

There’d been a few snowflakes—not enough to stick, but enough to act as warning for what was coming.

And for once, Jason was ready (even if he couldn’t stop coughing—he had a blanket and a coat and food and water and hand warmers). This would be his best winter yet.

And it was all thanks to a demon, even though they were supposed to be evil or whatever. Jason thought the people he saw semi-regularly were a lot more evil, though. It wasn’t like any of the big bads would pick up a kid and return to give the kid the thug’s wallet.

Or save the kid from Batman. No self-respecting villain would protect whoever caught the Bat’s eye. It wasn’t worth the agony.

But Jason’s demon had (and the demon was Jason’s, even if they’d only met twice. He’d claimed it. Everybody else could find their own) helped Jason twice. For free. Jason’s demon…was kind of bad at the whole demoning thing, huh? Maybe that’s how he could repay the demon? Teach it how to be all evil and stuff?

That…sounded like a terrible idea, actually. If he taught it how to demon correctly, it might not ever save Jason again.

And that would be horrible.

Sure, he hadn’t seen it for a few months, but it had saved him twice. Who knew what the future would bring?

He settled back and curled more deeply into his blanket. This place was good for another reason, too—it was close enough to the Bat’s gargoyle that they stayed away. Probably why it was still fairly nice. Jason had a run-in with the Bat, but he figured that he wouldn’t remember some random street kid (even if Jason had kneecapped him) since the Bat was probably attacked by hooligans all the time.

So. He was safe and warm and well-fed and…

And he felt awful.

He wanted to throw up and never eat again and his throat felt like he’d been force-fed still-burning charcoal. His things were nice, but they weren’t—they weren’t helping his sickness, and he couldn’t go back to the shady doctor’s place (not that he minded shady doctors, and the dude had fixed Jason up with little fanfare) because the man’s price was way too high and he’d mentioned social services—and Jason remembered those fuckers, so no way—

He broke off his own thoughts with a coughing fit that came from deep in his lungs. He only prayed it was the flu and not pneumonia.

He was trying so hard to be positive, but everything he’d gained was worthless in the face of sickness (Mama told him so, and the way she was at the end—bruised inner arms, skeletal features and sunken eyes—proved it). His health should come first, but was the hardest to fix. He should have thought to buy medicine before he was stuck inside.

He was just so rarely sick like this that he hadn’t thought it was important.

A beginner’s mistake. Jason should have known better.

The universe hated him. Of course he would get sick just as things were going right.

He was so tired, and dizzy, and he’d been—seeing things. Bugs that weren’t there (he was very good at cleaning, and the cockroaches stayed in whatever hellhole they came from after he’d murdered their leader), voices that didn’t exist (Mama was dead dead dead), and strange, twisted faces in the windows—wait.

He sat up as he saw brilliant golden eyes staring at him from a creepy white face. There was no way, right? No way. He’d already used up his luck, hadn’t he? So why—

His demon slinked through a tiny opening in the window that it really shouldn’t have fit through due to its size. It lightly stepped around the traps Jason had made (of course it did, it was a demon), and stepped closer—Jason’s heart went cold as he watched it.

The movements were wrong, not as smooth and flowy. He looked closer—it was bigger, and its face—mask—was a bit different.

Oh, shit.

This was bad. Jason’s demon had a soft spot for him for some stupid reason, but Jason doubted most demons would feel the same, because Jason’s demon was bad at demoning.

This demon looked very good at demoning. It raised a strange knife—covered in blood, because of course it was, this demon was better at demoning so of course it was here to murder him or take his soul or whatever it was that normal demons did—

Jason choked a bit as that dumb jumprope rhyme came to him at the worst moment. Beware the Court of Owls that watches all the time—in your home, in your bed and even in your mind. Speak not a word against them, keep your mouth shut tight. They’ll send Talon for your head and he will take your life. He still couldn’t remember the one Mama told him, though—he remembered he thought it was scarier—and why was he even thinking about this, when he was about to die?!

Jason couldn’t run. His muscles were so weak he could barely stand, but he forced himself to his feet—if he was to die, he’d be defiant ’til the end. He wasn’t a wimp, he could do this—he whimpered a bit as it stepped closer, raised the blade, more menacing than ever—

Jason closed his eyes tight. Well. He’d die on his feet, anyway.

A sob escaped him as wind brushed him—at least it would be fast, maybe he wouldn’t suffer, it was—

He paused. Why was he still alive?

He forced one eye open—and the new, more demonic demon was laying at his feet, black blood oozing—why wasn’t it pouring, demons were weird—from its neck. Where its head was no longer attached.

He looked up—and this time he actually did let out a sob, because he recognized that strange, impossible posture, the tilted head and slender frame.

“Good?” Jason’s demon asked gently, hiding the knife back on its body and reaching out a (fake) clawed hand.

Jason really couldn’t help his next reaction.

He stumbled forward on weak legs and fell into his demon’s chest. He tried not to cry, but he was shaking too hard, and his eyes were hot, and his throat hurt, and he was cold and hot, and he was so tired—

“Good,” his demon murmured, lightly stroking its claws across his head, and the heat spilled from Jason’s eyes without his permission. He came undone.

He’d really thought he was going to die. Without ever seeing his demon again, without ever being able to go back to school, without ever knowing what happens to Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth.

He trembled and sobbed for the first time in so long—he couldn’t cry when he was taking care of Mama, he wouldn’t cry for fucking Willis, and he’d kept himself together to survive.

But Jason’s demon didn’t seem to mind the tears, only holding him closer—awkwardly, Jason guessed demons didn’t really do the whole hugging thing—and crooning at him and stroking his hair.

Jason couldn’t remember what happened next, but he guessed he’d passed out, because the next thing he knew, he was blinking up at the ceiling, no demon in sight.

It was a bit lonely, and for a second he thought he’d imagined the ordeal—until he saw black stains on the floor from the evil demon. Jason’s demon had saved him. Again. And disappeared again.

Jason stood slowly—he guessed the fever had broken, because he felt better than he had in days. He stared at the spot of black in a bit of disbelief. He wasn’t sure exactly how he’d managed to worm his way into a demon’s grace, but it was a good place to be in his opinion. It was just…it was always a bit lonely, with his demon never around.

He forced himself to choke down some oatmeal—made better when he noticed some blueberries sitting on the counter like an offering—and plotted.

