( he has all-around superb hearing, the only robin allowed to wear a hood with his cape and cover his ears on patrol. so despite the despondent blank gaze, damian picks up jason's rapid-fire retelling of events over the clink of medical tools and general low moans of pain bruce makes as alfred starts to cauterize and stitch. but hearing second-hand events of a battle he must have attempted to fight just serves as salt in the wound; jason's memories couldn't replace his own, and what made the red hood so special that he'd managed to take down what batman and robin couldn't? had he more energy, damian would be insulted.
but all he can manage is a tired sort of angry, folding his features back to a stiff and defiant scowl as jason approaches; stitching remnants of heartache into bubbling anger, and a desire for revenge loosely reinvented into a desire for justice and the safety of the people of gotham. he doesn't shuck the proffered weight of fabric on his shoulders, but also makes no move to keep it from slipping down his arms
he slips back to action, to planning, to strategy. it's easier. )
It sounds like magic. Witches, maybe. And if it's an entire coven, what we encountered tonight was probably just a small cell of the operation. This isn't over, Todd.
[ They weren't expecting him, is what probably saved Jason in the end. They took Robin out, they had Batman and they were stupid enough to think no one else was coming. That, and the fact that no matter what was happening, Bruce and Damian wouldn't kill them to stop the memory loss and Jason had. But he's not going to make a big deal out of that, because he knows killing them was unhelpful as well.
Jason stops the jacket from slipping off and then he crouches down and presses the fresh gauze against Damian's side as well, looking at him. ]
No, it's not over. It's far from being over. It could be magic, it could be something else. I'm going back to the landfill before sunrise to see if I can find anything else. I left in a hurry, but the GCPD didn't get called in to investigate the crime scene just yet.
Only one of them seemed to have that power, though. I could feel him reaching into my head. The others were just lackys with weapons.
( damian doesn't bother asking for more details of what befell the potential coven, nor with the self-righteous rant, or reciting the batman oath of we don't kill over and over again in the vain hope that the red hood would be cowed into guilty submission. in the moment he's glad they're dead, fighting that rising urge to wreak utter destruction on everything and everyone who crossed him like bile in his throat. but he's also grappling with the sudden realization that, coming too nearly six miles from the initial fight and filling in the gaps with assumptions in lieu of real fact, he must have run away.
retreated, cowardly and hurt.
and that fact rattles him more than the subsequent realization that jason todd was treating him with kid gloves. tugging the jacket tighter around his shoulders, tending to his wound, kneeling to his level... it makes damian feel small and weak, and he wants to shove the man on his back for the mere insinuation. instead he slaps away the hand on his stomach and glowers; sets his feet and squares his shoulders, immediately ready for conflict and argument. )
[ Jason wouldn't feel guilty. He doesn't- but he does wish he had been able to get something out of that piece of shit before he ended him.
He also knows what he's doing with Damian and that he's very likely to end up getting kicked in the face, or shoved onto his back, but he doesn't care. His tactics are different than Bruce's, and that includes not treating a kid like a soldier, even if this is what Damian's been trained to do.
He does stand up again when Damian slaps his hand away, then points over at medical area]
Not while you're bleeding you're not. You want to come with me? Then get back over there and lay down. Stop jumping around and making your wound worse. I've seen enough blood tonight. Go.
( he's too everything — tired, in pain, angry, frustrated — to level the statement with any air of competition. there's no essence of my pain tolerance is higher than yours, narcissistic jab about genetic perfection and quick recovery rates, or the dismissive scoff of his injuries that he must have inherited from bruce. damian states the question like a fact, like a criteria he has every intention of meeting while scowling at jason for a half second more. then finally unsticks his feet and breezes over to the medical area with a sense of purpose and intent.
passing alfred prepping a second blood of plasma and catching a sight of an anesthetized bruce looking pale as death, his resolve hardens. damian tosses pointed eye contact back at jason while rummaging in a drawer of the medicine cabinet; holds the other's gaze when withdrawing a sterile packet of clotting salts, peeling back his sodden bandage and essentially shoving a handful of chemicals into his open knife wound with little regard for how badly it burns. finally pulling his hand away leaves his palm bloody and adorned with remnant crystals of the celox granules, and a handprint on his stomach. but the bleeding will slow almost immediately, and damian grabs another guaze compress and abandoned top half of his robin suit before making the trek back toward jason. )
[ If Jason hadn't demanded to take the same action at one time or another, he would get right in Damian's way and shove him back toward the bed. But he has, and he's hardly in the mood to put up a fight about this. Not now.
It's stupid, it's reckless and the moment Damian starts looking faint, they're heading right back here, but for now... he goes to grab his helmet, some more gauze and a suture kit, and heads over to the batmobile. he really regrets leaving his bike, but he had no choice. Jason can only imagine the hell he's going to get from Bruce about this. He just hopes that the older man's memories will come back enough for him to do so.]
Alright, then. Let's go.
[He can hear Alfred's objections to this plan as he sits inside and waits for Damian to get in, turning his comm back on as he adjusts his helmet over his head]
( be it the angry swirl of hot blood and a derisive desire for action in the face of dire straits ringing in his ears, damian very easily blocks out any objection alfred may voice to their plans. the old man is elbow deep in blood and ripped skin, he wasn’t exactly in a position to physically stop them, but his careful words had a track record of bringing even the most rebellious member of the family to heel. alfred always spoke in reason, but damian doesn’t want to listen to reason; he wants to hear answers, and maybe the sound of broken bones. he’s around the batmobile and in the passenger seat in a few more seconds, slamming the door and moving to pull on layers of yellow and green kevlar without giving away how stiff the muscles in his arms were becoming. he’d trained for worst, he been through worse. if it came down to a fight, he could grit his teeth and carry on through any discomfort.
the engine revs to life, a familiar hum reverberating through the seats. and the platform they’d parked on behind to turn, wheeling the car around to take back off down the tunnel to the streets of gotham.
he’s quiet for a while, stone-faced and running through a thousand possibilities, expectations, and theories of what they’d encounter once they reached the landfill: dead bodies or more threats. answers or just more questions. another time, another place, he’d squint suspiciously at the synergy between robin and the red hood in the moment. sure, they had teamed up in the past and damian could objectively note the hard-hitting benefit jason added to the team when they’d been in a pinch. but this was the same man who’d shot him square in the chest years ago, and they’d never collaborated without a buffer in the form of red robin, nightwing, or batman. and now look at them, like minded and settled on a plan of action.
eventually — )
I only called you because Grayson was too far away and Drake was unavailable. I didn’t think you’d actually come.
( ...y...eah, this is as close to a thank you as damian cared to force. )
[ Jason is not feeling very reasonable either. He used the last of it up while watching damian loophole out of his request, or maybe somewhere back when he was trying to get Bruce to talk to him while keeping the older man's blood in his body. his helmet blocks out the smell, but he's still pretty sure he can smell it. Whatever earful he gets later, he's not stopping now.
He never envisioned that this is how he would end up back in the batmobile. In fact, he never wanted to ride inside of it again, but once they're back out on the streets, racing toward the landfill, getting to the bottom of this is the only thing on his mind.
Jason doubts anyone else will be there acting as backup for those he shot, unless he missed someone in his haste. They can't leave without anything to go on, he knows that much. And when they find out who did this and restore Bruce and Damian's memories, he'll crush all of their heads so they know exactly how it felt. He's quiet as well as he thinks this over, only glancing at Damian when he finally speaks, breaking him out of his murderous thoughts.]
Don't I always show up when one of you calls for help?
[Years ago he would have never believed he could do such a thing. For a while after that he came reluctantly. But now? Now he sticks around Gotham because he doesn't need to put cities or continents, even planets between them. He supposes this is a good enough time to admit that to himself, and to Damian]
Besides, you would be tied to a hospital bed right about now if you had called them.
