Title: Born Under a Bad Sign - Chapter 1
Title: Born Under a Bad Sign - Chapter 1
Fandom: DCU [which does not belong to me btw]
Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson
Rating: PG- NC-17
Thanks to Sharon as always! <3
Warnings: full warnings in the prologue, Violence
Summary: The world is in ruins, the justice league is gone, and like many others who have tried fighting for their freedom, Jason Todd is in prison. He finds help from an unexpected source.
Prison was boring. Even in an inmate run prison, like Old Gate Penitentiary had become, there was a monotonous routine day in, day out. It was occasionally punctuated with fights, murder and pubic humiliation, but still - same shit, different day.
Jason preferred to eat his meals leaning on the stairs leading from the cells to the chow hall. It was less crowded and afforded him a vantage point to check out the action. Food, as unpleasant as it was here, was more palatable away from the heavy stink of unwashed bodies and the bitter stench of fear that hovered round the central tables and the members of the Red Snake. Every morning he took his nasty slop and leaned over the railing to keep an eye on any changes to the gang structure that may have happened over night, or any openings or opportunities.
There was rarely anything significant, and until there was he was stuck here.
“Jase?”
Jason grunted a greeting to his companion, shoveling a bit of what passed for porridge into his mouth. Fahim Sanders was in his sixties, with a scraggly beard and bright, sharp eyes. He was the only person Jason trusted in this place - and then only because they needed each other. Fahim had been locked inside this prison for nearly 30 years and he knew everything about it, including a way out. Thing was, before the invasion he had been happy to stay here; he’d had a cat, a one man cell, books to read and three meals a day. Things were different now; you stayed, you died - sooner or later - but now he had lost his cell and his long-stay standing he needed some help to make his escape. Jason was more than happy to assist.
So every morning Fahim spoke to his sources, Jason watched the ’Snake for an opening, and they waited.
Waiting was really boring so Jason had drawn up a mental kill list from his observations, just to pass the time. So far he had 73 names, 32 interesting ways to off them and had successfully crossed out 12 inmates who didn’t deserve to continue breathing.
Fahim tapped the railing quietly, sending Jason a sideways glance. “There’s going to be a Commotion later” he said.
Jason sighed. This could be good or bad news, but either way it wouldn’t be boring. It might even yield something interesting, but it would also mean more inmates, less room, more danger.
“Heard they were making another transfer.” Fahim continued, fingers still tapping.
“Anything valuable?” Jason asked
“Bunch of used up ex-meds from what I hear.”
“Goddamn it,” Jason muttered. “The last lot were a mix of vegetative freaks and psychotic nutsos. I had to put two of them down after they tried to eat me in my sleep.”
Fahim grinned slyly at him, showing a few missing teeth. “Keeps things interesting.”
“For you maybe - you didn’t wake up to a zombie dude chewing on your ankle.” That had actually been kind of scary, and it would have been more fun if he’d had a shotgun to dispatch them with, rather than a razorblade and toothbrush combo.
“You just enjoy complaining Jase.”
Jason huffed. Being eaten by zombies was a bit more excitement that he was looking for, thank you very much. Not to mention what had happened to the rest of the ex-meds. Ghost people; virtually catatonic after torture or weird brain experiments - the lights were on and after what happened he really hoped nobody had been home. They couldn’t look out for themselves, couldn’t fight back and took up a lot of space. That whole incident conformed the fact that the majority of humanity should probably be obliterated off the face of the earth. Quite a few names had made there way onto Jason’s kill list after that particular episode. Ex-meds were bad news.
He shook off the memories. Get out first, and then find a way to raze this shit-hole to the ground.
Changing the subject Jason jabbed his spork towards the ugly mass of people below them. “Any news on Fucko down there?” he asked, pointing to where a large, well muscled, bald guy was eating far more than his share of breakfast.
