FIC: The Death of An Idiot Blues, Part One [DCU/Highlander (movie)]

[schizoauthoress]

For shiny_glor_chan's Jason's Death Day Challenge 2010.

During my obsessive search for fic to do with Jason Todd, I came across a list of completed prompts on comment_fic. One in particular jumped out at me, and though I read and enjoyed the ficlet that was attached, the prompt spawned a very different plot bunny in my head. This plot bunny would not go away, despite the fact that I was ignoring the pairing in the prompt and I wasn't feeling confident enough to write it since it was a crossover with a canon that is more whacked-out than the DCU.

So I give in! If I write it, maybe the bunny will stop gnawing on me and I can work on my ficathon stories.

Title: The Death of an Idiot Blues
Author: D.L.SchizoAuthoress // schizoauthoress
Rating: R
Spoilers: A Death in the Family; Batman Annual #25
Warnings: Crossover. Continuity-twisting. Set in the eighties. Death death death.
Prompt: DCU, Jason Todd/Tim Drake, Jason never dies
Summary: The Gathering was not the endgame.

The Death of an Idiot Blues: Part One
“...And everything else that happened since then
Whenever I drive through my neighborhood
I think of him, laying there, dead,
My friend
The fucking idiot, a man I used to know...”
-- Death of an Idiot Blues -- Poison Idea

****
May 13th, 1988; Wayne Family Plot, Gotham Cemetary, Gotham City

Darkness.

He comes awake in the darkness, in the silence, and is confused. How has he come to be here? What happened with the bomb? Did he succeed in defusing it?

Jason lifts his hands from their folded pose on his chest, trying to see them in the inky darkness. He reaches out... touches... no... no, it can't be...

There is so little space above him. His hands meet the resistance of thick padding covered in satin. The knowledge crashes down on him with crushing weight, he thrashes in panic, hardly able to move, and screams. And screams.

He pounds his fists against the lid of his prison... the lid of his coffin. Hot tears spring into his eyes. He howls out, half disbelieving, "Batmaaaan!!??"

'How could he leave me like this? How could Bruce think I was dead??'

Jason's breath comes in short, terrified gasps. His arms flail above his head, pushing at the confines of the coffin, perhaps trying to find a weak point, perhaps only confirming again and again that he is trapped, believed dead, buried... deep, deep underground...

"Something--" he murmurs to himself, blindly searching his pockets. "Gotta have-- something..."

His lungs... a faint burn... he's running out of air. "Calm... calm down..." Jason whispers to himself. He wasn't sure if he expected to find something... a tool he used as Robin, something, anything... "Not enough air... calm..."

Of course. He has nothing. Bruce would never take the chance of anyone discovering his secrets...

Jason has always had to depend on himself. He fumbles with his belt, twisting at the leather where it loops to hold the metal buckle. He has to do this to live, to survive. The leather weakens; he works the metal free. He has only himself.

"Gotta... gotta dig..." he whispers. Saying it aloud, sending the words into the black stillness all around him, makes it real. He rakes the buckle across the satin, rejoicing as it tears, using both hands to rip it away, all the time panting, "Dig... dig your way out..."

He strikes at the pine wood with the belt buckle, hissing in frustration as it reveals its uselessness, twisting out of shape on the second impact. His palm throbs a faint ache as he drops the warped metal square beside him. His heart is pounding, pounding, pounding... his head spins with warring emotions and the effects of his rapidly diminishing air supply. He rakes at the wood with his fingers, clawing madly, hardly aware of the pain as his fingernails bend and snap beneath the strain.

The thumping in his ears gets louder. Blood drips onto his face, tiny hot droplets like the tears that have since stopped falling. Finally, a sharp crack as the wood gives, followed by a shower of dirt and... rain?

Jason's hands fall back; he is dazed by the unexpected gust of fresh air that hits him. Lucky thing, too. In the next moment, there is an even louder thumping and crunching as the coffin lid is split. Lightning flashes, illuminating the tool of his release -- the matte silver blade of a shovel -- and the man who wields it.

"Bruce?" Jason groans. He knocks aside part of the coffin lid, and the man reaches down to grab his arm. Jason realizes that this man is not Bruce Wayne -- he is too thin, his hair too light, and though his eyes have the same hard intensity, they are dark brown instead of bright blue.

