Snap Out of It | Oner | Flashback

She was gone.

A whirlwind of anger and magic and she was

just

gone.

Gone.

He was left a shell, filling in the holes she left with booze and bullets, the former to the point of poisoning and the latter to the tune of half the criminals in China Basin. He was frightening the locals, almost all of whom had, at one point or another, interacted with the Outlaws before. No one had seen the Red Hood act like this, not even during the Occupation. Then, it had been retributive, retaliating at the mercenaries who set out to destroy the lives and livelihoods of the citizens of Gotham. Now, it was different. It seemed to be without any direction, just senseless violence against those whom, ironically, had done nothing more vicious than breaking and entering.

It was one night in particular that stuck in his mind, the night that he found himself holding a gun to a single father who had, in an act of desperation, left his children in the car while he attempted to break into an ATM machine. The father had pulled a knife on Jason, and in full view of the children, Jason had broken the man’s collarbone, disarmed him, and pressed the cold steel of a .44 against his temple. One of the children screamed in fright, and the reality of what he’d done had hit him in full. He had dropped the man, disappearing in a burst of hazy anger and fury at losing his cool, his sharp edge of retribution falling to bullying the struggling poor of the city’s worst neighborhoods.

The shame and regret had taken him to The Looper again, where he’d first met her months ago. It, of course, would propel him deeper into depression and despair, but that was better anyway. Less dangerous for the people around him. After a few bottles of vodka, he’d wind up at a safehouse, passing out fully clothed on top of sheets that still smelled like her.

Weeks went by. He didn’t get better. Kory, Roy, Henri, Dick-all of them reached out, but only the kid got a response. His training was harsh, made even harder by the now nonexistent humor that Dick had previously been able to elicit from Jason. It was all business, and it was taking its toll. Tensions were high, and the Outlaws suffered because of it. Kory and Roy took solace-relief-in each other, something which only further annoyed Jason. Their not-so-secretive romance was the lowlight of his days, especially when he came home to find a Kory-shaped burn against his bedroom door. Fucking cretins.

Batgirl was the one good thing he still had going. While they’d been cautious allies at first, their shared patrols over the summer had grown a bond unlike one he had with the Outlaws. They didn’t trust each other implicitly-after all, they still held their civilian identities close to the chest-but they became a remarkable team, each so different from the other, but stronger for it. She was a goddamn wizard at on the go tactical decisions; standoffs and hostage situations that had Jason resorting to extremes got peeled apart with finesse when she was present. On the flip side, he was a hammer to her scalpel. A battering ram, really. Where she tiptoed around property damage and injuries, he’d come full force down on those who opposed him. They suited each other. Yin and Yang, or some shit.

So it was a surprise when he found a stirring inside of him, one that he hadn’t considered since his heart had been ripped out of his chest and cut to ribbons, a feeling like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t cursed to this freakish life, alive, dead, alive again. Maybe she was the answer. Who the hell knows.

He started warming back up to life after that. Even one sided, realizing he could still care about someone like that…it changed things. He was able to tolerate Kory’s post-coital glow, and ignore Roy’s sheepish looks when the three of them hung out. Dick noticed he had his laugh back, and training doubled in speed. Jason had some semblance of normality back, and everyone was the better for it.

Even so, the nighttime patrols with Batgirl became sacred. Secret. An escape from where he was expected to be one way, and allowing him to truly be himself. Witty humor, both appropriate and not. Dark and brooding, occasionally. Coarse, always. He never hid himself from her, not like he had from the rest for so long. She, oddly, incredulously, knew him better than most. This girl, whose name he didn’t know, who he spent most nights with. Talking. Working out. Kicking ass. He was a Gotham Knights fan; she a Gotham Griffins fan. Hours had been spent arguing the finer points of a designated hitter versus letting the pitcher hit (with no conclusion, naturally). She loved computers and had an encyclopedic knowledge of books. He could (and would) talk as long as she’d let him about weapons and their strengths/weaknesses, as well as the new tech that he acquired, almost always sharing his toys.

They worked.