Here were the facts. His demon became interested in him when he’d tried to steal the Batmobile’s tires. For some reason, his demon had stayed interested in him. The second time they’d met, his demon hadn’t saved him from the thugs—but it had killed them, returned Jason’s money (and more) and brought him to a (creepy and expensive) doctor. And this time—Jason eyed the medicine on his counter in the orange doctor bottles. This time, it killed another demon for him and brought him prescription meds. His demon was smart.

And strong.

The other demon had been twice Jason’s demon’s size, but Jason’s demon took it out in no time at all—there hadn’t even been a fight (as far as Jason knew, he'd had his eyes closed).

That made Jason’s demon the superior demon—who was interested in boring, skinny, street rat Jason.

Jason…could use this.

He was usually okay, but the general thugs were bigger and meaner and stronger than him (which is why he’d been taken out for his money so easily). But Jason’s demon was stronger than them. It hadn’t even been out of breath after ripping the thug to pieces, and had ripped the head clean off a bigger demon.

Jason stared out the window and pulled his blanket tighter.

What if…what if he kept the demon? He wasn’t sure how, yet. But the demon was clearly good at taking money from crooks, and clearly good at taking thugs out. Jason could…use this.

The fact that the demon had always been gentle with Jason—lightly stroking his hair and crooning at him and letting him cry into its shoulder while it held him, protected him—had absolutely nothing to do with his decision. Of course not. Jason had been just fine on his own.

It would just be helpful to have a bodyguard, that's all.

And maybe…if he had a demon guardian who could get them money…maybe he could go back to school. And…the movies. Maybe he could have an actual house.

He shook his head to stop his mind from wandering and grinned fiercely. The next time they met, his demon wouldn’t know what hit it.

Chapter Text

Jason was bothered. Really bothered.

Since that time Jason’s demon—who was maybe, possibly a Talon from that awful jumprope song (and he’d finally remembered the original nursery rhyme, and it was even worse)—had saved him, he hadn’t shown up again. Not even once.

And Jason had even bought him hand-warmers and knitted (an ugly) scarf! It was almost Christmas, which had always been the best holiday. Willis had always settled down, and Mama sometimes was aware enough to pull him into a hug and tell him stories. Before she’d died, Mama had even given him a few books as a present.

…They were all dumb books, but the thought was there! She’d at least remembered he liked reading!

Well, this year Jason was planning on spending Christmas with his demon—with his Talon—Talon was a lot easier to say, he was going to stick with it unless his demon told him otherwise—but Talon wasn’t cooperating!

Why wasn’t he showing up?

…Did he only show up when Jason was in trouble? The Bat, that thug, the inferior demon…each time, Jason had been in distress when his demon appeared like a knight from a story.

Jason stared at his macaroni for a moment, considering.

He sighed. He valued his stupid life too much to go out looking for trouble, on the chance of it bringing his demon. He’d been lucky so far, but there was no guarantee. He wouldn’t risk it.

Yet.

If his demon kept being effusive, he’d have to take drastic measures.

He shoveled the last bit of his dinner into his mouth before cleaning the bowl and spoon. He frowned at a bit of rust on the dented metal and scrubbed harder. He had just eaten off of that. It was still better than some things he’d eaten, but he didn’t like having to.

He was tired.

He’d been tired for a long time.

He curled up into his blankets (he had blankets!) and shivered. Even with everything he’d been able to buy thanks to Talon, he was still cold and tired. This room was by far the best he’d stayed in since he’d lost Mama—nobody bothered him and it only had a few holes—but it still wasn’t great.

Maybe he’d…maybe…

The next thing he knew he was waking up with a groan into his pillow. He didn’t want to be waking up, but the sun had other ideas. Maybe he could convince Talon to kill the sun for him. That would be awesome.  He forced himself up and stretched. He didn’t really know why old people did that—it didn’t feel any different to him before and after, but Mama said it was a good habit (which was really an argument for why he shouldn’t do it—Mama couldn’t be trusted to know good or bad), so he kept it up.

He pursed his lips. He still didn’t think it was a good idea to go out looking for trouble. That second time—with the thug—Talon hadn’t been looking for him. It had been a coincidence—he’d clearly been sent to teach the thug a lesson, Jason was just a bonus.

Jason didn’t like being hurt, so he’d avoid it if he could. Which meant he couldn’t go out looking for trouble. But he didn’t know how to call for his demon—for Talon—otherwise. He huffed into his cereal. The world was so unfair. Giving him a demon but not giving him a phone number for hell. Rude.

He stepped over the bloodstain from the meaner demon that Talon had murdered. No matter how much he cleaned, it wouldn’t come up, and from the ominous feeling it gave off whenever he stepped too close, he was a bit wary of touching it. So. He just had a bloody, oily, possibly haunted spot chilling out in the middle of the floor.

And if that wasn’t the culminification—cullmention—fuck. If that wasn’t just so typically Gotham, Jason would go punch Two-Face in both faces. Twice.

He huffed as he flopped onto his blanket pile (he had enough blankets to make a pile now!) with Pride and Prejudice. It was fast becoming his very favorite book, even if some parts didn’t make any sense—Elizabeth should have broken a teapot over Mr. Darcy’s head when they met—but it was…nice. That they had a happy ending, that love could overcome the way they saw each other at first.

…Jason wished his family had been like that.

He shook his head. It didn’t matter any more, Mama was gone and Willis was an asshole.

Besides, hadn’t Jason overcome his prejudice? He had happily accepted a demon into his life, at all. That made him better than Mama and Willis, and he’d just keep growing. Willis would have tried to attack the demon (and died), so Jason was already better than his old man. Mama…would have screamed, if she’d been in her right mind, and maybe accepted death by gold claws if she wasn’t.

Well, Jason had bigger plans. He would befriend it. Having a demon best friend would literally be the coolest thing ever, and nothing anybody else did would ever catch up.

He shut his book. He clearly couldn’t concentrate on a love story. He had more important things to do. Like…find his demon, no matter how stupid the idea was. No matter how stupid he knew it was.

It would be like…befriending a cat who already sort of liked him. The hardest part was done already, so Jason just needed to put in the grunt work. Talon already liked him enough to save him—from the Bat, from starvation, from Talon’s brother (or cousin, or clone, or whatever the bigger demon had been). So. Jason just needed to make Talon like him more. Enough to keep him, enough to stay.

Food usually worked on cats, right?