"Up y'come, boy," he says, helping Jason sit up and then regain his feet. "We've much to talk about, and you would like some answers, no doubt." He clambers out of the grave and offers a hand to once again help Jason.

Jason shakes his head, trying to banish the rising semi-audible hum in his ears. He hoists himself up, hissing in pain as the slivers of wood sink further into his flesh. "Yeah, that would be..." He trails off until his feet find purchase in the rough walls of the hole, and he can leverage himself up and out. "...great," he finishes, gasping with exertion as he falls to his knees in the mud, "...that would be fucking fantastic."

The man's khaki trenchcoat billows in a gust of wind, and Jason shivers. Lightning flashes again. The man looks around and hauls Jason to his feet once more. "Come on," he says urgently, his Scottish accent thickening his words to a growl. He slings an arm around Jason's shoulders, allowing the teenager to put his weight against him as he leads the way out of the cemetery. "If the wife is right, and she usually is, we've only got a little time before Batman shows up. I know you'll be wanting to see him, but it's far more important that we get you t'a safe place."

"Wait... you know?!" Jason chokes out. He stumbles over a tree-root and the man steadies him.

"I know a lot of things, Jason. And I'll answer all your questions, but it will have to wait until we're out of here."

****
June 7th, 1985; Park Row AKA 'Crime Alley', Gotham City

Brenda Wyatt looked at the surrounding buildings and bit her bottom lip. Without consciously thinking of it, she leaned closer to her companion, trying to gain some reassurance of safety with him. "I think we're in the wrong neighborhood, Connor."

Connor MacLeod tightened the grip he had around her shoulders. His dark brown eyes looked troubled as he also glanced around the run-down neighborhood that they'd ended up in. He hadn't liked the idea of Brenda coming to Gotham City to consult on a case, which was why he had insisted on accompanying her. He was glad of it now.

The two of them had been together for several months, ever since Connor had defeated the Kurgan in battle and claimed the Prize. He did not like the thoughts and feelings that he was picking up from Gotham City in general, and from this neighborhood in particular.

The despair and hate seem to buzz against his skin, a faint sensation, almost like...

'No...' he thought, eyes widening as he realizes what he's feeling. 'It's supposed to be over, it's not supposed to be like this...'

Brenda stopped walking and looked up at him, worry clear on her face. "Connor..?"

Someone shouted angrily, from somewhere inside a nearby building. A door slammed. Footsteps pounded on the concrete -- Connor moved, fluid and graceful as a dancer, pulling Brenda out of the way. The boy, still in a flat-out run, bumped against Connor's arm and stumbled slightly. Connor got the full force of a furious blue-eyed glare as the boy recovered and kept on running.

Brenda tugged on Connor's arm. "Cross!" she ordered, pointing across the street. They got out of the way as several older boys came out of the nearby building and set off after the first boy, shouting in anger and excitement.

"Come back here, Todd!" "Gonna kick your ass!" "Stupid punk kid!!" "Yeah, you better run!"

"Geez..." Brenda said, slightly breathless. "This city is crazy! Let's get out of here... find somewhere that cabs actually stop. We'll never find the police department any other way." She ran a hand through her hair. Almost unwillingly, she glanced over her shoulder, back in the direction that the boys had headed. "Whatever that kid did, I hope they don't catch him. Poor guy."

****
May 13th, 1988; 4603 Gardner Street, Brenda and Connor MacLeod's Apartment

The silence that had settled between them tightens as Connor unlocks the door to his and Brenda's apartment. Jason cups his hands close to his belly, but they do not touch his body or each other; they hover, fingers half-curled in an unconscious and eloquent statement of pain. His face is set in a mulish scowl.

"Let's take a look at those hands," Connor suggests once they are both inside, and closes the front door firmly. Jason recoils from the words, as if feeling a snapback from broken silence. Connor sighs, and speaks the the young Immortal in a gentler voice, "I'm not going to hurt you, boy. I'm trying to help."

"Well..." Jason swallows hard, and speaks somewhat shakily, "I followed you here and now I want those answers you promised me. Starting with your name...telling me what the hell is going on... and probably finishing with how you knew to come digging for me in my-- my grave!"