And so, that night they finally kissed, it was like a lock had dropped from around his ribcage at last. The weight and humiliation, plus internalized blame for the breakup, finally lifted away from Jason, and he was happy. The next weeks were spent stealing kisses in alleyways, sharing them above a pile of groaning and neutralized criminals. Like goddamn teenagers, they shared a reckless abandon for the other, daring the world to catch them, to stop them. It wasn’t love, not to them. Neither believed in it, anyway. But that’s the special thing about falling in love. You never think you’re headed that direction until you’re stuck, confused, angry, elated, and scared, alone with the one who took you there.

Ready to face the big bad world hand in hand.

You Probably Couldn’t See For All The Lights But You Were Staring Straight At Me | Zatanna Zatara and Jason Todd | Oner

To explain Jason Todd and Zatanna Zatara’s relationship is to attempt to capture love in a bottle. That’s to say, I mean, that it’s impossible to properly describe the factors and feelings that it entailed, but I’ll do the best I can.

He’d never know why he stepped into the bar; to this day, he’s not sure. Something changed his mind-he had been headed home, after a long night at the office-but for this reason or another, he ducked inside The Looper, the nightclub in question. There, halfway into a bottle of the finest vodka Gotham could produce, he’d locked eyes with a stage magician on her last show of the night. The magician, of course, was Zatanna. You could call it love at first sight, of course; many would. To the man, however, it was more the start of an obsession, one that would forever reshape the path his life would take.

Immediately after the show, he’d approached her with a smile and an arrogance that no one she’d met would ever match. Some small talk, a few more drinks, and the pair were taking a taxi back to the closest safe house Jason owned. Small, but well furnished, the house contained a queen sized bed that the two of them shared almost immediately. The morning afterward, Jason woke to find takeout on the table, and a still-nude Zatanna munching on General Tso’s spiciest pork. This casual air would set the tone for their relationship; for the rest of the months they’d spend together, up until the Event, they didn’t argue once.

The next night, she was performing again, and Jason was front row. The things she could do! It was incredible, really-impossible. Still, magicians don’t tell their secrets, and he knew about keeping them. So the routine began. She’d perform four times a week, 11 to 3, all over Gotham. He’d patrol as Red Hood during her on nights, cutting his circuit short as soon as she was done. The nights she was off, they’d spend in bed, or off following whatever whims Zat had for the evening. And they were many, as you must understand. She was all moonbeams and mysterious smiles and unbridled passion; he was dark and cynical and doubt and barely restrained distaste at the chaotic nights she had.

“No, Jay, it’s not just a psychic, he’s a friend! He can tell you things about yourself that you didn’t even know were true!”

“Jason, just come with me, okay? The show is really tasteful, I promise. Just cause they got banned from Broadway doesn’t mean it’s porn on stage!”

“The food here is great, just go with it. Yes, I know that the building is condemned.”

He stopped resisting soon after the tangle with the cops-that had been an adventure. Still, even someone as meticulous as Jason couldn’t deny the fun that her particular brand of spontaneity brought.

They soon accepted that both had pasts that weren’t kosher. Jason, from his death and resurrection to his League training to his kill count to his vigilante activities, would evade and change the subject the few times she pried. Her, with her actual Homo Magi pedigree, wasn’t able to give details. That worked, too. Mysterious was sexy, and it only served to increase the chemistry and attraction the two had for the other. Sure, there were times that got awkward.

“Jason, what does Redstone Security actually do? Everyone says you’re private security; that means mercenaries, right?”

“Zatanna, how the hell did you get us past security? This concert has been sold out for weeks! All you did was whisper in the guard’s ear. The fuck?”

“Jay, these bloodstains aren’t gonna come out. You sure it’s all from a nosebleed?”

“Zat, Honey. You made dinner in the time I showered. I know for a fact, you can’t roast a pig in fifteen minutes.”

The prods for information were all handled with the awkward graces of a homeschooled teenager, stammered excuses and lame attempts at explaining the impossible. They both let the other’s reasoning slide, because neither had any real desire to ruin a good thing. The result was an indefinite trust; both knew that they were only getting a portion of a whole, but neither was able to let their walls down far enough to let another in.

Vacations in France led to intimate moments, such as the time Zat let it slip that her father had disappeared on her eighteenth birthday. Once, during a candlelit dinner atop the Complex roof, Jason drunkenly serenaded her with the story of the Temple burning. Both were quickly moved past, as their love was not one for emotional support, but for passion and romance. Jason never attempted to dig further into her obviously clipped past, and she never questioned where exactly he’d been all those years overseas.