Jason wasn’t sure how long it would take, so he made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—the jelly should be okay since the weather was so cold. He threw the sandwich in a backpack with a thermos of hot chocolate—because everybody liked chocolate, and anybody who didn’t was wrong—wrapped himself up (he hated the cold), and slunk down the edge of the building with the help of his new crowbar (RIP former tire iron, thou shalt be missed. The Bat was a bitch who stole from street kids who had done no wrong ever and were just really hungry). Another reason it was so safe—the only path to the fifth floor wouldn’t take an adult’s weight—demons excluded—and Jason was one of the only kids his age who had made climbing buildings into a shortcut. Most of them who tried didn’t survive the fall.

Jason was very careful not to fall.

He thought carefully once he made it to the ground before picking a direction—toward the darker alleys.

Were they more dangerous?

Yes.

Were they more likely to hold demons and people attempting demon-summoning rituals?

Also yes.

He slunk through the alleys carefully, avoiding any loud noises and the scuffling of feet—now that Jason had a safe place, had money, he was more of a target than ever. It was okay, though.

Jason was very good at going unseen. He was even better at not being caught. And he was the best at kneecapping. Since he wasn’t even trying to hold onto money, it would be a lot easier to run.

He darted through the entrance to an alley, perking up as he heard some awful, squelchy screaming. There was no way he was that lucky, right? Jason had never been lucky in his life until he’d met his demon. Talon had changed so much for him, the least Jason could do in return is lure him in to be friend and guard dog both.

He had learned from the bigger demon, so he edged around the corner carefully. Sure enough, there was one of the black-and-gold demons that made up Talon’s family-possibly-clones. He watched as it tore off the face of the dude it was tormenting.

…Jason threw up a little in his mouth.

More importantly, that wasn’t Talon. Its movements weren’t smooth enough, its shoulders were too big. He quietly moved on as it started to beat one of the other men to death with the arm It tore off the first one.

Two more demons in black-and-gold and a trip out of Crime Alley later, and Jason was mildly impressed. They’d clearly been using Crime Alley’s don’t-look-pretend-nothing’s-happening-we-saw-nothing-we-heard-nothing to their advantage. Jason had certainly never noticed them before he’d met Talon—before he’d gone looking for Talon.

And when he made it to the wider streets of Gotham, he’d noticed a steep decline in demon sightings. Only one in the span of four hours, where there had been three in the span of twenty minutes in Crime Alley.

Again, kind of impressed. Whatever Demon King led them clearly knew what he was doing.

Jason wanted that kind of power, one day.

He shook his head and continued his search. He was entirely unsurprised and moderately disappointed when his search found him instead.

He felt claws on the back of his neck, and his every hair stood on end. He played it cool, though, and definitely did not make a sound like a kettle at the cold metal that came out of nowhere.

He just hoped it wasn’t one of Talon’s uglier relatives.

“Dangerous…alone…in dark,” rasped a familiar voice so heavily accented in whatever demonic language it spoke that it sounded more like rapids grinding rock to nothing. That voice was a balm to Jason’s nerves.

“Yeah, but I found you in it,” he grinned, tilting his head up to a familiar, creepy white mask with gold accents. It tilted his head and cooed at him, bird-like and creepy as ever.

Talon stepped back, withdrawing its claws, like Jason had figured he would. Also, it was pretty clear now that there was a demon hierarchy—dumb demons were sent to Crime Alley, where it didn’t matter whether they were seen or heard. Smart demons were sent to the rest of Gotham, where they could hide themselves. Jason wondered why they bothered, with monsters like the Joker and Two-Face running loose.

More to the point, why had Talon been in Crime Alley that day, when it was clearly the smartest, sneakiest demon of them all?

None of the other demons had managed a single word outside of the whole “Court” spiel, after all.

“Why?” Talon rumbled, and Jason gasped as he remembered his whole reason for doing something as stupid as running Gotham alone at night.

He pulled off his backpack and handed over the only-slightly-squished sandwich and thermos. “For you!” He said excitedly. “Try it!”

Talon seemed confused by the logistics, so Jason explained, “You eat it. Here, let me—” he unwrapped it for his demon. He hadn’t exactly considered the claws when he’d shoved the sandwich in a bag.

He handed it over, and Talon examined it this way and that. Jason stood on his very tiptoes and pushed the sandwich—and Talon’s claws, holy fuck was Jason stupid, how had he even lived this long?—toward his demon’s mouth. “Eat,” he tried, pretending to eat and chew the air.

Talon stared at him, and Jason could tell he thought Jason was an idiot even though he couldn’t see its expression. His charades did the job though, and Talon actually raised its mask enough for Jason to see its mouth—oh, so it did have a face under the mask, even if said face was a creepy shade of ash and had creepy black lines running like poison over its cheeks, and its lips were pale, too pale, bloodless—yep, Jason called it, totally a demon.

Whatever else Jason thought was interrupted by the way it gulped the rest of the sandwich down in, like, three bites. Jason preened.

“Better than human flesh, right?” He hinted, elbowing his demon’s side.

Talon’s lips lifted a touch, and the barest breath of a huff left his mouth. Jason was a god. He bet nobody else had ever made a demon laugh without any blood around.

Jason untwisted the thermos next, and Talon took it without question. Good, Jason’s “Feed It Like An Alley Cat Until It Decides To Stay” plan (title pending) was working. Jason was a genius, and he would take no objections.

Talon loved the hot chocolate, judging by the way it licked at the edge of the container with its creepy blu-tinged tongue. Good. If hit hadn’t, Jason might have had to give up on the plan. Jason could handle the murdery bits, but disliking chocolate? That was a step too far.

Talon hummed at him when he took back the thermos and shoved it in his bag.

“I have to go now, but next time I’ll bring you something better,” Jason promised.

Talon’s mouth twitched from where it was still revealed. “Not…safe. You…know too—,” it tried, but Jason interrupted it without a shred of guilt.

“Meet me at the half-broken gargoyle on the clocktower in three days!” He called as he ran back to his hideout.

Mission accomplished.

Chapter Text

Jason sat at their usual spot, leaning against the gargoyle that was missing its head and most of its wings. Well…it was a new usual spot. They’d only met here a total of two times, but that was enough. He swung his feet as he looked over the Gotham smog.

Gotham at night gave off an eerie glow, streetlights flickering in the yellow fog and casting monstrous shadows. Literally—a few months ago the shadows rose up and did their best to eat the poor citizens of Gotham. Jason had to strangle one before it devoured him, and it would have been less creepy if there had been fangs or rows of jagged teeth—instead he’d faced down an abyss.

He didn’t want to know what would have happened if he’d been swallowed.

He looked up at the dark sky. Even though he was super high up, he still couldn’t see any stars. Mama told him (on one of her better days) the stars were angels that watched and protected them. He’d always wanted to see them in person, because he had the feeling that they were just another cute story made up by adults to make kids have stupid useless hope.