[Which is as close to a you're welcome as damian is going to get]
( there's a disgruntled, trademark tt that might as serve for either acknowledgement or agreement. jason's not wrong, dick grayson might have been inspired to throw himself headlong into the same course of action the two of them were heading down now, but not before physically throttling damian to bed. and tim drake would have put his head first toward investigating their enemy, unwilling to blindly walk into another confrontation without doing his homework, and that would have taken enough time for the buzz of damian's adrenaline to wear off, or for the bloodloss to get to his head. both would be different types of mortified at his utilization of a clotting agent, so perhaps he hadn't chosen his ally in this mission quite as haphazardly as he'd imagined when flipping through his contacts. )
I would have cut the ropes, ( damian eventually grits out as evenly as he can manage, giving no indication that he's just now assessing the possible advantages of jason's ambivalent allegiance or the benefit of the like-minded and violent allying themselves for likely violent deeds.
the landfill isn't far away as the batmobile drives, and the smell of several tons of freshly rotting trash somehow manages to permeate the windows of the vehicle when even bullets can't achieve that feat. damian doesn't care. he's opened his door before the car's even come to a complete stop, and then stops. he's been here before, it's a tragically common place for criminals to flee while in pursuit, as if the stench of their misdeeds could be overpowered by the city's waste. he knows the rough outline of a walking path between garbage bags and mountains of broken furniture, he knows where the various utilitarian trash compactors are located, but —
his memories of the hour or two earlier are still non-existent. he doesn't know where the fight took place, nor where the bodies and any lingering evidence might be. and as stubbornly as he'd pressed both his ability to brown, competence to pennyworth, and all around insistence on accompanying todd, damian's not dumb. he knows he has maybe an hour, or one good fight, in him before the weakness of the near-mortally wounded won out and he needed to rest. it makes more sense to wait a beat, take a breath, and simply follow jason's lead instead of jumping all over the place and expelling precious energy. so no matter how quickly the red hood unbuckles and joins him out in the stomach-churning air, damian still fixes him with a glare that spits he's not moving quickly enough. )
[ They can investigate their enemy when they get back, but right now because they barely have anything to go on, that would be a waste of time. Anything Dick and Tim would do right now would be a waste of time. That's why they have Jason around as well. He'll jump right back into things, guns blazing if he has to, and take care of the ugly parts of it. He doubts Damian would go about it very differently if left to his own devices, which is why they're both here. ]
I'm sure you would have.
[he says as he glances over at Damian for a brief moment, doing a quick assessment of how he's holding up, before his eyes go back to the road and the batmobile tears down the street toward the landfill. He has no intention of babying Damian, but he doesn't need two Wayne's passed out and bleeding everywhere.
This is absolutely not how he intended this day to go, but now he can't think of anything else.
Once there, he joins Damian at his side and heads for the side entrance, pulling his gun. He doesn't expect anyone to be alive, but tonight seems to carry with it all the unexpected. He ignores Damians look, making his way instead instead. He already knows they don't have a hell of a lot of time.]
This way. There should be five bodies out in the open at the back of the landfill. I dragged the sixth one out of view just in case. The mind warper.
The witch, ( damian hisses by way of correction. the gender doesn't matter, witchcraft is witchcraft, and damian still doesn't have a better idea of what he actually experienced tonight to come up with a better term for their quarry. but his jaw is set and he's taken up permanent residence in jason's shadow, content to let him take the brunt of the assault on the chance they're walking into yet another trap.
they come upon the bodies quickly enough, crumpled forms of human beings surrounded by blood spatter and brain matter. trash among trash. he doesn't have it in his heart to feel much sympathy, and even has a vindictive moment of thinking good with as much menace as his little body contains. damian isn't his father, no matter how hard he tries as of late, and any lecture on the disadvantage of killing could wait until later. for now he just sniffs loudly and goes to pick over the fallen goons.
common thugs, all of them. knives and guns, leather jackets and combat boots. prison tattoos, facial scars, their bodies the familiar roadmap of a hard life in gotham that almost every thug for hire wore. one still clutching a hunting knife with drying blood on the blade; one with a wallet in his pants pocket and a worn picture of a small child in the folds, the girl probably grown by now and beyond mourning her father's choices. just looking at the corpses, this would look like a drug bust gone bad, and yet each man's fingertips glinted with a faint iridescent blue in the light of the overhead lamps. damian stoops to take a swab sample before straightening to look around for the sixth.
only — he can't find it. there's plenty of places to stash a body around here, but only one bloody smear to indicate dragging, and that leads to a pile of trash bags. but there's no mutilated body to parse for more answers between them. damian has a moment to pause, to wonder if somehow the magic swirling in his skull was simply playing more tricks on his mind, somehow convincing his eyes to forget the witch so entirely that he'd never see the man again. then his stomach drops, because the alternative is somehow even worse. )
[Jason doesn't know which he'd prefer, but at long as they get some kind of lead, he doesn't really care. he stalks forward, heading to where he left the bodies, doing the same as Damian does, memorizing names and noting tattoos so he can look up any affiliates. ]
I shot him in the head, so about that level certain. He was getting into my brain, I could feel it.
[He stands up and heads toward where he left the body, moving some of the heavier pieces away until there's nothing left to move- not even a body. His stomach drops as well. This doesn't make any sense.]
That's impossible. I shot him, point blank. There was no way he could... [Oh, this is bad. Very bad. In that split second of thoughts reaching into his head, could something have happened?] Unless that's what I thought I did and he got into my head, too.
[He doesn't accept that just yet, gun out as he moves around the area, looking for signs of blood, anywhere else this man could have escaped to. Someone like that wreaking havoc in Gotham? The implications of that are why Jason shot the guy in the first place. Better that, than taking any chances. It's impossible that he didn't take him down]
( jason seems just as surprised and dismayed at the lack of a sixth body as damian, and somehow that just makes him all the more aggravated with the man. a small muscle under his eye twitches, exhaustion and dismay channeled into a physical tic. arguably it was unfair to hold this unwelcome turn of events against jason — he'd done what he could (or thought he had) and it wasn't as if batman and robin were any better suited to go up against this overpowered adversary. but when the red hood jerks, veering back to sweep the trash enclosed area for elusive answers, it's practically insulting.
like he's missing the most obvious answer.
the wound on his side aches, and subconsciously damian grinds the heel of his hand against his blood splatter adorning tunic. )
Your remains were charred and scattered, I was stabbed through the heart, and you still think of death as a permanent fixture in this world? ( it's quietly spoken, but carries in the silence of the landfill otherwise populated with rats and the crunch of boot heels. what's worse than an all-powerful magical being with the ability to alter and erase memories so completely running rampant in the streets of gotham? an immortal all-powerful magical being with the ability to alter and erase memories so completely running rampant in the streets of gotham, and the two of them chasing nonexistent bodies and their own tails.
in the span of a heartbeat, damian lashes out, kicking violently at the empty trash grave and swearing. the frustration doesn't vent, the sense of uselessness only amplified by how utterly childish that reaction is, and after a few haphazard blows he doesn't feel any better. his side aches, he feels worse. in the distance, a siren wail leaks through the gloom. )
More often than not, yes. You shoot a guy in the fucking head and they stay down. This isn't about staying dead. Do you know what they all had to go through to bring us back? It's not that simple.
[Jason snaps, frustrated more at the situation, but also at Damian's naivete. There's clearly more at work here than that, especially when it comes to someone who can alter memories. What they need to be looking for is clues, not arguing about life and death. So Jason does exactly that, trying to find the remains of anything they can work with.
The only thing that's left to do is to take blood samples, because even though there's no body, there is a trail of blood and Jason doubts this is a first offense. There must be something on this guy, even if they have to comb through dozens of files till he can recognize someone. He remembers the face- he hopes that's the face. There couldn't have been enough time for this person to re-configure multiple things in his head, could there? It was only a tenth of a second between the pressure in his head and the gunshot.