The months passed, and Jason had slowed his Hood activities to the bare minimum. Zatanna had gotten a steady gig at a couple bars, and only performed twice a week now. He alternated between her days on for the Red Hood, not wanting to develop a pattern that she could follow. Kory and Roy weren’t happy about this; they’d grown to rely upon their friend and leader. Still, love was strange, and neither could change his mind one way or the other about Zatanna.

After almost six months of this romance, Gotham’s Curse struck again. At a commemoration of the one year anniversary of the Batman’s sacrifice, both Arkham and Blackgate were set loose upon the gathered citizens, forcing Jason’s hand. Donning the hood he always kept stashed in his truck, he set out on a purely defensive mission to defend the innocents being attacked. He didn’t miss a single shot; after the initial volley of inmates, over one hundred lay dead at his feet. Unfortunately, Zatanna had been a witness to his rampage, and an incredulous accusation had left him unable to lie to the woman he loved.

“You’re the Red Hood? The murdering Outlaw smearing the good name of vigilantism that Bruce left for you?”

That night, after the smoke and bodies and blood running through the street had been cleared, they’d had their last conversation.

“Zatanna, wait.”

She didn’t even look at him as she continued to throw her things into a massive suitcase, a blur of multicolored clothes that never managed to land outside the target.

“No, Jason. You lied to me. You tarnished my dead best friend’s legacy, and you did it with willful abandon." With a snap of her fingers, the suitcase closed, and she was headed towards the door.

Snaking a hand forwards, he grabbed her upper arm in a grip firm enough to stop her in her tracks.

"I love you, Zat. Can’t we work this out?”

Her whispered words and the flash of light that surged outward from her hand told him otherwise. His world danced crazily around him, and he landed parallel with the floor. With a click of heels on hardwood, he watched Zatanna Zatara walk out of his life, not looking back once.

He laid there, silent tears seeping out of closed eyes, for what was probably close to an hour.

She took a cab to the airport. Destination: London. She wouldn’t set foot in Gotham again for several years.

That’s the story; a summary of what transpired between Jason Todd and Zatanna Zatara during their courtship. I’ve told it best I can, the ups and the downs.

The Fall of the House of Todd | Oner

After the perishable food ran out at the Todd apartment, after the smell of her body had leaked out of the bathroom, permeating to the other rooms, Jason left. He put on the last clean clothes he had (blue jeans, a white t shirt, and a red long sleeved hoodie), packed a bag (peanut butter and a loaf of bread, a blanket, one picture of his mother, from when she was in high school, and a wallet full of money pilfered from the many, many men that Catherine had brought over in the last two years), and was gone before the landlord came knocking.

The first night, he slept in a drainage ditch behind the grocery store. The second, a stoop in midtown. After a week, when the temperature dropped into the low 40’s, he’d convinced a nice lady that he was just lost, thank you, and could I please use your phone? He’d cut the line before he’d knocked, anyway. After that, he moved from neighborhood to neighborhood, perfecting his grift by the fifth house.

All too soon, true winter was upon him. He needed shelter, and soon. No adult would take his money, so he learned to break into cars. He’d use the heater for a night, and leave just after sunrise. This got him through several hard weeks, although not before he was discovered three times (two times, an early commuter; once, an overzealous guard dog). He’d managed to escape, but those neighborhoods were unusable after that.

After five weeks, he met a drug dealer named Johnny Zip, one who didn’t care that he was six years old. Johnny took Jason in, with the caveat that Jason helped him pull off scams and cons. He agreed, if for no other reason than he was hungry and cold. Soon, they moved up to stealing car tires, using Jason as a lookout. Who’d suspect a six year old in a crime, right? In any case, it worked, and Johnny Zip got rich, at least by his standards. Enough to move on, and leave Jason alone again-reinforcing his need for self reliance.

Zip had taught him enough to survive, however, as Jason now knew how to remove tires and steal cars. Soon enough, he found an unscrupulous chop shop that didn’t care where the cars came from, and Jay was in business. He brought them five cars a week, and they let him sleep in the garage, after closing time. The room wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold, either. The man who ran the shop didn’t like using a kid, but why should he care what happened to Jason? The kid was useful, that’s it.