Jason knew better.

The first real hope he’d been given had crawled up from hell, so whatever angels were hiding in the sky could go fuck themselves.

His neck hairs prickled, warned him that danger was approaching, closer and closer and—

“Hey, Tal,” Jason said as he leaned his head back, and looked upside down at his demon’s masked face. He grinned as Talon tilted its head and cooed at him.

Talon was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Even though Talon seemed reluctant to meet up every time, it always showed up. For Jason. How wild was that? Not even Mama had done that for him.

He pulled out his backpack and brought out food for the both of them. Their picnics were the best part of his weeks. Talon just ate and disappeared the first time—although Jason was pretty sure he stalked Jason back home (how cool was that, that he had a demon bodyguard?)—but last time, he’d stayed and listened to Jason’s rants about how pissed he was because of the Scarecrow’s last gas attack (not scared, of course. Just angry. And if Talon had stayed by his side until the trembling stopped, if Jason had seen flashes of a white mask outside his window whenever he’d gasped awake—well. That was between the two of them).

He pushed his forehead into Talon’s arm and did his best to forget.

Long claws lightly stroked through his hair as Talon cooed at him. Seriously. Best demon ever.

“Not…safe,” Talon murmured. There was a barely-there undertone in the demon’s voice that hinted at dark alleys, at blood and death and violence…of worry. For Jason.

He didn’t care how not safe visiting Talon was, it was worth it for that quiet concern. Jason hadn’t had anybody to be concerned about him in a long time—maybe ever. Mama had maybe been sometimes, but she was always somewhere else. So having Talon in front of him, worrying about him, cooing at him and listening to him—it made it all worth it.

Jason could die today, and at least there was finally somebody who would notice he was gone. Who would maybe even look for him, and maybe bury him instead of letting him rot and even put his name on his grave.

It was really, really nice.

He took a deep breath and continued from where he’d left off last time, about how much he really liked his newest books from the library, about how it wasn’t fair he couldn’t take them home any more because the librarian had changed, about how he thought Talon should come over so Jason could read to his demon and they could share the stories, instead of everything being so one-sided.

Talon cooed at him and stroked his hair and completely ignored his hints to come over, as usual. Really, why was Talon playing so hard to get? Jason was usually much better at conning people, but—oh. Talon wasn’t a person, he was a demon. No wonder it wasn’t falling for Jason’s usual tricks, it had seen them all before.

Talon stretched up, those creepy gold claw-gloves flashing in the dim light of the alley. One moment, Talon was mid-stretch—and the next Jason was sitting alone, head turning this way and that in confusion. Something had scared Talon off, but there wasn’t much that could do that. Talon had even gone against the Bat, and that demon was the scariest of them all.

A tiny head poked up at the side of the building with the fire escape. Jason blinked at it, bemused.

So. Talon was all too willing to rip people’s faces off and play hide-and-go-seek against Batman, but a little kid was enough to send it running? That was…hilarious, actually, and not something Jason would have ever guessed.

“I missed him!” The kid whined, and Jason could feel the amusement curdle in his belly, hot and sour.

“Who the hell are you?!” Jason demanded, standing tall and straight.

The little boy fell back, eyes huge in his tiny face. “I’m T-Tom,” said quite possibly the stupidest Gothamite to have ever lived past five.

Jason eyed Tom, who was wearing pants without holes, a jacket that fit him, and—most damningly—a camera that looked like it was worth more than everything Jason had ever owned put together. So. Stupid. And sheltered. Kid was obviously rich, it was a miracle he hadn’t had that camera stolen yet.

Jason shook his head in disgust. “Go home,” he demanded, even as he began to walk away. He wasn’t jealous of this little kid at all, who obviously had parents and a home and food that he didn’t have to work for.

“Wait!” The kid cried, and holy shit did he have a set of lungs on him. Jason’s ears were ringing and they hadn’t even been standing that close.

Jason turned around, just so he could scowl at the brat.

“You were talking to him,” Tom began to speak so fast a race car would be jealous. The little lisp he had on top of it made him almost impossible to understand. “Like, actually talking! What’s he like, I—”

Nope. Nope to the creepy rich kid. This was Gotham, he wouldn’t be surprised if the kid was in some sort of demon summoning cult or something. Jason took a running jump to the edge and landed at an awkward angle the next roof over. Gotham was reliable in one way—there was always another roof nearby.

Jason half-flew down the fire escape and through the streets, intent on putting as much ground as he could between himself and the creepy little kid with a demon fetish. The kid had run off Talon, even though it was one of the few times Jason could talk to him.

Jason leaned against a dumpster, taking deep breaths to soothe the fire in his lungs. Who the hell did that kid even think he was, interrupting them like that? Maybe Jason should find a new spot for them to meet up in, just in case. He’d rather not have a toddler demon-worshipper getting in the way again. Maybe the bakery with the creepy windows?

…Nah, Batman hung out up there, and even though Talon had protected him from the Bat once, there was no guarantee he’d do it again.

Jason was well aware he was only alive thanks to Talons’ weird ass affection for him, thanks.

He was—

He froze. Something was off, something that had the hair on the back of his neck prickling. He cast a subtle glance around—nothing. Up? Still nothing. He grit his teeth. There was definitely something wrong.

So. No going home yet.

He turned from the dark alley to an open street—it wouldn’t help much, this was Gotham—but it would give him more places to run or hide. He swallowed and took a quick look—good. He knew this street. He paced forward, aiming for the little drugstore he knew existed—there. Unmarked, unremarkable, and totally illegal. Perfect.

He ducked inside, and—sure enough, there was a large man leaning against the counter chatting up the clerk. Jason relaxed a bit. This was definitely the place, since they had a (badly) undercover bodyguard hired. Good. Whoever had been watching him wouldn’t want to fuck with this dude.

He browsed the store’s wares for a moment, until bodyguard dude—whose arm muscles were bigger than Jason’s head, maybe even his chest, holy shit—turned a wary eye on him. Better. Jason needed to be somewhat memorable. If nothing else, when Talon went to look for him, he could find some answers for where he’d last been. He continued his fake search, and when the bodyguard took a menacing step his way—he grabbed the first candy bar he touched and brought it up to the counter.

Now, this would be the hard part. Jason needed to seem excited—but also like he was trying to hide that excitement. It was a delicate balance, but it wasn’t like this was his first show.

“This,” Was all he grunted as he pulled out a five, looking away from the cashier and letting his fingers tremble a bit.