Fahim made a noise of irritation. “Nothing new, he’s the boss - he’s tight with the New-Screws, he has all the contraband he wants, fucks who he wants, kills who he wants. There’s nothing to trade with a guy who has everything.” He flapped a gnarled hand. “He is a king and this crap-heap is his kingdom.”
Another day of waiting, this shit was taking too long; Jason had responsibilities, damn it. He ran long fingers through his hair.
“I may have to go with the original idea,” he said after a moment, his mind already running over possible scenarios. “I just need to get close enough to gank that sack of shit.”
Fahim shook his head. “You could tough it in for sure - I seen you fight boy, and I’m fairly sure you were holding back - but you would have to take down, and keep down, at least five strong, armed men before the guards zapped you.” He snorted a wheezy laugh through his mustache. “Even the Batman couldn’t do that.”
“The Flash could,” Jason muttered absently, mind still on the problem
“You the Flash?” Fahim asked.
“No.”
“I rest my case.”
There was a long, sullen pause.
“Poison?” Jason suggested eventually
“A possibility - if you can ensure it takes them all down. If we miss a couple there will be rivers of blood in here until they find the culprit. Its best to wait, boy.”
Jason looked angrily over the hall; the noise rose and fell in a vicious cadence as men pushed and fought at the tables. Some inmates were forced to sit at others feet like dogs, huddled on the dirty floor dressed in their boxers or less, begging for scraps.
“I’m getting pretty fucking tired of waiting,” he said, tearing his gaze away from the hubbub below them.
“You must. An opportunity will present itself eventually.” Fahim sounded certain, but the dozy bastard had been in this lock up for nearly three decades so he was probably pretty fucking used to it.
Jason shuddered at the thought. “I’m not known for my patience,” he said.
It was strange, but when you had nothing, stupid shit like matchsticks and buttons became important - especially as currency. Of course, there were much more valuable things to bargain with when the stakes where higher - cigarettes, food, drugs and people. Either way, card games were a way to pass the time.
Jason was getting frustrated - there was a single cigarette lying on the pile of tat and he wanted it, badly. Fahim had that gap toothed grin on his face and despite Jason’s excellent cheating he just couldn’t win. It was driving him mad.
He was saved from humiliation, or possibly from just smacking that smirk off the old goat’s face, by the warning bell. He and Fahim scrambled to their feet to watch the activity below. Jason preemptively grabbed the cigarette off the pile as he did so - he probably would have won that hand, so it was practically his anyway. Fahim raised a scraggly brow at him but otherwise let it go.
“Commotions starting,” Fahim said. Jason grunted and lit the cigarette with his blue plastic lighter. The first burst of smoke against the back of his throat was a exquisite kind of burn and he savored the feel of it as he watched the lower door swing open and a confused mass of men and boys dressed in boxers and tee-shirts started to filter in.
The inmates in the lower tier were lining up to inspect them, jeering and hooting. Some were calling out to familiar faces, others were clearly looking for new recruits or victims - hell, most just seemed happy to have someone new to yell at.
The smart fish stayed back and assessed the situation before acting. Every prison had different rules and codes but some things were universal; the weak would be exploited, there was safety in numbers and you were nothing until you proved otherwise. It took Jason seconds to work out the hierarchy system after his arrival - if you didn’t have an orange jump suit, you were just meat. The only way to get one was to fight an existing inmate. Then it was just a case of assessing who best to go for; someone strong, but not so strong the enforcers saw you as a threat. Jason was in the clear in less than fifteen minutes.
Below them the inmates parted to allow BS Benson and The Red Snake’s other enforcers to come forward - first pickings went to the top dogs. They weren’t just looking for the young and weak, they maintained order with fear and intimidation. If you didn’t submit they made you, and if you happened to be a soldier or a mafia boss or some body building steroid dude all the better - it sent more of a message if you broke the fingers and toes of a tough guy or sexually assaulted a prize fighter, than it did if you fucked some skinny fifteen year old in your bunk at night. It was this that made Jason cautious about letting his true fighting ability and intelligence be seen.
As if illustrating his point, a fight was breaking out in the dining hall.