When Damian starts kicking things, Jason gets up and goes over to him, grabbing his arm. He understands the feeling of needing to lash out. He wants to do so as well, but at least one of them has to stay level headed and he doubts Damian's wound is going to hold out much longer at this rate]
That isn't going to help. We have a few more things to work with than before we got here. We can ID the rest of the men and see what they're connected to. I doubt they covered their tracks very well. I was hoping for more, same as you, but this is what we have right now. We'll figure it out.
( it's an instinctual sort of lashing out — jason's fingers encircle his arm and damian is whirling all too quickly, all too angrily, and planting the palm of his other hand directly in jason's solar plexus. it could have been a vicious attempt to break ribs, a crippling blow, or at least enough to knock the air from his lungs. but at the last moment, seemingly remembering they're on the same side and loving him no more for it, damian pulls his punch. it's just a raw and angry shove, another futile expression of distress, like assaulting the trash bags.
todd is speaking sense (surprisingly?) and he absolutely hates it, all consumed with the overwhelming frustration of those who feel lost and incompetent, helpless. ) Let go of me. ( and that fire in his eyes speaks to all sorts of recklessness. damian shoves at him again, then wrenches his arm from jason's grip and tracks backward, definitely not stumbling — or at least partially covering for his weak knees with a firm set in his jaw and the heavy rise and fall of his chest.
it takes a minute, and a ridiculous amount of self control to reign himself in; to not hurl a piece of discarded rebar at jason's head, or turn and rush into the darkness, chasing shadows instead of leads. it takes summoning virtually all of his training for crisis management because. well, this was batman. his father, who didn't know who he was and might never remember unless they found answers, solutions. and damian's already lived though bruce's amnesia once, there's no distraction to be found this time in undoing his work on the year of blood, so where did that leave him? with one more growl, he drags a gloved palm down his face. and with no conviction, echoes jason's words. )
We'll figure it out.
( the sirens in the distance are growing louder. he can see the faint flashes of blue and red in the distance over the red hood's shoulder, and decides in that instant he doesn't want to explain the situation to jim gordon and his lackeys. they should know, they would know soon, but not before he had something more to bring to the table other than batman's incapacitated but don't worry, i've teamed up with a notorious criminal outlaw and we're going to go fight a magician who can't die. for now he jerks his chin. )
[ Jason is ready for any kind of lashing out that Damian hits him with- his feelings are the same, growing with every moment that goes by, but it won't be good for either of them if they both let their feelings overwhelm the situation. Jason stays put, not even swaying a bit and he's pretty sure all that movement ends up hurting Damian more than it hurts him, what with the kid's bleeding wound.
He lets go of Damian before he can even wrench his arm free, and eyes him to make sure he stays steady on his feet before he goes back over the scene to make sure they haven't missed anything. He's deep in his thoughts, wondering just how much this witch, or whatever the hell it was, took from him as well- even in just that brief second. He's trying not to think further than the task at hand just yet, trying not to think about Bruce's amnesia, but the knot in his throat is getting worse and worse.
All he can do is try to keep Damian calm, and he isn't really doing a great job at that either. ]
I already finished while you were kicking things. We have everything we can get for now. You're bleeding again. Try not to get any on the ground before we get back to the batmobile.
[He moves back toward Damian, but doesn't take hold of him this time. Still he urges them forward, back toward where they came from so they can leave. Damian seems more out of it than Jason would like. Or maybe he just expected the kid to work with him on this more than he has, considering they're both trying to get the same results.Either way, he stalks back to the car, staying silent after that. ]
I know how to evacuate a crime scene without leaving trace DNA evidence, ( damian snaps, but it's mostly bravado; a strain of leftover vehemence and persistent anger, even as the last traces of adrenaline finally start to ebb. fight or flight becomes rather cooperatively allow yourself to be herd back to the car without throwing anymore punches, and they wind their way through massive mountains of trash to the side entrance. the batmobile is exactly where they left it, and damian is more relieved than he lets on to throw open the door and practically fall into the passenger seat.
he's tired, beyond tired. exhausted and aching, and still kicking himself for seemingly having run away from the fight. even if it wouldn't have done any good, even if he'd be in a worsened state of amnesia, or maybe died right alongside his father without having had the opportunity to call the red hood, the act still feels sickeningly cowardly. running out wounded had done nothing to alleviate the sting of it either, and then coming up fruitless for their attempts? maybe jason was right, the information from the wallets and the blood samples may yield some lead or another, and they could track the witch to the ends of the earth if need be. but right now, faced with the inevitability of returning to the cave, to the father who didn't remember he failed him, that possibility wasn't much comfort. it was hard, seeing past the bleak present.
once they're driving again, damian takes special care not to aggravate his wound when peeling the hem of his uniform back, inspecting the raw gash that had indeed started to ooze dark blood. the celox had done it's job and then seemed to go on to aggravate the skin around the stab wound into angry, red protest, but he wasn't in any danger of bleeding out spectacularly. and the batmobile is well stocked for medical emergencies, so he rifles through the glovebox for gauze; presses a makeshift bandage to his stomach and stares out the window for a time — like perhaps if he glared extra hard at the stars that managed to make it through gotham's light pollution, he'd find the answers he was looking for. )
Maybe if you were paying more attention, that would be true. If you know it, then do it and stop throwing a tantrum.
[Jason snaps right back. He's about at the end of his patience, frustration taking over. He shouldn't have even been here today. He didn't have to come, but he did and now he's in the middle of this mess with an insufferable little brat that Jason is doing nothing more than trying to take care of while dealing with the situation at hand. He really hates all of them.
Once they're in the car, Jason tosses the rest of the gauze he brought at Damian before he takes off away from the sirens, heading back in a different direction. He wants to go back there even less than Damian does, but he doesn't have the luxury of airing his grievances the way Damian does. Not that he cares. He lets Alfred know they're heading back, and he already gets an earful, but he also gets an update on Bruce's status. Stable for now, and probably out of it for a while. He doesn't say anything about that, just stares ahead as he drives, glad that he has a helmet which covers his entire face. He doesn't want to be seen right now.
When they get back to the cave, he goes around to the passengers side so he can help Damian out, but he stops short, thinking better of it, and lets Alfred handle Damian instead, who Jason is sure Damian won't attack on sight. He has better things to do anyway and gets to work at the computers, sitting in Bruce's chair without a second thought, looking up fingerprints, date files and blood samples. He immerses himself in this completely, trying to find evidence, while compiling a hit list of everyone who is going to pay for what they did here tonight]
( that is ultimately a good move, a smart move. the entire mismatched family unit could be at each other's throats, seething and teetering on the edge of bloodlust, and alfred would be able to bring them back to themselves with a few flat words and a set of teacups. given the penchant for disagreements and arguments among the bats, he is arguably the only person they all like at any given time. and it seems he saved the brunt of his chastisement for jason, because when damian struggles out of the car, there's barely even a disapproving sniff. just a warm hand on his shoulder, careful and ready to catch him if he falls, but content to guide him for now. and damian allows himself to be steered back over to the medical corner, shoulders back and head high to face his anxieties head on.
his father is sleeping, though it is likely medically induced. in repose, he looks almost peaceful, and covered with a thick blanket, one could almost overlook the obvious signs of torment and injury. there's a bruise slowly coloring across the bridge of his nose, down under an eye; damian suspects it will be an ugly purple color by morning, and clenches his fists tight when the impulse to reach out and trace it rises in his throat. pennyworth attempts to direct him to his own sterile cot a few feet away, but damian digs in his heels, insists on occupying the chair to the left of bruce's bed, and alfred relents so long as he promises to rest.
it isn't easy with all the swirling questions and frustrations, but exhaustion eventually wins out. he doesn't remember falling asleep, but when he wakes it's with a heavy throw blanket draped up to his chin and a cup of water on the bedstand between his seat and his father. at some point pennyworth had removed his domino mask as well, which saved damian the trouble of doing it himself in order to rub his palms into his eyes to clear them of sleep. it hurts too much to stretch too far, but he lifts his arms and yawns spectacularly before blinking his eyes open to find bruce's gaze fixed on him. it puts his heart in his throat, and his mouth is immediately dry.