The cashier smiled at him, his eyes a little less dead than when macho man had been flirting with him. His name-tag was smudged, but it looked like his name started with a ‘M.’ “Is it your favorite?”

“No! I just—it’s for somebody else,” Jason said, putting a little quiver in his voice that would hopefully come across as embarrassment.

M’s eyes softened a bit more and he hummed as he scanned the candy. He handed it and Jason’s change back, and Jason thanked him before he left, eyeing the way Mr Bodyguard leaned into M’s space. Hopefully that was enough to be memorable.

The feeling of somebody watching returned the second he left the store. They were smart. Too smart. If they’d been watching while Jason was in the store, the bodyguard would have noticed (he was the real deal, even if his muscles looked fake. Jason could tell, having dealt with both types. And a drug store selling the good stuff? Could afford an actual bodyguard). Jason wanted to scream. If only that little fungus hadn’t scared Talon away, Jason would have a very scary, very strong, very capable demon protecting him.

As it was, Jason was alone.

Like he’d always been.

He took a deep breath. That was right. This wasn’t the first time Jason had drawn eyes from the wrong crowd, and it wouldn’t be his last. He needed to lose his tail, but—he only ever met up with Talon when the sun fell. Going home wasn’t safe, but staying wasn’t an option either.

So.

He took off to the backstreets again. Whoever was following him probably didn’t know them as well as Jason did. This was his home, and he knew the area like the back of his hand. Like hell he’d give in to some psycho who liked to follow perfectly innocent children for no reason—

“Stop,” said a deep, gruff voice.

Jason’s entire being shuddered in its earnestness to do just that. Fuck. Fuck. This was worse than the kidnappers, or even the traffickers. Jason could have avoided them.

He turned slowly to find the Bat filling the alleyway, darkening the entrance since the only streetlights that existed were on the main street.

Fuck. Why were there so many demons around lately? Jason wanted a refund for whatever cosmic force decided he was demon catnip.

“You,” the Bat growled, low and menacing.

Jason scowled. It probably said a lot that his first reaction was to growl right back, “Me.”

The Bat shifted, somehow taking up more of the entrance, blocking more of the light. Well. That was that. Jason was officially intimidated. Score one for the Bat. Jason was still up one, but it looked like he’d lose his advantage really soon if he didn’t act quickly.

Unfortunately his knees were jelly and his voice had fucked off somewhere when the Bat became more aggressive.

“Who are your parents?” The Bat demanded, shoulders rising with the heat of his words.

Jason…was flabbergasted. Seriously? The Bat was going to tattle on him? Fuck the whole demon thing, the Bat was clearly, painfully human.

Adults were all the same.

“Dead,” Jason spat. Although Willis was technically alive, he was dead in Jason’s heart, and that was all that mattered.

Batman reared back a bit, all of that menace disappearing. Light flooded the alley with his retreat. “I—what—where are you living?”

The Bat’s voice started weak, but grew in strength once he made it past the awkward stammering. So. Not only an adult, but kind of a lame one. And also much younger than Jason would have guessed.

“On the streets,” Jason said, eyeing the Bat’s right—and when the Bat moved to that side, to cut off Jason’s inevitable escape—Jason darted to the other side, and made it past him. He ducked behind a post even as he heard the Bat quietly swearing as he looked for him.

Jason: Three (with one assist), Bat: One. Jason was still winning, hell yeah!

He grinned as the Bat flew past him at the sound of a woman’s scream. Gotham could always be counted on to provide another victim.

He started to head back to his place, now that the mystery of who’d been watching him was solved, and super easily. The Bat was a loser, and not a demon at all—

He froze as the hair on the back of his neck prickled.

Chapter Text

Jason hunkered in his apartment. He hadn’t been taken to where dumbass kids who travel the backstreets of Gotham at night were taken, wherever that was. He hadn’t been kidnapped, and hadn’t run into any more demons. It had been three weeks since that night, and he’d visited Talon a handful of times.

And he still couldn’t get rid of the feeling of eyes on him.

At least if he’d been taken by one of the eighty trillion demons that Gotham was (doing a poor job of) hiding, he’d know what was going on, wouldn’t be so on edge, only for a grand total of nothing to happen.

Instead there were the eyes. 

Watching.

Waiting for an opportunity to strip the flesh off innocent little street kids who had never done any wrong ever—mostly.

He shook his head and focused on the positives.

Taming Talon was coming along nicely. Jason was beginning to think Talon was actually watching out for him, because he always appeared just before Jason managed to step into any of the really dangerous parts of Gotham (because as terrible as the backstreets were, as horrid as the thugs were…they didn’t hold a candle to central Gotham, where all of the crazies were). It made him feel…warm, that there was somebody looking out for him. And also smug, that he had a surefire way of demon summoning that didn’t include sacrificing babies or something.

He twitched as the feeling of eyes on his back washed over him in shivers. He acted like he was picking up a bit of trash he’d thrown to the side earlier and glanced around while his head was lowered—and nothing. There wasn’t even a hole where a window used to be on that wall. There was no way anything was looking at him from that side.

But there had to be. Jason could feel it. And in Gotham, you trusted the hair rising on the back of your neck more than what your eyes could see.

He huffed at himself. This was what he got for playing with demons.

He stretched as hard as he could, doing his best to ignore the cold, itchy feeling on the back of his neck. It wasn’t like there was anything he could do about it. Either something would come out of the shadows and try to kidnap and/or murder him, or it wouldn’t. Either way, it wouldn’t help his current predicament Talon wrangling.

So he decided to outsource.

Unfortunately, he’d lost his best source of information since the old librarian was replaced, but it wasn’t like she was his only option.

…Right?

…Right.

He bit his lip as he went through a list in his head. His old teacher was out—she was nice and all, but she’d call CPS for sure, and he’d be forced back with his fucking old man. Willis was…no.

…Wait. Was that really the extent of the adults Jason knew? Surely not…

He thought harder. And nearly set his brain on fire from overwork. Fuck. He really didn’t know any trustworthy adults—or even other kids. He’d had a couple of friends in class, but that had been ages ago, and kids were the worst gossips, and also useless for the sort of advice he needed.

He sighed, stood up and grabbed his (sad) wallet. Well. There was at least one place he could try. He pursed his lips and set out, carefully avoiding the backstreets (there were less of the white-faced demons than normal, huh. He wondered if demons had holidays, too). He narrowly missed running straight into a mugging (the man being mugged looked super-rich, and super-put out. Probably missing his rich person opera or something).