“Here we go,” Fahim muttered, his voice bland and unemotional. They had seen the same scenario before, and each time it never got easier to sit back at watch. This wasn’t like real prison where most of the folks deserved to be there - this place had a fair number of kids caught out after curfew, or picked up trying to fight against the Anathema. Farmers and bankers and students all slung together with the dregs of humanity. Jason had to remind himself he couldn’t protect them - the only way to help was to get out of this place and find a way to fight back.
Beside him Fahim sucked in a breath whistling through his teeth and Jason refocused his attention on the action below. It appeared that Benson, the head enforcer, had made a grab for someone and was now on his knees clutching his nuts. Apparently they weren’t prepared to come quietly.
Jason snorted a laugh. “I’ve been waiting to see someone get a lucky hit for weeks!”
“Shame how much he’s going to suffer for it though.”
“True,” Jason shrugged a shoulder, taking a long drag on his cigarette, “but he was going to suffer anyway, being Benson’s first choice - at least this way he can keep a bit of respect.”
As they watched, two other enforcers approached, one not very subtly wielding a Slock. The fish started to jostle backwards, keeping in a clumsy formation, not unlike their namesakes.
Suddenly, the intended victim darted forward and, using Benson’s bowed head as a launch pad, kicked into the air, striking each enforcer a resounding crack with his feet. He touched down just behind Benson who staggered round to face his attacker with a bellow of rage.
“Son of a…” Fahim managed to get out before the man below shot up again, twisting in mid air to land another blow, this one to the enforcer’s temple. The guy went down like a sack of shit and his assailant landed gracefully on the table behind him.
Jason grinned. He never in a million years would have thought it, but Dick Grayson was a sight for sore eyes.
Fahim turned to him, but what ever he was going to say died on his lips as he caught sight of Jason’s razor sharp smile.
“What is it?” he asked.
Jason took a last long drag of his cigarette before crushing it out under his heel. He blew the smoke out slowly, savoring his last hit and his grin turned into a smirk.
“An opportunity presenting itself,” he said.
Fandom: DCU [which does not belong to me btw]
Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson
Rating: PG- NC-17
Thanks to Sharon as always! <3
Warnings: full warnings in the prologue, Violence
Summary: The world is in ruins, the justice league is gone, and like many others who have tried fighting for their freedom, Jason Todd is in prison. He finds help from an unexpected source.
Prison was boring. Even in an inmate run prison, like Old Gate Penitentiary had become, there was a monotonous routine day in, day out. It was occasionally punctuated with fights, murder and pubic humiliation, but still - same shit, different day.
Jason preferred to eat his meals leaning on the stairs leading from the cells to the chow hall. It was less crowded and afforded him a vantage point to check out the action. Food, as unpleasant as it was here, was more palatable away from the heavy stink of unwashed bodies and the bitter stench of fear that hovered round the central tables and the members of the Red Snake. Every morning he took his nasty slop and leaned over the railing to keep an eye on any changes to the gang structure that may have happened over night, or any openings or opportunities.
There was rarely anything significant, and until there was he was stuck here.
“Jase?”
Jason grunted a greeting to his companion, shoveling a bit of what passed for porridge into his mouth. Fahim Sanders was in his sixties, with a scraggly beard and bright, sharp eyes. He was the only person Jason trusted in this place - and then only because they needed each other. Fahim had been locked inside this prison for nearly 30 years and he knew everything about it, including a way out. Thing was, before the invasion he had been happy to stay here; he’d had a cat, a one man cell, books to read and three meals a day. Things were different now; you stayed, you died - sooner or later - but now he had lost his cell and his long-stay standing he needed some help to make his escape. Jason was more than happy to assist.
So every morning Fahim spoke to his sources, Jason watched the ’Snake for an opening, and they waited.
Waiting was really boring so Jason had drawn up a mental kill list from his observations, just to pass the time. So far he had 73 names, 32 interesting ways to off them and had successfully crossed out 12 inmates who didn’t deserve to continue breathing.