do you know me? damian eventually asks, even and devoid of any of the conflicting emotions that still undoubtedly play behind his eyes. those who knew him best would be able to read the distress on his face in the long seconds it takes bruce to answer, but his father just looked... confused.
no? batman responds, gruff from sleep and lited up at the end, a question without any real conviction behind it; more uncertainty than he'd ever heard from the man in his life, and damian's stomach turns to stone. he sits for another extended moment, grappling with that same frustration that had led him to kick garbage bags and shout at the red hood before pushing back his blanket. standing, a careful hand pressed to his stomach.
very well, he nods. he can feel more than hear pennyworth approaching behind him, likely with food or another round of medical supplies, and uses the butler's presence so as to not feel guilty for turning and abandoning both the conversation and the confused man on the cot. something stings behind his eyes, but it isn't tears.
he finds jason at the batcomputer, immersed completely in his work and looking very much like drake with that air of concentration around his features. it can't have been long then, if the man was still here and still looking for information, maybe an hour, two at most. damian dawdles for a few minutes, staring up at the screen and taking note of the witch's lackeys mug shots and rapsheets — the man with the family picture was a serial domestic abuser. his daughter really was better off — before drawing level with todd's elbow. )
[ Jason tosses his helmet aside, rips his mask off and leaves it all in a pile on the floor next to the chair, along with his jacket. He's immersed, finding every detail he possibly can about these people, what organizations they've been affiliated with, and any new factions of magic and witches, memory loss and mind reading that he can possibly find. He barely hears what's going on around him, though he's vaguely aware of some minor and strained conversation.
He doesn't look away from his work. He doesn't want to see any of it. He's better at this part anyway. Detached and working alone, while a hundred emotions threaten to jarr his insides loose. Jason doesn't have time for it and working at the batcomputer distracts him well enough. If he had this set up for himself? He could get so much more done in this city. He has his own, of course, almost as good, but nothing will ever be as good as Batman- Jason knows he tries hard enough, though.
He knows when Damian comes over- it's more than a couple of hours later. Jason hears him before the kid is even at his side, but he doesn't stop, having compiled a great deal of leads they can start out with. He's pretty sure it all leads back to the same place, and the results he's found are worse than he could have imagined.
Damian's question finally pulls him away from the screens and he looks over at him, furrowing his eyebrows. ]
I've found just about everything on them, if that's what you mean. The man I shot, his name is Bartholomew Heart. He has dozens of men and women following him- a cult or something. You're right, he's some kind of witch, some kind of siphon. It was no mistake that he went right for you and Bruce. They supposedly worship the Bat and want to become him. Heart claims that he can be him.
[Jason pulls up a bunch of photographs, videos every time Batman was caught in some photos, paparazzi, video screenshots. Heart is in all of them, in the background]
This wasn't a one time thing. You've run into him before and he's gotten better and better at finding you. I think those memories he's taken... he's keeping them somehow. He's turning himself into Batman. Stealing memories and making them his own.
So yeah, that's all I've found.
[Jason looks away from Damian, back at the screen and then he squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knows this still doesn't explain how they can get their memories back and he lets out a strangled yell, slamming his finst down on the consol before dropping his head into his hand]
( well — that’s considerably more than he’d originally gleaned from a glassy eyed sweep of the computer screen. damian blinks, any vestiges of sleep long gone by the sudden revelation. it’s invigorating, having a lead; like sinking teeth into flesh and finally having the vantage to read back and rip the mystery at the seams. damian spares jason a side long glance, and he’d be surprised — it’s easy to forget in the face of all that anger and the man’s loud rebellion against batman and his code, that he’d been as great a detective as he was a renegade; still was apparently — if he wasn’t so suddenly sickened by the information. a cult, a fanatic, a stalker. those three thing never mixed together well.
jason yells wordlessly, but damian barely bats an eye. he isn’t dick, not tim, nor jason apparently; he isn’t the type to reign in his brothers, doesn’t scold or comfort or put a hand on jason’s shoulder in a silent show of commiserations. no, he simply reaches around the man for the computer mouse, drags the curser to one of the many video feeds and presses play. it’s one of the rare times batman and robin had been caught on camera intervening in the very public assassination attempt of the mayor of gotham, michael bean. the man had retired shortly after the fiasco with harvey dent and the rooftop guillotine spectacle, and that had been nearly a year ago. the fight had carried two face and batman down to street level while damian has been in charge of unshackling bean and getting him to safety, and the ensuing fist fight had been well documented by reporters and concerned civilians with camera phones. he remembered that night, though nothing particular about the crowd. the most interesting part comes after dent is shackled and loaded into a van for transport to arkham, when a pretty dark haired reporter’d had the nerves to approach batman and shove a microphone in his face, asking rapid fire questions about the events on the roof and his justifications for going above the law.
bruce gives some gravelly rendition of his justice and i will always protect gotham mantra, and raises his grappling gun to fly back up onto the rooftops as the reporter screams one last question after him: why a bat?
huh.
damian purses his lips; pauses, and rewinds the clip. he spots the man jason had identified as the witch in the crowd easily enough, squints at the unfocused distortion of his face and watches again. then again. bartholomew heart’s mouth is moving, and he’s clutching his hand over his chest. damian sets the five second clip to loop, mutes the overlay of audio, and zooms in as much as he can without pixelating the image, and leans even closer to the screen to better read his lips. )
My heart and soul, ( he eventually parses, brow furrowed. that didn’t sound like any sort of magical incantation, more like the crazed ramblings of an obsessive lunatic. an obsessive lunatic with supernatural powers, looks like the joker has some competition. it doesn’t help his understanding of the man’s ploy so much as raises a series of goosebumps along his arms and sends a shiver down his spine and cements jason’s findings. it’s a start, it’s a name and a face to chase, but...
damian tried to use the face of the man on the screen to fill in the blanks, jar his own erased memories back to conscious thought, and finds he can’t. but this time, instead of being infuriation and hitting the control panel like todd had done, he’s reeled backward into quiet introspection. )
If your hypothesis is correct, and Heart is seeking to impersonate Batman by stealing his memories, what use did he have for mine?
[It's almost as if... they have some kind of good sympatico going on. Neither of them need comfort in the form of reassurance or scolding or comfort, but somehow they've found this way of staying calm when the other lashes out and vice versa. And they just let it happen, then fall right back into what needs to be done.
So Jason simmers for a while longer, while Damian reaches around and continues to look things up and follow along with the work Jason has put in. Detective work is what they're trained to do, and Jason is damn good at it when he puts his mind to it. It's worth more than his anger right now.
Eventually he looks up, right at that man's face, watching him mouth those words. It's eerie. It feels like the words can get into his head, but he knows he's just too tired. He's betting though, that any video they can dig up in the past year that might've caught Batman and Robin, Heart will be there. Maybe that's why Bruce is so depleted. This lunatic has been working on him for a while, without any of their knowledge. There's no way they could have known. ]
Because you're his son. You're a part of him- his life. He has to fill in the gaps. If a person sees Batman... hell, if a person sees Bruce, they wouldn't have the faintest idea about us. They'd have to dig.
[Which then has him thinking, pulling up what he can find on Tim and Dick, Babs, anyone else who is close to Bruce. He leaves himself out for now.]
I bet that Heart will show up in some of their files as well, somewhere in the background. Or maybe he doesn't know yet, but we have to warn them. [He looks at Damian] There are probably more gaps in your memory. Things you don't even know about because... they're just not there.