His knack for staying out of trouble (not including various demon hijinks and/or being accosted by various themed thugs) paid off as he stared at the door to the suspiciously unmarked drug store.

And barged in after taking a deep breath, praying that the clerk was—

M looked up, blinking at Jason’s entrance. “Huh. It’s you again,” he said, eyes as dead as ever. Mr Bodyguard was with him, and he scowled at Jason, like it was his fault that Mr Bodyguard had the flirting skill of a virgin piranha.

“I need advice,” Jason blurted out, much to his own horror. He’d meant to ease into it! To—he didn’t know, say ‘hi’ or something first, at least!

Fortunately, M didn’t seem put off by Jason’s inability to be a normal human being. A spark of life entered his eyes, and he hummed for Jason to continue. Jason bit his lip as he tried to find the perfect words to explain his situation without actually explaining his situation. Finally, he gave up. They lived in Gotham, they knew shit was fucked.

“I’m trying to get a demon to like me,” Jason told M as he glanced down, shy now that somebody was actually listening to him—oh, his name tag said ‘Milo,’ so that’s what the M stood for! Jason…didn’t actually care. Mr Bodyguard was choking on the sip of coffee he’d just taken, for some reason. What a loser. “It’s going okay for now, but what else can I do to speed up the process?”

Milo blinked at him slowly a few times. “This is what I get for staying in Gotham,” he muttered, and Jason silently agreed. Gotham was a literal hellhole home to literal demons. Forget the super-crazies, everybody living in this city had a few screws loose.

“Okay, kid,” Milo said as he straightened up, eyes brightening slightly—he was now in zombie territory instead of corpse. Take that, Mr Bodyguard, Jason was way cooler and more interesting! “What kind of demon are we talking about here?”

Jason had come to the right place. Most people would have laughed him out of the store. “I dunno, exactly, but like, super helpful? And protective? Totally demolished the thug who beat me up,” Jason finished proudly. He thought that last bit was the most important, because it showed that Talon had some fondness for him before he’d started feeding it.

Milo stared at him some more. “Okay…okay. This is…totally fine, I guess.”

Hey! It looked like he was actually going to help! Jason was totally smart for coming here (even if it was his only choice)! Mr Bodyguard had slumped over onto the counter, dumb sunglasses that were useless inside anyway half-falling off his face. What a dork. Jason didn’t miss the glance that Mr Bodyguard shared with Milo (huh, maybe Mr Bodyguard wasn’t totally hopeless after all). Mr Bodyguard shook his head frantically, and Milo…Jason didn’t know what to call the look on his face, but it would fit in with the upper crust crazies of Gotham. That was a Harley Quinn smile for sure. Mr Bodyguard stood up, shaking his hand (he’d spilled his coffee all over himself, like a loser) and looking away with a slump in his shoulders.

“I’m invested,” Milo announced, face back to its factory setting. “I’ll try to give you advice, but only if you stop by occasionally and let me know how it’s going.”

That…was a much better deal than Jason had been expecting. He’d brought his (much depleted) wallet and everything. “Deal!” He agreed before the older boy could take it back.

“What have you done so far?”

“Hot chocolate is my main weapon,” Jason reported. “Whenever we see each other, I make plans of exactly where and kind of when to meet next, and I talk about…stuff.”

Milo blinked slowly. “…That’s all? And it’s working?”

Jason shrugged. “We first met when I was about to be murdered by Batman,” he said as he ignored Mr Bodyguard choking on his new cup of coffee. Dude had a problem; he should really get that looked at. “And the couple of times I was almost murdered since.”

Milo’s stare felt sort of like being dissected. “What the fuck?” The older boy whispered, eyes glazed like he was looking at the ghost of his dead grandmother come back to insult him for fucking up her famous lasagna recipe. Well, stranger things had happened in Gotham, and Jason glanced around quickly just to make sure he wasn’t actually being possessed by the ghost of an insulted old lady. Fortunately, he couldn’t smell that awful old lady perfume, so he should be fine.

The older boy—Jason kept calling Milo a boy, but really, Jason was shit at telling ages, he didn’t know how old the other was, only that Mr Bodyguard was probably ancient—like, thirty or something. Ew. Anyway, Milo closed his eyes slowly and rested his head on his hand.

“Okay. How are they about touch?”

“Not super great about me being the one to reach out, but…fingers in my hair…,” Jason said, too embarrassed halfway through to speak above a whisper.

The barely-there look on Milo’s face reminded Jason of Catherine when she thought Jason was being cute. He was not cute, for the record. He was tough, and manly, and due for a growth spurt any day now (but hopefully not too soon, he couldn’t afford it).

“Okay, kid,” Milo said, pressing his fingers together like a B-rated movie villain. “Here’s what you do. First, compliments. Whether it’s their hair, or their smile, or something they’re good at—just make sure it’s honest.”

Jason’s mind chose to flash an image of ashy skin with inky veins, sharpish canines and pretty lips. Okay, he’d never seen Talon truly smile before, but he had sort of huffed a laugh.

…Maybe he should just stick to admiring the claws and Talon’s kindness, since it had enough room it in its demonic heart to care about street trash like Jason, when none of the human adults did.

“Okay,” Jason said, determination turning the words sharp. “What else?”

“Listening. If you can get them to talk, make them feel important. Ask good questions about what they say, and try to remember most of it.”

Jason had a harder time with this one, because Talon rarely spoke, and these days it was to tell him to shove off because being around it was dangerous. “What if there’s nothing to listen to?”

Milo’s lips twisted. “That’s a hard one. Try getting them to open up with shared interests, maybe?”

Okay, Jason could do that. They both had a distaste for the Bat, after all! And they both wanted the thugs—that lined the streets and attacked poor little kids who were doing their best to survive—deader than dead, so he could work with that too! He nodded, determined.

“If they’re not much of a talker, you can try yes or no questions first, and get them used to answering. Start easy, though,” Milo warned.

“Easy?”

“Yeah, favorite color, favorite animal…meaningless questions that will leave openings for the more important stuff later.”

Milo was a genius, and Jason was even more of a genius for thinking to ask him. “Okay, I can definitely do that!”

Milo’s dead face almost twitched into a smile. “Try to be confident, but not overbearing. It sounds like you’ve been doing a good job of that so far—keep up the hot chocolate. Smile—I know it sounds silly, but a warm smile counts for a lot.”

Jason nodded, and noticed Mr Bodyguard mouthing the word “smile” out of the corner of his eye. Looked like Jason wasn’t the only one this would be useful for.