Like all good things, however, it came to an end. The garage was raided the second week of spring, and Jason escaped into the night, his jeans tattered, hoodie torn, and wallet still ensconced in his bag, albeit lighter.

Now that it wasn’t winter, he found himself able to sleep on the streets again. With no source of income, he again resorted to pickpocketing and stealing food, having mastered these skills before most children could read. Soon enough, with three weeks until summer, he found himself again working for a stolen parts garage, this one in uptown. Nicer cars here, and nicer people. Many of them left the cars unlocked, even! It almost wasn’t fair.

Jason had grown by now, able to jack up the cars, loosen the bolts, and remove the tires by himself. This too, worked for him, although he demanded a 15% cut for the profits. They gave it to him, mostly because they felt sorry for him.

They shouldn’t have. At seven years old, Jason was stronger, faster, and smarter than any other child his age. When the garage shorted him $250, he tipped off the cops. All fifteen employees were caught, and sentenced. After they had left, he used his (stolen) key to open the office.
Hello, housing.

It was almost the end of fall when Jason ran out of money. He’d known it was coming, planned for it. Again, he was forced to steal cars to live, a decision that did not please him. The first car he took, this time, was a Rolls Royce, a silver model. He was already under the dashboard when a strong hand pulled him out, tossing him against a brick wall. Without thinking, he raised his fists, looking unflinchingly into the eyes of a tall, willowy woman with olive skin. Her expression was not of pity; this alone was why Jason didn’t strike at her.

The woman was Talia al Ghul.

Anger | Deadly Sins Oner

Jason Peter Todd was 6 years old the first time he hurt another human being.

The man was inbetween him and the food he needed to steal to keep his druggie mother alive, and Jason wasn’t going to let a 5’11” old man stop him from helping his mommy. The man, Tom, was a security guard at the corner store, working nights. He always let Jason in by himself, when his mother was on a bender.

This night was different. He didn’t have any money this time. The grocery money had been spent for the last two weeks, courtesy of Ms. Todd. Gone, to satisfy her fix. Jason had been left to fend for himself, as he so often was.
And that brought him to the corner store at half past eleven o’clock on a cool autumn night, penniless and hungry. Tom nodded his head at the approach of the roughshod boy, knowing all too well that he had to shoulder more than any child should.

Beans, bread, milk, turkey slices, and gourmet cheeses-these and more went into his basket. He didn’t have to skimp on the good stuff this time. He knew he was going to steal it. For the first time in his life, Jay picked the name brand products, the things he’d only ever seen, not tasted.

He was barely able to lift the handbasket after he was done. Tom was waiting behind the register, frowning at the child’s payload. “You sure you can pay for this, son?” Dark eyes looked up at him. “I’ve got it, mister.” With that, he was headed towards the door. Tom called after him, unsure how to handle the situation.

Jason took this opportunity to walk through the automatic doors, moving as fast as his small frame could carry him. He heard Tom following after him, knew he’d have to act. Dropping the basket, he swiveled and brought his pocketknife up and around, catching the older man in the thigh. He twisted it around three times before pulling it out, picking up his stolen food before hurrying back to the apartment his mother was two months behind the rent on.

The door swung open on loose hinges.

The smell hit him first. Vomit. Fresh. This wasn’t that unusual; Catherine Todd had overdosed enough times to be in the Guinness World Records book. With a lump in his throat, Jason opened the refrigerator, placing all of the precious foods inside with a loving hand, knowing that it would have to last for a long time.

After the last items were safe in their homes, he went to take care of his mother. She was in the bathtub, naked. Vomit caked her pale skin. A blue tint covered her lips and eyes.

“Mommy, wake up.” Jason shook her shoulder. “Mommy, I got us food. You need to eat. You’re sick again.” She didn’t move.

With a stretch and a jump, Jason grabbed the shower wand, turning the water to hotter than he usually did. He washed her hair and body, rinsing the contents of her stomach off of her mottled skin.

She still didn’t move. “Mommy, you need to get up. You gotta eat, you gotta!” He shook her more violently this time. She felt cold, even after the hot shower.
Jason began to cry.