( the fact that heart had managed to get close enough to Bruce and himself to meddle with their minds — perhaps more than just tonight, maybe before and neither of them could remember enough to combat the zealot, thanks for that complex jason— was enough to rankle every fiber in Damian’s being. and the very idea that he’s similarly pursued the other members of their rag tag family has him outright growling. stephanie, cassandra, tim... on a normal day he could care less for any of them. but if the psychotic magician was on a mission to absorb facts from batman’s actual child as a means to get closer to perfecting his facade, what was stopping him from going after all his other wards and protégées too?
absolutely nothing. and Damian further prickles with a somewhat unfamiliar level of possessive defensiveness. )
I will alert Grayson, Cain, and Gordon, ( he volunteers, divvying up the work before moving further down the console and sending direct, encrypted alerts to his chosen three. )
[ Jason feels those exact sentiments and it shows on his face just as much as Damian's. On a normal day he tries not to think about his cobbled together family at all, but now, he knows they're all pieces to this puzzle and they could be in danger. This could unravel all of them. Everything.
To be completely honest, he doesn't know just how much was stolen from him either. If Heart has been at it for this long, Jason might've come into contact with him before this and just doesn't remember. There's something horribly monstrous about this. More so than most things he's ever come up against. He's still angry at himself for letting the man get away. ]
I'll alert... the rest of them. [Jason knows most of who Bruce has had close contact with, but he wonders if this should be a wider alert. He wonders if they should alert Clark... the Justice League. He'd rather shoot his own foot, but if memories are being stolen, this could get out of their hands really fast. It already feels like it has, with Batman down and out]
I'm going to tell Superman. We don't even know how long Bruce is going to be out.
( he's halfway through tapping out the encrypted mass alert when jason voices aloud the very question that has been eating at damian since the whole memory-loss-my-father-doesn't-remember-me deal had come to light. how long would this go on, when would bruce regain his memories? would he ever? if not, wouldn't that just be a cruel twist of fate, it felt like not all that long ago they'd almost lost him to civilian life. and then — selfishly — damian wonders, where would that leave me? there was no year of blood to occupy his time and need to self-punish. would grayson return to the mantle of batman yet again? would they be able to defeat heart themselves?
hand stilled above the keyboard for all of a moment, heart hammering and mind racing — until the swell of panic is clamped down under the firm air of duty. damian finishes typing the essential details, broadcasts the message, and abruptly turns on his heel and marches towards the stairway. conceals himself in the dark recesses of the manor in early morning, remains relatively unseen for two whole days, very little of which is spent sleeping, resting, or recovering as prescribed. no, damian retreats into his own mind first — layers guilt over anger over concern, attempt to replay the blank spots in his memory over and over until something can be remembered, but always coming up blank. then he throws himself into research, wires all prevalent casefiles from the bat computers mainframe to his own computer and spends hours pouring over video files, bland news clippings, and any other shred of evidence that might lead the investigation somewhere, anywhere.
the wound in his side heals at a miraculous rate, even dodging alfred's regular checkups, but is still tender and sore and weeping hemoglobin into gauze the next time their worlds convene. damian doesn't look up from his laptop, firmly tucked away in the back half of one of the manors larger libraries, but well aware of approaching footsteps and the familiar gait. he wonders briefly if jason had even left — gone home, showered, changed — and tells himself he wouldn't have been surprised in the red hood had returned the to slums indefinitely, content to wait out this storm and watch the dynamic duo fall.
damian may know better, but this is what he tells himself. )
I've found nothing new of note, ( he eventually deigns to say aloud, dragging a finger on the trackpad to enhance yet another security camera still of a patrol scuffle a few months ago because the shadow at the edge of the background building looked suspicious. damian's voice is slightly scratchy from disuse, and the second he glances just over the top of his laptop by way of greeting, his eyes feel dry and heavy; the bags beneath them pronounced but nowhere near as alarming as drake's could get after an in-depth evidence binge. they could use his expertise, damian can begrudgingly acknowledge. ) Heart keeps cropping up in the shadows, I don't understand how we never noticed him before. And I may have identified a few more of his henchmen, one or two who seem intent on recruiting more to their cause. They'd made several nonsensical social media posts and seem generally unhinged, as well as none too big on security and secrecy. Perhaps we can press them for more information.
( and yes, he fully intends to break bones if that's what it takes during this process and fully expects jason to not so much as sniff disapprovingly in his direction. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-23 11:33 am (UTC)but all he can manage is a tired sort of angry, folding his features back to a stiff and defiant scowl as jason approaches; stitching remnants of heartache into bubbling anger, and a desire for revenge loosely reinvented into a desire for justice and the safety of the people of gotham. he doesn't shuck the proffered weight of fabric on his shoulders, but also makes no move to keep it from slipping down his arms
he slips back to action, to planning, to strategy. it's easier. )
It sounds like magic. Witches, maybe. And if it's an entire coven, what we encountered tonight was probably just a small cell of the operation. This isn't over, Todd.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-23 11:56 am (UTC)Jason stops the jacket from slipping off and then he crouches down and presses the fresh gauze against Damian's side as well, looking at him. ]
No, it's not over. It's far from being over. It could be magic, it could be something else. I'm going back to the landfill before sunrise to see if I can find anything else. I left in a hurry, but the GCPD didn't get called in to investigate the crime scene just yet.
Only one of them seemed to have that power, though. I could feel him reaching into my head. The others were just lackys with weapons.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-23 12:18 pm (UTC)retreated, cowardly and hurt.
and that fact rattles him more than the subsequent realization that jason todd was treating him with kid gloves. tugging the jacket tighter around his shoulders, tending to his wound, kneeling to his level... it makes damian feel small and weak, and he wants to shove the man on his back for the mere insinuation. instead he slaps away the hand on his stomach and glowers; sets his feet and squares his shoulders, immediately ready for conflict and argument. )
I'm coming with you.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-23 12:36 pm (UTC)He also knows what he's doing with Damian and that he's very likely to end up getting kicked in the face, or shoved onto his back, but he doesn't care. His tactics are different than Bruce's, and that includes not treating a kid like a soldier, even if this is what Damian's been trained to do.
He does stand up again when Damian slaps his hand away, then points over at medical area]
Not while you're bleeding you're not. You want to come with me? Then get back over there and lay down. Stop jumping around and making your wound worse. I've seen enough blood tonight. Go.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-23 12:50 pm (UTC)( he's too everything — tired, in pain, angry, frustrated — to level the statement with any air of competition. there's no essence of my pain tolerance is higher than yours, narcissistic jab about genetic perfection and quick recovery rates, or the dismissive scoff of his injuries that he must have inherited from bruce. damian states the question like a fact, like a criteria he has every intention of meeting while scowling at jason for a half second more. then finally unsticks his feet and breezes over to the medical area with a sense of purpose and intent.
passing alfred prepping a second blood of plasma and catching a sight of an anesthetized bruce looking pale as death, his resolve hardens. damian tosses pointed eye contact back at jason while rummaging in a drawer of the medicine cabinet; holds the other's gaze when withdrawing a sterile packet of clotting salts, peeling back his sodden bandage and essentially shoving a handful of chemicals into his open knife wound with little regard for how badly it burns. finally pulling his hand away leaves his palm bloody and adorned with remnant crystals of the celox granules, and a handprint on his stomach. but the bleeding will slow almost immediately, and damian grabs another guaze compress and abandoned top half of his robin suit before making the trek back toward jason. )
I'm not bleeding anymore.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-23 01:06 pm (UTC)It's stupid, it's reckless and the moment Damian starts looking faint, they're heading right back here, but for now... he goes to grab his helmet, some more gauze and a suture kit, and heads over to the batmobile. he really regrets leaving his bike, but he had no choice. Jason can only imagine the hell he's going to get from Bruce about this. He just hopes that the older man's memories will come back enough for him to do so.]
Alright, then. Let's go.
[He can hear Alfred's objections to this plan as he sits inside and waits for Damian to get in, turning his comm back on as he adjusts his helmet over his head]
We'll be back soon, Alfred. Keep us posted.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-23 01:47 pm (UTC)the engine revs to life, a familiar hum reverberating through the seats. and the platform they’d parked on behind to turn, wheeling the car around to take back off down the tunnel to the streets of gotham.
he’s quiet for a while, stone-faced and running through a thousand possibilities, expectations, and theories of what they’d encounter once they reached the landfill: dead bodies or more threats. answers or just more questions. another time, another place, he’d squint suspiciously at the synergy between robin and the red hood in the moment. sure, they had teamed up in the past and damian could objectively note the hard-hitting benefit jason added to the team when they’d been in a pinch. but this was the same man who’d shot him square in the chest years ago, and they’d never collaborated without a buffer in the form of red robin, nightwing, or batman. and now look at them, like minded and settled on a plan of action.
eventually — )
I only called you because Grayson was too far away and Drake was unavailable. I didn’t think you’d actually come.