“That’s all for today. Let me know next time if any of that worked.” Milo returned to his busy job of staring into space. Mr Bodyguard stared at him like a man in the desert stared at water—no, like a fish stuck in a bowl stared at the ocean. Jason would feel bad for him, but it was his own fault he was a loser, so instead he stuck his tongue out at the much larger man and ran out with a, “Thank you!” to his new favorite shop clerk.

Honestly, a lot of Milo’s advice was what Jason was already doing, or at least the next steps to it. But it helped to know that he was on the right track, that he was…doing thing right, enough so that somebody else agreed. Jason had been worried he’d…been wrong, that his plan wasn’t really working, but…

Talon was his demon.

He blinked back to reality as he heard shouting from an alley nearby—that was growing louder, fuck, whatever was happening was moving closer—he glanced from side to side to find somewhere to—there.

He launched himself to the side, where there was a small crack from a boarded door, and wiggled his way into whatever abandoned building had been conveniently standing there for poor street kids to hide in. He pressed himself against the wall—and why was there a wall, shouldn’t the crack have led to a room or something? It had been a door, after all.

He listened as the shouts came closer, and his breathing quickened, and he could hear his pulse jackrabbiting, and—he flinched at the sound of glass shattering, of the dull, wet thuds—whoever they were beating was unlikely to make it through the night. Jason pressed himself deeper into the hole he’d (literally) dug himself into as the mad shouts grew louder—from the way they were laughing, he had to assume they were the Joker’s henchmen.

Which meant if he was caught, he was fucked.

He put his shirt and a hand over his mouth to help him breathe more quietly, or evenly, or something. It didn’t really help the hyperventilating, but at least it probably muffled it—

He twitched as something brushed against his neck.

He turned slowly, half-expecting a white mask to be staring down at him.

It was worse.

What was once a woman’s face was half-turned to him, one empty eye socket in a shattered skull, the other half rotting. Her skin was blue and peeling from decaying muscle and crumbling bone, her hair barely there, and the smell—which he’d been ignoring as part of Gotham’s usual sewer-stink—was horrible.

He was grateful he was already holding his mouth shut, because otherwise the muffled scream he let out would have had the thugs’ attention immediately. As it was, they were shouting loudly enough (and their victim screaming) to cover Jason’s horror.

And horror it was, as he realized the weird space he was in was a fake wall, and that hers wasn’t the only decomposing corpse.

Chapter Text

Jason turned this way and that, and in every direction—a too-small hand here, a skeletal leg there, a jaw hanging wide, and just—there were so many. Too many. Jason wanted to cry, to scream—but in the end, he lived in Gotham, and hiding with the corpses that had been stuffed into the wall like giant, horrifying sardines was safer than being caught on the streets (especially if he was right and those were the Joker’s henchmen).

So he grabbed for the mask he’d bought from a small pharmacy when he’d first stolen—appropriated—the wallet from the thug who attacked him. It was good sense to always keep a decent mask on hand in Gotham—one never knew what nefarious concoction Scarecrow had cooked up at any given time. He pushed it on too quickly, and one of the bands snapped his ear. He flinched, but didn’t make a sound.

He wasn’t that stupid, even if he was stupid enough to be caught up in this mess in the first place.

He curled up, tucking his arms around his head, and prayed that the goons would disappear soon (he could still hear the assholes laughing like the maniacs they were)—he really didn’t want to be stuck with the corpses for longer than necessary.

Time passed—hours, seconds, days, minutes, who knew—when a horrible sound came from above.

Thump—th’mp.

Thump—th’mp.

Whoever was walking overhead had a slight limp. It wasn’t his demon—the gate was too heavy, not smooth or silent enough. He didn’t think it was Batman—the Bat was huge, but mostly stepped quietly, as far as Jason could tell from all the times the not-demon had appeared out of nowhere to scare poor street children who were hungry and would have appreciated those tires much more than he did—

Jason tried to bite at his knuckles (forgetting he was wearing a mask as the habit overtook him, so basically he just half-punched himself) as the screech of old, rusted metal being pried apart echoed from above. He was—exposed, too exposed—he needed to hide—

He begged forgiveness from the half-rotted woman as he half-crawled under her, squirmed through the tiny space on his side, and half-dragged her very convenient dress to cover the rest of him.

Jason would never feel clean again, as some of her less-attached fleshy bits spewed onto him, covering him in death and gore and—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

There was wriggling.

All over, the feel of barely-there movement, slithering all over his face and neck, slimy and mushy and—and wriggling and squirming all the fuck over. Thank fuck he was already wearing a face mask, but he closed his eyes and tried not to cry or scream, or worse: throw up in his mask.

His life wasn’t fair.

He hated maggots, even if the ones in the dumpsters weren’t so bad because he could get away from them, but he was stuck, he was stuck and they were wriggling and squirming on his face and in his hair and in his shirt—and—and there were fleshy bits of corpse all over him—he wanted to go home.

A maggot squirmed across his chest, and he bit his lip to keep from screaming.

Then—another loud screech and a popping scream of metal—the thumping, uneven steps started again, and came closer, closer—where the fuck even were they, they were coming from above, not Jason’s unfortunate opening—

And the steps stopped. Close. Too close.

Jason couldn’t tell exactly how close, unfortunately, because his heart was thudding and thumping so harshly in his chest that he was afraid it would stab itself on his ribs in its attempt to escape. Every second it grew louder, until he could barely hear over it, until he was shocked that the monster that was too close would hear it.

And then—

A thud that caused tremors, corpses knocked this way and that with the weight of it. Jason blinked his eyes open, despite the maggots, the flesh, the rot.

He had to know.

Although, Jason being Jason, couldn’t see shit because he was still covered by the first corpse’s dress (she’d probably saved his life. He was very grateful to her, and hoped that she’d died quickly and painlessly for her post-mortem service).

Fortunately, it wasn’t whoever had decided a fake wall was the best place to store their murder trophies (Gotham was such a hellhole, fuck. No wonder the demons gathered like flies to rotten trash). Somebody large enough and strong enough to just…toss their victims around like that was somebody Jason did not want to meet after breaking into their terrible hiding spot.

Unfortunately, the new corpse that had been thrown into the corpse wall was right in front of the hole Jason had slipped into. He’d have to crawl over it and move it somehow to escape. And it was—it was fresh.

Jason really kind of hated his life sometimes.

He waited until the screeching sounded off again—for a second he thought it was weird nobody investigated the metal imitating a million cats in heat, then remembered it was Gotham, and investigating would be a great way to join the ranks of bodies stuffed into the wall.