“Mommy, please, I got you food. I had to hurt Tom, he wasn’t gonna let me go with all the food I got. Mommy, please!”

Tears fell down his small face, splashing on her skin as he held her. She wasn’t breathing.

He knew not to call the ambulance. He had done that when he was four, and she had yelled at him for it. “Too expensive,” she had said. “You can’t trust the hospital, Jason. They’re greedy whores. You gotta trust Mommy to take care of herself when she’s sick.”

He shook her one last time, knowing that she wasn’t going to wake up this time.

“Mommy, I’m sorry I couldn’t take better care of you. I love you, Mommy.”
He stood, his eyes red with tears. Walking to the kitchen, he forced himself to eat, though he wasn’t hungry. As he ate, a new emotion filled his young heart.

Anger.
Anger that he couldn’t save his mother.
Anger that he couldn’t keep Tom from getting hurt.
Anger that he was unable to control what happened to him after this.
Anger that he was too weak to make a difference.

He promised himself that he’d never fail again. That’d he grow up big and strong, and make sure that none of the nasty pill men that his mommy always had around would ever bother people again.

He cried his last tears that night, alone on the kitchen floor.
The next morning, he wrapped his mommy on her favorite blanket, and shut the door. He knew he’d have to stay at the apartment until the nasty landman came to collect rent. He could live off the food he’d stolen for a week or so. Then, he’d have to leave.

He didn’t know where this new feeling would take him. All Jason knew was that he’d never, ever be vulnerable again.

Lazarus | GCS Origins Oner

A ten year old Jason Todd stood, hands clasped firmly behind his back, facing Ra’s Al Ghul. “Yes sir. I understand.”

The man nodded curtly. “You will be on this assignment on your own, no help. Failure is not an option. If you are to succeed, it will be your last test before attaining the highest rank in the League of Shadows, the youngest to ever achieve such a feat. However,” He turned, facing the boy. “This does not mean you are special. Arrogance will get you nowhere in this organization.”

“Yes sir.”

“Go then. The task begins at dawn.”

The boy turned and practically ran towards his quarters, an enormous smile upon his face. “This is the best day of my life!”, he yelled, punching the air.

Ra’s sat for a moment, clearly worried about the boy’s safety. He looked down at the file on the desk, the words Red Hood Gang in neat block print across the top. He reread the description for the hundredth time. “The Red Hood gang. Thought to be the leader of the gang, Red Hood One is a master criminal, and incredibly violent. Known for his domed red helmet and crimson cape. Wanted in every country in North and South America. He is considered armed, dangerous, and utmost caution is advised.” Ra’s kneaded his temple. “Good luck, Jason.”

The boy packed his gear, preparing for his task. It was customary in the League, sending acolytes after high profile criminals. Once they completed the kill, they would become fully fledged members of the League, arbiters of justice in a world of corruption. The boy smiled as he slid his sword into its sheath, cinching the belt tight around his waist. He pulled his gloves on, doing a last minute check to make sure all his items were carefully packed. He grabbed his black hood, stowing it in a pocket before grabbing his bag, rushing towards the main hall of the temple. Ra’s nodded once at his arrival, handing him a set of coordinates and $10,000 in American dollars. After bowing, Jason was off, not noticing the GPS transponder that had been slipped into his bag.

The trek across the mountain was dangerous, even for a ten year old master assassin. He had grown up on this mountain, and after the first half dozen falls into the icy depths, he had learned to appreciate his footing. He made his way down the frozen slope slowly, but confidently. He reached the bottom of the slope by nightfall, and made his camp in a small cave near the frozen lake. The next morning, he found a merchant willing to take him to the largest surrounding village, letting him off at the small harbor there. Jason grinned. “One step closer, Jason.” He stowed his weapons in his bag, and cash in hand, looked for a boat to America.

The cargo ship he bribed passage onto was harsh, and more than one man made the mistake of bullying the small child. After Jason had broken three crewman’s various bones, the captain set him up in private quarters, more for the safety of the crew than Jason’s own. He preferred the silence; but he appreciated the time he got to spend with the captain. He learned to pilot the vessel, and he was almost disappointed when the ship docked, leaving him in Brazil. He set off to find an airport. Destination: Gotham City. Thousands of miles away, Ra’s Al Ghul watched a small computer monitor, a red signal pulsing slightly at the boy’s location. It had been five weeks since Jason left the temple.