( ...y...eah, this is as close to a thank you as damian cared to force. )
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-24 08:19 am (UTC)He never envisioned that this is how he would end up back in the batmobile. In fact, he never wanted to ride inside of it again, but once they're back out on the streets, racing toward the landfill, getting to the bottom of this is the only thing on his mind.
Jason doubts anyone else will be there acting as backup for those he shot, unless he missed someone in his haste. They can't leave without anything to go on, he knows that much. And when they find out who did this and restore Bruce and Damian's memories, he'll crush all of their heads so they know exactly how it felt. He's quiet as well as he thinks this over, only glancing at Damian when he finally speaks, breaking him out of his murderous thoughts.]
Don't I always show up when one of you calls for help?
[Years ago he would have never believed he could do such a thing. For a while after that he came reluctantly. But now? Now he sticks around Gotham because he doesn't need to put cities or continents, even planets between them. He supposes this is a good enough time to admit that to himself, and to Damian]
Besides, you would be tied to a hospital bed right about now if you had called them.
[Which is as close to a you're welcome as damian is going to get]
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-26 09:31 am (UTC)I would have cut the ropes, ( damian eventually grits out as evenly as he can manage, giving no indication that he's just now assessing the possible advantages of jason's ambivalent allegiance or the benefit of the like-minded and violent allying themselves for likely violent deeds.
the landfill isn't far away as the batmobile drives, and the smell of several tons of freshly rotting trash somehow manages to permeate the windows of the vehicle when even bullets can't achieve that feat. damian doesn't care. he's opened his door before the car's even come to a complete stop, and then stops. he's been here before, it's a tragically common place for criminals to flee while in pursuit, as if the stench of their misdeeds could be overpowered by the city's waste. he knows the rough outline of a walking path between garbage bags and mountains of broken furniture, he knows where the various utilitarian trash compactors are located, but —
his memories of the hour or two earlier are still non-existent. he doesn't know where the fight took place, nor where the bodies and any lingering evidence might be. and as stubbornly as he'd pressed both his ability to brown, competence to pennyworth, and all around insistence on accompanying todd, damian's not dumb. he knows he has maybe an hour, or one good fight, in him before the weakness of the near-mortally wounded won out and he needed to rest. it makes more sense to wait a beat, take a breath, and simply follow jason's lead instead of jumping all over the place and expelling precious energy. so no matter how quickly the red hood unbuckles and joins him out in the stomach-churning air, damian still fixes him with a glare that spits he's not moving quickly enough. )
Where.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-26 09:54 am (UTC)I'm sure you would have.
[he says as he glances over at Damian for a brief moment, doing a quick assessment of how he's holding up, before his eyes go back to the road and the batmobile tears down the street toward the landfill. He has no intention of babying Damian, but he doesn't need two Wayne's passed out and bleeding everywhere.
This is absolutely not how he intended this day to go, but now he can't think of anything else.
Once there, he joins Damian at his side and heads for the side entrance, pulling his gun. He doesn't expect anyone to be alive, but tonight seems to carry with it all the unexpected. He ignores Damians look, making his way instead instead. He already knows they don't have a hell of a lot of time.]
This way. There should be five bodies out in the open at the back of the landfill. I dragged the sixth one out of view just in case. The mind warper.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-26 10:13 am (UTC)they come upon the bodies quickly enough, crumpled forms of human beings surrounded by blood spatter and brain matter. trash among trash. he doesn't have it in his heart to feel much sympathy, and even has a vindictive moment of thinking good with as much menace as his little body contains. damian isn't his father, no matter how hard he tries as of late, and any lecture on the disadvantage of killing could wait until later. for now he just sniffs loudly and goes to pick over the fallen goons.
common thugs, all of them. knives and guns, leather jackets and combat boots. prison tattoos, facial scars, their bodies the familiar roadmap of a hard life in gotham that almost every thug for hire wore. one still clutching a hunting knife with drying blood on the blade; one with a wallet in his pants pocket and a worn picture of a small child in the folds, the girl probably grown by now and beyond mourning her father's choices. just looking at the corpses, this would look like a drug bust gone bad, and yet each man's fingertips glinted with a faint iridescent blue in the light of the overhead lamps. damian stoops to take a swab sample before straightening to look around for the sixth.
only — he can't find it. there's plenty of places to stash a body around here, but only one bloody smear to indicate dragging, and that leads to a pile of trash bags. but there's no mutilated body to parse for more answers between them. damian has a moment to pause, to wonder if somehow the magic swirling in his skull was simply playing more tricks on his mind, somehow convincing his eyes to forget the witch so entirely that he'd never see the man again. then his stomach drops, because the alternative is somehow even worse. )
How certain are you he was dead, Hood?
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-26 11:41 pm (UTC)[Jason doesn't know which he'd prefer, but at long as they get some kind of lead, he doesn't really care. he stalks forward, heading to where he left the bodies, doing the same as Damian does, memorizing names and noting tattoos so he can look up any affiliates. ]
I shot him in the head, so about that level certain. He was getting into my brain, I could feel it.
[He stands up and heads toward where he left the body, moving some of the heavier pieces away until there's nothing left to move- not even a body. His stomach drops as well. This doesn't make any sense.]
That's impossible. I shot him, point blank. There was no way he could... [Oh, this is bad. Very bad. In that split second of thoughts reaching into his head, could something have happened?] Unless that's what I thought I did and he got into my head, too.
[He doesn't accept that just yet, gun out as he moves around the area, looking for signs of blood, anywhere else this man could have escaped to. Someone like that wreaking havoc in Gotham? The implications of that are why Jason shot the guy in the first place. Better that, than taking any chances. It's impossible that he didn't take him down]
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-27 10:10 am (UTC)like he's missing the most obvious answer.
the wound on his side aches, and subconsciously damian grinds the heel of his hand against his blood splatter adorning tunic. )
Your remains were charred and scattered, I was stabbed through the heart, and you still think of death as a permanent fixture in this world? ( it's quietly spoken, but carries in the silence of the landfill otherwise populated with rats and the crunch of boot heels. what's worse than an all-powerful magical being with the ability to alter and erase memories so completely running rampant in the streets of gotham? an immortal all-powerful magical being with the ability to alter and erase memories so completely running rampant in the streets of gotham, and the two of them chasing nonexistent bodies and their own tails.
in the span of a heartbeat, damian lashes out, kicking violently at the empty trash grave and swearing. the frustration doesn't vent, the sense of uselessness only amplified by how utterly childish that reaction is, and after a few haphazard blows he doesn't feel any better. his side aches, he feels worse. in the distance, a siren wail leaks through the gloom. )
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-27 09:00 pm (UTC)[Jason snaps, frustrated more at the situation, but also at Damian's naivete. There's clearly more at work here than that, especially when it comes to someone who can alter memories. What they need to be looking for is clues, not arguing about life and death. So Jason does exactly that, trying to find the remains of anything they can work with.
The only thing that's left to do is to take blood samples, because even though there's no body, there is a trail of blood and Jason doubts this is a first offense. There must be something on this guy, even if they have to comb through dozens of files till he can recognize someone. He remembers the face- he hopes that's the face. There couldn't have been enough time for this person to re-configure multiple things in his head, could there? It was only a tenth of a second between the pressure in his head and the gunshot.