Fahim tapped the railing quietly, sending Jason a sideways glance. “There’s going to be a Commotion later” he said.
Jason sighed. This could be good or bad news, but either way it wouldn’t be boring. It might even yield something interesting, but it would also mean more inmates, less room, more danger.
“Heard they were making another transfer.” Fahim continued, fingers still tapping.
“Anything valuable?” Jason asked
“Bunch of used up ex-meds from what I hear.”
“Goddamn it,” Jason muttered. “The last lot were a mix of vegetative freaks and psychotic nutsos. I had to put two of them down after they tried to eat me in my sleep.”
Fahim grinned slyly at him, showing a few missing teeth. “Keeps things interesting.”
“For you maybe - you didn’t wake up to a zombie dude chewing on your ankle.” That had actually been kind of scary, and it would have been more fun if he’d had a shotgun to dispatch them with, rather than a razorblade and toothbrush combo.
“You just enjoy complaining Jase.”
Jason huffed. Being eaten by zombies was a bit more excitement that he was looking for, thank you very much. Not to mention what had happened to the rest of the ex-meds. Ghost people; virtually catatonic after torture or weird brain experiments - the lights were on and after what happened he really hoped nobody had been home. They couldn’t look out for themselves, couldn’t fight back and took up a lot of space. That whole incident conformed the fact that the majority of humanity should probably be obliterated off the face of the earth. Quite a few names had made there way onto Jason’s kill list after that particular episode. Ex-meds were bad news.
He shook off the memories. Get out first, and then find a way to raze this shit-hole to the ground.
Changing the subject Jason jabbed his spork towards the ugly mass of people below them. “Any news on Fucko down there?” he asked, pointing to where a large, well muscled, bald guy was eating far more than his share of breakfast.
Fahim made a noise of irritation. “Nothing new, he’s the boss - he’s tight with the New-Screws, he has all the contraband he wants, fucks who he wants, kills who he wants. There’s nothing to trade with a guy who has everything.” He flapped a gnarled hand. “He is a king and this crap-heap is his kingdom.”
Another day of waiting, this shit was taking too long; Jason had responsibilities, damn it. He ran long fingers through his hair.
“I may have to go with the original idea,” he said after a moment, his mind already running over possible scenarios. “I just need to get close enough to gank that sack of shit.”
Fahim shook his head. “You could tough it in for sure - I seen you fight boy, and I’m fairly sure you were holding back - but you would have to take down, and keep down, at least five strong, armed men before the guards zapped you.” He snorted a wheezy laugh through his mustache. “Even the Batman couldn’t do that.”
“The Flash could,” Jason muttered absently, mind still on the problem
“You the Flash?” Fahim asked.
“No.”
“I rest my case.”
There was a long, sullen pause.
“Poison?” Jason suggested eventually
“A possibility - if you can ensure it takes them all down. If we miss a couple there will be rivers of blood in here until they find the culprit. Its best to wait, boy.”
Jason looked angrily over the hall; the noise rose and fell in a vicious cadence as men pushed and fought at the tables. Some inmates were forced to sit at others feet like dogs, huddled on the dirty floor dressed in their boxers or less, begging for scraps.
“I’m getting pretty fucking tired of waiting,” he said, tearing his gaze away from the hubbub below them.
“You must. An opportunity will present itself eventually.” Fahim sounded certain, but the dozy bastard had been in this lock up for nearly three decades so he was probably pretty fucking used to it.
Jason shuddered at the thought. “I’m not known for my patience,” he said.
It was strange, but when you had nothing, stupid shit like matchsticks and buttons became important - especially as currency. Of course, there were much more valuable things to bargain with when the stakes where higher - cigarettes, food, drugs and people. Either way, card games were a way to pass the time.
Jason was getting frustrated - there was a single cigarette lying on the pile of tat and he wanted it, badly. Fahim had that gap toothed grin on his face and despite Jason’s excellent cheating he just couldn’t win. It was driving him mad.