He crawled out from under lady corpse—and shuddered at the feeling of maggots slipping off his body with every movement, gross, he would never feel clean again and this would feature in his worst nightmares—and grabbed at the fresh corpse.

Unsurprisingly, it was too heavy for an almost-teenager to move.

Jason bit at his lip. Heat built up behind his eyes, and he had to blink a few times to cool them down, to keep the heat from overflowing.

His luck had been so much better lately, why had this happened to him?

He just—wasn’t strong enough.

He took a moment to reflect in self-pity before taking a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. He couldn’t just—give up. He didn’t want to starve to death, or be forced into a worse situation (the corpses…didn’t look like they’d died peacefully—one guy’s face was so mangled Jason wasn’t sure he even had one)—

He took another deep breath. And another. And another.

Whichever idiot said deep breaths staved off panic was a dumbass and a loser because Jason was still feeling very fucking panicked.

He forced himself to crawl over the new body without looking, because he didn’t want to know.  His fingers encountered a not-quite wet stickiness, and he gagged because—the body was really, really fresh if the blood wasn’t completely dried yet.

He forced himself not to look down, to keep crawling even as his knees soaked in corpse juice—and fuck the fucker who came up with the idea of a damn corpse wall, he liked these pants and now he’d have to burn them!

He reached the opening, and—yep. With the corpse there he didn’t have enough room to maneuver through. He could try to look for another exit—but he didn’t want to be stuck in here longer than he had to be, and he—

Bodies shifted, and he froze. Moving around like this was a terrible idea, they probably weren’t stable at all, but—what choice did he have, really? He needed to escape, needed to breathe, needed to be…not surrounded by death, please and thank you.

He already had a demon, he didn’t need ghosts haunting him, too.

So he braced himself against a bit of wall next to his hole, set his legs against the bloody corpse, and did his best to straighten his legs and push.

Surprising nobody, the corpse didn’t budge at all.

So he pushed harder, harder, harder, and put all of his strength into it, strained against the wall, limbs shaking, teeth grit so hard he’d end up cracking them, muscles tense and screaming with the effort he was putting them through, fuck this hurt—

And with a crack, the hole splintered just enough, and he fell on his back, sharp agony sparking up one shoulder blade and breath lost from the impact.

Jason blinked for a moment at the dull, clouded Gotham sky.

He’d never seen such a beautiful sight.

Also, fuck the corpse because the bitch still hadn’t budged.

He pushed himself up and forced himself to move, breathing ragged, legs trembling, and shoulder and back aching something awful. He took off his mask, breathing in that not-so-fresh Gotham smog, and stuffed it back in his pocket. He was alive, and he was free, and those asshole thugs from earlier were still blocking his route, so he took another alley, deeper into Gotham’s asshole, and—

Froze as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

He turned slowly, and looked up, and up, and up—

Oh, fuck. He should have taken his chances with the corpse wall, with the killer who dumped the bodies, with probably-Joker’s minions.

Because the man who had him in a tight grip was wearing a uniform. With a badge. A Gotham pig, wearing a gentle smile that was the greatest lie of all.

“Hey, kid. I’m going to need you to come with me, okay?” He said, and even though the words were gentle, the tone was hard, commanding, and his fingers dug into Jason’s shoulder like he was expecting him to run. Smart man, unfortunately.

Jason scowled at the bastard, but didn’t say a word. He knew what happened to street kids when they snapped back at cops. He’d seen too many left bruised, bloody, helpless. And nobody cared, because the world was better off without street trash that would just grow up and become even worse trash.

Jason had the worst luck.

The man’s grip—on his bad shoulder, on the one that had landed too hard from his escape—was tight, inescapable.

And Jason was usually very good at escaping. But he was tired, and sore, and…he couldn’t give up, giving up meant death, and he would survive, would prove Willis Todd (that bastard) wrong, but…he kind of wanted to just…

He was stuffed into the back of the cop’s car like a lamb to the slaughterhouse.

He bit at his lip, flinching as the taste of copper flooded his mouth. His own fault, he thought he’d kicked that habit, but he’d been chewing at his lips an awful lot today, and—

And the cop had a partner, just as big and bulky, and—

It was harder to breathe now than when he’d been surrounded by corpses, by death, because the dead couldn’t do anything to him, but these bastards—

Every street kid knew that if it was a choice between the cops and the villain’s goons, that depending on the villain’s stance on children (the Penguin was usually safe, Two-Face depended on the day, Poison Ivy would lecture for ages, and Catwoman was by far the best to be captured by, because she’d let street kids cuddle her cats so long as they were gentle), the best choice was the knife every homeless kid should have hidden on their person. He didn’t want to be sent to a boys’ home, to the nightmares that existed inside (the kids who escaped—there was something in their eyes more frightening than any demon’s), or to foster care, where the foster parents just wanted another toy to break, or…or…

He couldn’t breathe.

“Kid’s having a panic attack,” he heard from a thousand miles away, the tone too mild to be anything but uninterested.

“Let him knock himself out,” said another, just as far away and possibly underwater, too, and—

Jason was nothing if not contrary, so he pressed his hands to his mouth and forced his breaths through interlocked fingers, which slowed his breathing by necessity. After a few moments that felt like eternity, the blackness at the corners of his vision (that he didn’t even notice until it was gone), faded, and breathing came easier.

All of his efforts amounted to nothing, and his breathing hitched, and no more air would come because his lungs had popped like old balloons as they pulled into the police station,.

The one where boys like Jason were dragged into and were never seen again.

Jason’s life was suffering.

He stared at Gotham’s main station in the kind of fascinated horror The Joker’s victims probably understood before their deaths.

This was a place of suffering, a place where…where death would be preferable.

But Jason was a survivor, and he’d survived fucking demons, surely he could survive this bullshit.

Actually—why had they even nabbed him? Gotham cops were notorious for not giving a single shit about all of the orphans and runaways in the back alleys—his eyes caught on his knees, covered in dark not-liquid turning darker every moment. The streaks of it all the way down his legs, on his hands, up his arms, covering his shirt.

Ah.

On second thought, Jason had a pretty good idea why they were bothering with him, actually, looking like he’d walked off a horror movie set. 

One of them opened the door while he was distracted, and pulled him out, not gently at all, because fuck them.

Jason’s breath came quicker, and—actually, maybe he should pass out after all. Inconvenience them in any way he could. Yeah, he would get right on that—only the way the cop was dragging him, he figured he’d missed his chance.