When Damian starts kicking things, Jason gets up and goes over to him, grabbing his arm. He understands the feeling of needing to lash out. He wants to do so as well, but at least one of them has to stay level headed and he doubts Damian's wound is going to hold out much longer at this rate]
That isn't going to help. We have a few more things to work with than before we got here. We can ID the rest of the men and see what they're connected to. I doubt they covered their tracks very well. I was hoping for more, same as you, but this is what we have right now. We'll figure it out.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-31 12:05 am (UTC)todd is speaking sense (surprisingly?) and he absolutely hates it, all consumed with the overwhelming frustration of those who feel lost and incompetent, helpless. ) Let go of me. ( and that fire in his eyes speaks to all sorts of recklessness. damian shoves at him again, then wrenches his arm from jason's grip and tracks backward, definitely not stumbling — or at least partially covering for his weak knees with a firm set in his jaw and the heavy rise and fall of his chest.
it takes a minute, and a ridiculous amount of self control to reign himself in; to not hurl a piece of discarded rebar at jason's head, or turn and rush into the darkness, chasing shadows instead of leads. it takes summoning virtually all of his training for crisis management because. well, this was batman. his father, who didn't know who he was and might never remember unless they found answers, solutions. and damian's already lived though bruce's amnesia once, there's no distraction to be found this time in undoing his work on the year of blood, so where did that leave him? with one more growl, he drags a gloved palm down his face. and with no conviction, echoes jason's words. )
We'll figure it out.
( the sirens in the distance are growing louder. he can see the faint flashes of blue and red in the distance over the red hood's shoulder, and decides in that instant he doesn't want to explain the situation to jim gordon and his lackeys. they should know, they would know soon, but not before he had something more to bring to the table other than batman's incapacitated but don't worry, i've teamed up with a notorious criminal outlaw and we're going to go fight a magician who can't die. for now he jerks his chin. )
Finish collecting your samples. We need to leave.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-31 09:17 am (UTC)He lets go of Damian before he can even wrench his arm free, and eyes him to make sure he stays steady on his feet before he goes back over the scene to make sure they haven't missed anything. He's deep in his thoughts, wondering just how much this witch, or whatever the hell it was, took from him as well- even in just that brief second. He's trying not to think further than the task at hand just yet, trying not to think about Bruce's amnesia, but the knot in his throat is getting worse and worse.
All he can do is try to keep Damian calm, and he isn't really doing a great job at that either. ]
I already finished while you were kicking things. We have everything we can get for now. You're bleeding again. Try not to get any on the ground before we get back to the batmobile.
[He moves back toward Damian, but doesn't take hold of him this time. Still he urges them forward, back toward where they came from so they can leave. Damian seems more out of it than Jason would like. Or maybe he just expected the kid to work with him on this more than he has, considering they're both trying to get the same results.Either way, he stalks back to the car, staying silent after that. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-31 09:30 am (UTC)he's tired, beyond tired. exhausted and aching, and still kicking himself for seemingly having run away from the fight. even if it wouldn't have done any good, even if he'd be in a worsened state of amnesia, or maybe died right alongside his father without having had the opportunity to call the red hood, the act still feels sickeningly cowardly. running out wounded had done nothing to alleviate the sting of it either, and then coming up fruitless for their attempts? maybe jason was right, the information from the wallets and the blood samples may yield some lead or another, and they could track the witch to the ends of the earth if need be. but right now, faced with the inevitability of returning to the cave, to the father who didn't remember he failed him, that possibility wasn't much comfort. it was hard, seeing past the bleak present.
once they're driving again, damian takes special care not to aggravate his wound when peeling the hem of his uniform back, inspecting the raw gash that had indeed started to ooze dark blood. the celox had done it's job and then seemed to go on to aggravate the skin around the stab wound into angry, red protest, but he wasn't in any danger of bleeding out spectacularly. and the batmobile is well stocked for medical emergencies, so he rifles through the glovebox for gauze; presses a makeshift bandage to his stomach and stares out the window for a time — like perhaps if he glared extra hard at the stars that managed to make it through gotham's light pollution, he'd find the answers he was looking for. )
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-31 09:50 am (UTC)[Jason snaps right back. He's about at the end of his patience, frustration taking over. He shouldn't have even been here today. He didn't have to come, but he did and now he's in the middle of this mess with an insufferable little brat that Jason is doing nothing more than trying to take care of while dealing with the situation at hand. He really hates all of them.
Once they're in the car, Jason tosses the rest of the gauze he brought at Damian before he takes off away from the sirens, heading back in a different direction. He wants to go back there even less than Damian does, but he doesn't have the luxury of airing his grievances the way Damian does. Not that he cares. He lets Alfred know they're heading back, and he already gets an earful, but he also gets an update on Bruce's status. Stable for now, and probably out of it for a while. He doesn't say anything about that, just stares ahead as he drives, glad that he has a helmet which covers his entire face. He doesn't want to be seen right now.
When they get back to the cave, he goes around to the passengers side so he can help Damian out, but he stops short, thinking better of it, and lets Alfred handle Damian instead, who Jason is sure Damian won't attack on sight. He has better things to do anyway and gets to work at the computers, sitting in Bruce's chair without a second thought, looking up fingerprints, date files and blood samples. He immerses himself in this completely, trying to find evidence, while compiling a hit list of everyone who is going to pay for what they did here tonight]
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-31 10:11 am (UTC)his father is sleeping, though it is likely medically induced. in repose, he looks almost peaceful, and covered with a thick blanket, one could almost overlook the obvious signs of torment and injury. there's a bruise slowly coloring across the bridge of his nose, down under an eye; damian suspects it will be an ugly purple color by morning, and clenches his fists tight when the impulse to reach out and trace it rises in his throat. pennyworth attempts to direct him to his own sterile cot a few feet away, but damian digs in his heels, insists on occupying the chair to the left of bruce's bed, and alfred relents so long as he promises to rest.
it isn't easy with all the swirling questions and frustrations, but exhaustion eventually wins out. he doesn't remember falling asleep, but when he wakes it's with a heavy throw blanket draped up to his chin and a cup of water on the bedstand between his seat and his father. at some point pennyworth had removed his domino mask as well, which saved damian the trouble of doing it himself in order to rub his palms into his eyes to clear them of sleep. it hurts too much to stretch too far, but he lifts his arms and yawns spectacularly before blinking his eyes open to find bruce's gaze fixed on him. it puts his heart in his throat, and his mouth is immediately dry.
do you know me? damian eventually asks, even and devoid of any of the conflicting emotions that still undoubtedly play behind his eyes. those who knew him best would be able to read the distress on his face in the long seconds it takes bruce to answer, but his father just looked... confused.
no? batman responds, gruff from sleep and lited up at the end, a question without any real conviction behind it; more uncertainty than he'd ever heard from the man in his life, and damian's stomach turns to stone. he sits for another extended moment, grappling with that same frustration that had led him to kick garbage bags and shout at the red hood before pushing back his blanket. standing, a careful hand pressed to his stomach.
very well, he nods. he can feel more than hear pennyworth approaching behind him, likely with food or another round of medical supplies, and uses the butler's presence so as to not feel guilty for turning and abandoning both the conversation and the confused man on the cot. something stings behind his eyes, but it isn't tears.
he finds jason at the batcomputer, immersed completely in his work and looking very much like drake with that air of concentration around his features. it can't have been long then, if the man was still here and still looking for information, maybe an hour, two at most. damian dawdles for a few minutes, staring up at the screen and taking note of the witch's lackeys mug shots and rapsheets — the man with the family picture was a serial domestic abuser. his daughter really was better off — before drawing level with todd's elbow. )
Is this all you've found?
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-31 10:36 am (UTC)He doesn't look away from his work. He doesn't want to see any of it. He's better at this part anyway. Detached and working alone, while a hundred emotions threaten to jarr his insides loose. Jason doesn't have time for it and working at the batcomputer distracts him well enough. If he had this set up for himself? He could get so much more done in this city. He has his own, of course, almost as good, but nothing will ever be as good as Batman- Jason knows he tries hard enough, though.