The private plane that Jason had managed to locate took him to an airstrip approximately fifty miles outside of Gotham City. He paid the man the promised $1000, and began heading on foot to the last known location of the Red Hood. At a rest stop, he snuck onto an 18-wheeler, disembarking near the waterfront section of Gotham. He found himself with a base of operations, an old warehouse near the docks. He stashed his gear, taking only the surveillance equipment necessary to find his prey. Tracking down the villain would be difficult; but there was no time limit on his task. He used as little of the money as he could, using $20 and $50 dollar bills to get what small information he could, posing as everything from the Hood’s long lost son to a child of the Mob.

After two weeks of intense legwork, he finally had a location: LaffCo Toy Factory. It was long shut down, but all leads pointed to this being the Red Hood’s headquarters. He moved his gear to an abandoned apartment complex a few blocks away, and waited. Jason haggled a telescope from a local hobby shop down to a few hundred bucks, leaving him with well over $5000 still remaining for his assignment. Once he had it trained on the factory, he marked any activity around the building, who came and who left, at what times, and what they were doing. After four grueling days of constant observation, he finally allowed himself a break, falling asleep on a ragged mattress he had stolen from next to a dumpster. It had been two months since beginning his mission.

The day had come to finally make his move. He laid his gear out, finding for the first time the transponder. He grinned. “So Ra’s does care.” He clipped it to his belt, pressing the small button on it to alert the League he was mounting his attack.

He dressed in his usual garments; black pants, brown utility belt, a black tunic, and his hooded mask. The boots were laced up to his calf, and he tucked his favorite knife into the sheath there. He remembered the nickname he had been given by the older boys: Shadow. They called him this due to his innate ability to sneak up on anyone; he had more than once even surprised Ra’s himself. Jason shook his head, clearing his mind of anything but the task at hand. He chose to use his hanbo staff instead of his sword, citing that the staff would be better suited for defense as well as offense. He filled the pouches in the belt with the standard gear; explosive decoys, small balls that emitted thick smoke upon impact, and several other such diversions. The next item was a personal favorite of Jason’s: a retractable two foot length of titanium cord, wrapped in a carbon fiber and silicone weave. It was an excellent tool for disarming and strangling. He strapped it onto his wrist. The last item he selected was a bandolier of small, lightweight knives, shaped like small hawks. He picked one out, flicking his wrist to send it flying across the room, pinning a moth against the wall. He pulled it out, the moth falling lifeless to the dusty floor. He stuck the shadowrang, as he had labeled them, back into the bandolier, buckling it across his chest.

He did a final check, making sure all his gear and weapons were in order, before descending the fire escape, dropping noiselessly to the ground. The night sky was cloudy, moonless. The streets were dark, the wind idly moving the leaves and trash in an aimless voyage. Jason Todd smiled, hidden under the hood. “Time for glory, Shadow.”

The factory had one significant defensive flaw: the warehouse that adjoined it had open ceiling vents, making it a simple task for Jason to enter unannounced. He perched in a metal rafter, silent as the shadows around him. Watched as the murderer waltzed in, muffled whistling coming from under the dome he wore over his face. He took in every detail of the hideout, from the massive jack in the box, clearly meant for an old advertisement campaign, its face now painted in an exaggerated clown’s face, the red lips extending to the cheekbones, the hair a shocking green. He grimaced. After he had mapped his descent from the beam, he took a deep breath, locating his chi, as the League had trained him to do.

After a few minutes, the sound of a door slamming, along with the voice of the Hood, roused him from his meditation. He opened his eyes. Red Hood One stood, seemingly unaware of his diminutive assassin, almost directly underneath Jason. With a last steadying breath, Shadow dropped, free falling the thirty feet to land squarely on his target. He somersaulted off of the man, landing in a three point stance, hanbo held firmly. The crimson domed man laughed, an eerie, unsettling action that chilled Jason to his very soul.

