Ficlet: Dearly Departed | DCU | Jason Todd | R | 1/1
Title: Dearly Departed
Fandom: DCU
Characters: Jason Todd
Rating: R
Word Count: 511
Prompt: For comment_fic: DCU, Jason Todd, Muse -- Uprising; For 50_darkfics: Forsaken; For the 2010 DCU FFA Autumn Challenge: Arkham Asylum; For au_bingo: Other: Cannon Event Changed; For hc_bingo: Driven to Insanity
Summary: It never failed to amuse him that Bruce actually did it...
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything. The schmucks.
Author's Notes: Hallelujah, I have dark bunnies! >:D Thank you, comment_fic!
Dearly Departed
Clank of the lock on the door. Ten steps, fifteen, twenty, all receding into the distance. The sharp slam of a nightstick against a metal door. A vicious cackle one hundred yards down the corridor. A squawk. The rustle of what sounded like leaves.
Safe.
Working his cheek and tongue, Jason loosened the pill from the empty socket that used to hold his upper left second molar, the tooth extracted with a shiv two weeks ago and the gums not quite healed up yet. Thioridazine. Fucking shit. Made him even more whacked out than he was from the Pit. Made him sleep when it wasn't safe to. Dulled his edges. Made him so nuts the rest of the time that it was all he could do to not either wear a track in the floor of his cell or cut his own legs off.
These days it was making him paranoid. Kept him from sleeping. Made him want to tear the flesh off someone's face. Made him want to end someone.
Someone he could still hear cackling down the corridor.
A sneer pulling on his lips, he spit out the pill and stashed it. Pretended to get comfy on his thin mattress and meditate. He had to get fucking straight. Get this crap out of his system. Get clean of the drugs that Daddy Bats had ordered so many months ago.
Heh. It never failed to amuse him that Bruce actually did it. Locked him up in here with the goddamn crazies, like Jason was one of them. Like drugging him to the gills was gonna change what he was, what the Pit had made him.
Well, what he already was, even before he'd died, but who ever bothered to keep track with him, anyway? Sure as fuck not Bats.
Good Soldier. Right.
Bats was such a shitty liar. Hadn't even set foot in this place since that damn day.
But it was all about to end. Just as soon as he got his head clear. Then....
Then.
It would be fucking gorgeous music. Screams all ethereal, rising from the flames and dense smoke. A symphony of wailing death. They'd make Jay's day. And he'd finally get to cut that freakish grin all the way to the Clown's ears. Finish what he started in that warehouse. Blood everywhere. Parts strewn about. Nothing fucking funny about that. Hah!
This place would be gutted, Bruce's enemies all dead, charred extra crispy, barbecue and ash.
As if locking Jason up in Arkham after the war with Black Mask could keep him from doing what he'd sworn to do, when all his favorite targets were right the hell here. As if shutting him away meant he would disappear. Stay dead. A fucking ghost. The dearly departed son, gone too soon, too fucking bad.
Grinning darkly to himself, Jay mentally catalogued the supplies he'd hidden in his mattress, ran both hands over the slightly lumpy padding to ignore the itch beneath his skin that still wouldn't quit. Counted the days since he'd started cheeking the meds. Soon.
Retribution.
Fire.
Death.
Redemption.
And that was just the beginning. Gotham and Wayne Manor waited for him.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: DCU
Characters: Jason Todd
Rating: R
Word Count: 511
Prompt: For comment_fic: DCU, Jason Todd, Muse -- Uprising; For 50_darkfics: Forsaken; For the 2010 DCU FFA Autumn Challenge: Arkham Asylum; For au_bingo: Other: Cannon Event Changed; For hc_bingo: Driven to Insanity
Summary: It never failed to amuse him that Bruce actually did it...
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything. The schmucks.
Author's Notes: Hallelujah, I have dark bunnies! >:D Thank you, comment_fic!
Dearly Departed
Clank of the lock on the door. Ten steps, fifteen, twenty, all receding into the distance. The sharp slam of a nightstick against a metal door. A vicious cackle one hundred yards down the corridor. A squawk. The rustle of what sounded like leaves.
Safe.
Working his cheek and tongue, Jason loosened the pill from the empty socket that used to hold his upper left second molar, the tooth extracted with a shiv two weeks ago and the gums not quite healed up yet. Thioridazine. Fucking shit. Made him even more whacked out than he was from the Pit. Made him sleep when it wasn't safe to. Dulled his edges. Made him so nuts the rest of the time that it was all he could do to not either wear a track in the floor of his cell or cut his own legs off.
These days it was making him paranoid. Kept him from sleeping. Made him want to tear the flesh off someone's face. Made him want to end someone.
Someone he could still hear cackling down the corridor.
A sneer pulling on his lips, he spit out the pill and stashed it. Pretended to get comfy on his thin mattress and meditate. He had to get fucking straight. Get this crap out of his system. Get clean of the drugs that Daddy Bats had ordered so many months ago.
Heh. It never failed to amuse him that Bruce actually did it. Locked him up in here with the goddamn crazies, like Jason was one of them. Like drugging him to the gills was gonna change what he was, what the Pit had made him.
Well, what he already was, even before he'd died, but who ever bothered to keep track with him, anyway? Sure as fuck not Bats.
Good Soldier. Right.
Bats was such a shitty liar. Hadn't even set foot in this place since that damn day.
But it was all about to end. Just as soon as he got his head clear. Then....
Then.
It would be fucking gorgeous music. Screams all ethereal, rising from the flames and dense smoke. A symphony of wailing death. They'd make Jay's day. And he'd finally get to cut that freakish grin all the way to the Clown's ears. Finish what he started in that warehouse. Blood everywhere. Parts strewn about. Nothing fucking funny about that. Hah!
This place would be gutted, Bruce's enemies all dead, charred extra crispy, barbecue and ash.
As if locking Jason up in Arkham after the war with Black Mask could keep him from doing what he'd sworn to do, when all his favorite targets were right the hell here. As if shutting him away meant he would disappear. Stay dead. A fucking ghost. The dearly departed son, gone too soon, too fucking bad.
Grinning darkly to himself, Jay mentally catalogued the supplies he'd hidden in his mattress, ran both hands over the slightly lumpy padding to ignore the itch beneath his skin that still wouldn't quit. Counted the days since he'd started cheeking the meds. Soon.
Retribution.
Fire.
Death.
Redemption.
And that was just the beginning. Gotham and Wayne Manor waited for him.
~*~*~*~