He knows when Damian comes over- it's more than a couple of hours later. Jason hears him before the kid is even at his side, but he doesn't stop, having compiled a great deal of leads they can start out with. He's pretty sure it all leads back to the same place, and the results he's found are worse than he could have imagined.
Damian's question finally pulls him away from the screens and he looks over at him, furrowing his eyebrows. ]
I've found just about everything on them, if that's what you mean. The man I shot, his name is Bartholomew Heart. He has dozens of men and women following him- a cult or something. You're right, he's some kind of witch, some kind of siphon. It was no mistake that he went right for you and Bruce. They supposedly worship the Bat and want to become him. Heart claims that he can be him.
[Jason pulls up a bunch of photographs, videos every time Batman was caught in some photos, paparazzi, video screenshots. Heart is in all of them, in the background]
This wasn't a one time thing. You've run into him before and he's gotten better and better at finding you. I think those memories he's taken... he's keeping them somehow. He's turning himself into Batman. Stealing memories and making them his own.
So yeah, that's all I've found.
[Jason looks away from Damian, back at the screen and then he squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knows this still doesn't explain how they can get their memories back and he lets out a strangled yell, slamming his finst down on the consol before dropping his head into his hand]
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-31 11:11 am (UTC)jason yells wordlessly, but damian barely bats an eye. he isn’t dick, not tim, nor jason apparently; he isn’t the type to reign in his brothers, doesn’t scold or comfort or put a hand on jason’s shoulder in a silent show of commiserations. no, he simply reaches around the man for the computer mouse, drags the curser to one of the many video feeds and presses play. it’s one of the rare times batman and robin had been caught on camera intervening in the very public assassination attempt of the mayor of gotham, michael bean. the man had retired shortly after the fiasco with harvey dent and the rooftop guillotine spectacle, and that had been nearly a year ago. the fight had carried two face and batman down to street level while damian has been in charge of unshackling bean and getting him to safety, and the ensuing fist fight had been well documented by reporters and concerned civilians with camera phones. he remembered that night, though nothing particular about the crowd. the most interesting part comes after dent is shackled and loaded into a van for transport to arkham, when a pretty dark haired reporter’d had the nerves to approach batman and shove a microphone in his face, asking rapid fire questions about the events on the roof and his justifications for going above the law.
bruce gives some gravelly rendition of his justice and i will always protect gotham mantra, and raises his grappling gun to fly back up onto the rooftops as the reporter screams one last question after him: why a bat?
huh.
damian purses his lips; pauses, and rewinds the clip. he spots the man jason had identified as the witch in the crowd easily enough, squints at the unfocused distortion of his face and watches again. then again. bartholomew heart’s mouth is moving, and he’s clutching his hand over his chest. damian sets the five second clip to loop, mutes the overlay of audio, and zooms in as much as he can without pixelating the image, and leans even closer to the screen to better read his lips. )
My heart and soul, ( he eventually parses, brow furrowed. that didn’t sound like any sort of magical incantation, more like the crazed ramblings of an obsessive lunatic. an obsessive lunatic with supernatural powers, looks like the joker has some competition. it doesn’t help his understanding of the man’s ploy so much as raises a series of goosebumps along his arms and sends a shiver down his spine and cements jason’s findings. it’s a start, it’s a name and a face to chase, but...
damian tried to use the face of the man on the screen to fill in the blanks, jar his own erased memories back to conscious thought, and finds he can’t. but this time, instead of being infuriation and hitting the control panel like todd had done, he’s reeled backward into quiet introspection. )
If your hypothesis is correct, and Heart is seeking to impersonate Batman by stealing his memories, what use did he have for mine?
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-31 11:42 am (UTC)So Jason simmers for a while longer, while Damian reaches around and continues to look things up and follow along with the work Jason has put in. Detective work is what they're trained to do, and Jason is damn good at it when he puts his mind to it. It's worth more than his anger right now.
Eventually he looks up, right at that man's face, watching him mouth those words. It's eerie. It feels like the words can get into his head, but he knows he's just too tired. He's betting though, that any video they can dig up in the past year that might've caught Batman and Robin, Heart will be there. Maybe that's why Bruce is so depleted. This lunatic has been working on him for a while, without any of their knowledge. There's no way they could have known. ]
Because you're his son. You're a part of him- his life. He has to fill in the gaps. If a person sees Batman... hell, if a person sees Bruce, they wouldn't have the faintest idea about us. They'd have to dig.
[Which then has him thinking, pulling up what he can find on Tim and Dick, Babs, anyone else who is close to Bruce. He leaves himself out for now.]
I bet that Heart will show up in some of their files as well, somewhere in the background. Or maybe he doesn't know yet, but we have to warn them. [He looks at Damian] There are probably more gaps in your memory. Things you don't even know about because... they're just not there.
#crapphonetags ❤️❤️
Date: 2018-02-12 05:19 pm (UTC)absolutely nothing. and Damian further prickles with a somewhat unfamiliar level of possessive defensiveness. )
I will alert Grayson, Cain, and Gordon, ( he volunteers, divvying up the work before moving further down the console and sending direct, encrypted alerts to his chosen three. )
❤️
Date: 2018-02-12 06:56 pm (UTC)To be completely honest, he doesn't know just how much was stolen from him either. If Heart has been at it for this long, Jason might've come into contact with him before this and just doesn't remember. There's something horribly monstrous about this. More so than most things he's ever come up against. He's still angry at himself for letting the man get away. ]
I'll alert... the rest of them. [Jason knows most of who Bruce has had close contact with, but he wonders if this should be a wider alert. He wonders if they should alert Clark... the Justice League. He'd rather shoot his own foot, but if memories are being stolen, this could get out of their hands really fast. It already feels like it has, with Batman down and out]
I'm going to tell Superman. We don't even know how long Bruce is going to be out.
breathes life into this
Date: 2018-05-09 08:22 am (UTC)hand stilled above the keyboard for all of a moment, heart hammering and mind racing — until the swell of panic is clamped down under the firm air of duty. damian finishes typing the essential details, broadcasts the message, and abruptly turns on his heel and marches towards the stairway. conceals himself in the dark recesses of the manor in early morning, remains relatively unseen for two whole days, very little of which is spent sleeping, resting, or recovering as prescribed. no, damian retreats into his own mind first — layers guilt over anger over concern, attempt to replay the blank spots in his memory over and over until something can be remembered, but always coming up blank. then he throws himself into research, wires all prevalent casefiles from the bat computers mainframe to his own computer and spends hours pouring over video files, bland news clippings, and any other shred of evidence that might lead the investigation somewhere, anywhere.
the wound in his side heals at a miraculous rate, even dodging alfred's regular checkups, but is still tender and sore and weeping hemoglobin into gauze the next time their worlds convene. damian doesn't look up from his laptop, firmly tucked away in the back half of one of the manors larger libraries, but well aware of approaching footsteps and the familiar gait. he wonders briefly if jason had even left — gone home, showered, changed — and tells himself he wouldn't have been surprised in the red hood had returned the to slums indefinitely, content to wait out this storm and watch the dynamic duo fall.
damian may know better, but this is what he tells himself. )
I've found nothing new of note, ( he eventually deigns to say aloud, dragging a finger on the trackpad to enhance yet another security camera still of a patrol scuffle a few months ago because the shadow at the edge of the background building looked suspicious. damian's voice is slightly scratchy from disuse, and the second he glances just over the top of his laptop by way of greeting, his eyes feel dry and heavy; the bags beneath them pronounced but nowhere near as alarming as drake's could get after an in-depth evidence binge. they could use his expertise, damian can begrudgingly acknowledge. ) Heart keeps cropping up in the shadows, I don't understand how we never noticed him before. And I may have identified a few more of his henchmen, one or two who seem intent on recruiting more to their cause. They'd made several nonsensical social media posts and seem generally unhinged, as well as none too big on security and secrecy. Perhaps we can press them for more information.
( and yes, he fully intends to break bones if that's what it takes during this process and fully expects jason to not so much as sniff disapprovingly in his direction. )