He suppressed a shudder, leaping into action. The staff was a web of oak, both ends of the staff leaving substantial bruises where they landed. Still, the laughter continued. The boy backed away, circling the man.

“Come on, Kid! It that all you got?”

Scowling, Jason vaulted towards his antagonizer, a cry of anger escaping his lips. He never saw the crowbar the man held, swinging upwards, connecting against Jason’s ribcage. The blow knocked the wind out of him, and he collapsed onto one knee. The Hood cackled, dancing around the assassin, raining blows down on him.

“Thought you were a match for me, did you?” Jason lay on the ground, bleeding and wheezing. “Well you should have practiced harder, ninja boy!” He unbuckled his cape, tossing it aside. “It’s been a pleasure, though!” The crowbar came flying down, striking Jason on the forehead. The last thing the boy saw was a red gleam, drawing closer and closer to his face before he passed out. His last thought was of his mother, and how he too, would die in Gotham. The man never stopped hitting him. Cruel steel connected with soft tissue again and again, bending and snapping bones long after the body was dead.

As the blows continue to rain down on the lifeless boy, the door opens with a bang. A tall, elegantly dressed man enters the room, sword drawn. “Step away from the boy”, his voice says. “Leave now, or perish.” The domed figure hesitates for a split second, then charges the taller man. Before he can get close, the tall man flicks his blade outward, sending the crowbar skittering across the rough floor. The accented voice rolls out again.“Leave.” This time, the voice is obeyed, and metal boots echo loudly as their owner flees the scene.

The tall man gently lifts the child’s body off of the floor, sweeping blood and hair away from his face. With a delicate hold, he carries the boy away, placing him on a litter with care. The litter is placed in the back of a Rolls Royce, and the man gets into the driver’s seat. After a short drive, they arrive at the private airport hangar, and soon, they depart.

Deep underground, Ra’s al Ghul is feverishly preparing a Lazarus Pit. Mysterious ingredients, added to a bubbling pool of green liquid, hiss and pop as they take effect. The boy, his body washed and naked, is on a small bed next to the Pit. White Ghost and Talia al Ghul are standing on either side of Ra’s, both looking apprehensive. This is the first time an outsider has been allowed to use the Pits since their discovery over two thousand years ago.

Ra’s has finished his preparations. As he lifts the boy, Talia leans in and kisses him on the forehead, her olive skin dark against the lifeless alabaster of Jason Todd. Her father, nearly prostrate, lowers the child into the bubbling liquid. With agonizing slowness, the body sinks to the bottom of the pool.

The minutes pass slowly. White Ghost, adamant that the Pits remain exclusive use of the al Ghul’s, grins in triumph. Tears streak Talia’s face. Ra’s remains stoic, watching for the slightest sign of life.

It has been thirty minutes. Talia has her head on her father’s shoulder, her arms wrapped around his bicep. She is no longer holding back her sorrow. Dusan speaks up. “It is not an exact science, Sensei. Perhaps you have overestimated the powers you have for so long controlled.” Ra’s does not answer, save for a scowl that silences the younger man.

At the bottom of the pool, the boy shudders, then thrashes. Talia lifts her head, her mouth open in wonder as the body jerks on the pool floor. Dusan is visibly upset. Ra’s bends down on one knee, peering into the depths as the boy continues to writhe, submerged. Talia falls to her knees. The boy begins to make his way, with difficulty, to the surface.

His head breaks the surface, and Ra’s has his hand around the boy’s upper arm like a vicegrip. Lifting him up, he ignores the boy’s blows that bounce off of his chest and head. The al Ghuls are familiar with this process now; Pit madness. The boy’s eyes are still closed, and his mouth struggles to form screams of protest as he is hauled through a hallway towards his new quarters.

The door is opened, and Ra’s places the boy inside. His eyes, still shut, leak tears. Dusan lingers, still offended. Talia alone enters with the boy, attempting to calm the madness inside him. He does not strike her. She soothes him, cradles his young form. Clothes him. Ra’s watches from a window outside, his expression unreadable. Talia does not shift her gaze from the child. Hours pass. She waits.

His eyes snap open. They are violently blue, and appear to burn with an energy not of his own. There is no recognition in them. Talia looks at her father, and he nods.

Jason Todd is alive once more.