He was saved from humiliation, or possibly from just smacking that smirk off the old goat’s face, by the warning bell. He and Fahim scrambled to their feet to watch the activity below. Jason preemptively grabbed the cigarette off the pile as he did so - he probably would have won that hand, so it was practically his anyway. Fahim raised a scraggly brow at him but otherwise let it go.
“Commotions starting,” Fahim said. Jason grunted and lit the cigarette with his blue plastic lighter. The first burst of smoke against the back of his throat was a exquisite kind of burn and he savored the feel of it as he watched the lower door swing open and a confused mass of men and boys dressed in boxers and tee-shirts started to filter in.
The inmates in the lower tier were lining up to inspect them, jeering and hooting. Some were calling out to familiar faces, others were clearly looking for new recruits or victims - hell, most just seemed happy to have someone new to yell at.
The smart fish stayed back and assessed the situation before acting. Every prison had different rules and codes but some things were universal; the weak would be exploited, there was safety in numbers and you were nothing until you proved otherwise. It took Jason seconds to work out the hierarchy system after his arrival - if you didn’t have an orange jump suit, you were just meat. The only way to get one was to fight an existing inmate. Then it was just a case of assessing who best to go for; someone strong, but not so strong the enforcers saw you as a threat. Jason was in the clear in less than fifteen minutes.
Below them the inmates parted to allow BS Benson and The Red Snake’s other enforcers to come forward - first pickings went to the top dogs. They weren’t just looking for the young and weak, they maintained order with fear and intimidation. If you didn’t submit they made you, and if you happened to be a soldier or a mafia boss or some body building steroid dude all the better - it sent more of a message if you broke the fingers and toes of a tough guy or sexually assaulted a prize fighter, than it did if you fucked some skinny fifteen year old in your bunk at night. It was this that made Jason cautious about letting his true fighting ability and intelligence be seen.
As if illustrating his point, a fight was breaking out in the dining hall.
“Here we go,” Fahim muttered, his voice bland and unemotional. They had seen the same scenario before, and each time it never got easier to sit back at watch. This wasn’t like real prison where most of the folks deserved to be there - this place had a fair number of kids caught out after curfew, or picked up trying to fight against the Anathema. Farmers and bankers and students all slung together with the dregs of humanity. Jason had to remind himself he couldn’t protect them - the only way to help was to get out of this place and find a way to fight back.
Beside him Fahim sucked in a breath whistling through his teeth and Jason refocused his attention on the action below. It appeared that Benson, the head enforcer, had made a grab for someone and was now on his knees clutching his nuts. Apparently they weren’t prepared to come quietly.
Jason snorted a laugh. “I’ve been waiting to see someone get a lucky hit for weeks!”
“Shame how much he’s going to suffer for it though.”
“True,” Jason shrugged a shoulder, taking a long drag on his cigarette, “but he was going to suffer anyway, being Benson’s first choice - at least this way he can keep a bit of respect.”
As they watched, two other enforcers approached, one not very subtly wielding a Slock. The fish started to jostle backwards, keeping in a clumsy formation, not unlike their namesakes.
Suddenly, the intended victim darted forward and, using Benson’s bowed head as a launch pad, kicked into the air, striking each enforcer a resounding crack with his feet. He touched down just behind Benson who staggered round to face his attacker with a bellow of rage.
“Son of a…” Fahim managed to get out before the man below shot up again, twisting in mid air to land another blow, this one to the enforcer’s temple. The guy went down like a sack of shit and his assailant landed gracefully on the table behind him.
Jason grinned. He never in a million years would have thought it, but Dick Grayson was a sight for sore eyes.
Fahim turned to him, but what ever he was going to say died on his lips as he caught sight of Jason’s razor sharp smile.
“What is it?” he asked.
Jason took a last long drag of his cigarette before crushing it out under his heel. He blew the smoke out slowly, savoring his last hit and his grin turned into a smirk.
“An opportunity presenting itself,” he said.