"My name is Connor MacLeod, to start with. You can go sit at the table," Connor replies, pointing out the circular table in the kitchen. "I'll go get the first aid kit, and I'll answer your other questions while I fix up your hands."

"I'd rather keep an eye on you."

"Suit yourself," Connor says with a shrug. He walks down the narrow hallway to the bathroom, hearing the shuffle of Jason's dress shoes on the carpet as the young man follows him. 'Oh, dear,' he realizes, 'Boy's tracking in mud. Brenda will be thrilled.'

****
April 16th, 1988; 4603 Gardner Street, Brenda and Connor MacLeod's Apartment

Connor sat seiza as he meditated that night, reaching out with his telepathic gift to sense the mood of the world. He reached down, grabbing the black ballpoint pen that lay on the steno pad next to him, and started scribbling down his impressions. As usual for this time, the Middle East had primacy in his impressions. He scrawled the word 'Lebanon', underlining it several times. Something important would happen there, and soon. Connor furrowed his brow at the odd image that leapt into his mind next -- a playing card? Nonetheless, he wrote its name -- The Fool -- and also the word 'mother'.

The telepathic gift of the Prize had lost some of its potency as time went on; he could only speculate, but he worried that there were more Immortals out there. Perhaps the Gathering had not been the final contest of good against evil that Ramirez had led him to believe. Perhaps there were other Immortals, not yet active, still living their lives as normal humans...

Connor's thoughts drifted to the young boy from Crime Alley. That day, he had not wanted to believe that the child could be a potential Immortal... in truth, he still did not want to believe, but all the facts pointed to that one conclusion. As usual, when he thought of someone in his meditative state, he received impressions of their thoughts and emotional state. In the three years that had passed since the chance encounter in Crime Alley, Connor had detected many changes in the life of young Jason Todd.

His run-in with Batman, Gotham City's self-styled vigilante protector, was almost expected... the fact that Batman took the child in -- into the world of crime-fighting and into his life as Bruce Wayne -- much less so. But Jason Todd was happier, in most ways, with Bruce Wayne than he had ever been on his own, and Connor was glad. The first life of Immortals went a long way in shaping them into the people they would become. He did not want this potential squandered. But...

Connor felt the fury in Jason's mind, caught the whirling impressions of Batman and Robin's latest investigation. The boy held no mercy for the men that they had found -- under the simmering fury, Connor sensed loathing and disgust for the pornography ring. There was savage joy, leaping across the connection between them -- like a lightning bolt in the Immortal's mind -- as Jason attacked the men. He punched one of them hard enough to crack the man's jaw -- a shadow of the man's pain echoed in Connor's mind. Then the Batman's thoughts briefly held precedence: 'Reckless. That attitude is about to get him killed.'

Connor pulled back from the mental connection, dampening it as the costumed vigilantes made short work of the eight men. The Batman tried to control his own anger as he spoke with Robin afterward, but it was obvious that he was disappointed and upset. The murmurs of the rest of the world surged in volume briefly, then retreated from Connor's mind.

An involuntary shiver gripped him upon hearing Robin's response to the Batman's angry questioning: 'Of course. All life's a game.'

Who knew what the promise of immortality would do to Jason Todd? Not even Connor MacLeod could know. He raised his eyes to the Masamune katana displayed prominently on the wall. If the boy walked a path of evil, he would do what had to be done. Connor had much experience in putting down monsters.

****
May 13th, 1988; 4603 Gardner Street, Brenda and Connor MacLeod's Apartment

Connor unlatches the clasps that hold the old metal first aid kit closed, and roots around in it for a moment. He comes up with a set of tweezers, and Jason holds his ruined hands out closer to Connor without being asked. The older Immortal tries to be as careful as possible, but he knows he can't avoid causing some pain.

"I'll be as quick as I can," he informs Jason, steadying the boy's right hand with his left and working on a particularly deep-driven sliver of pine wood. "And as for your answers, the shortest one I can give you is this: Jason Todd, you're an Immortal."

Jason stares at Connor for a few seconds, all pain forgotten in that time. 'I've been kidnapped by a crazy man,' is the first thing that pops into Jason's mind, but he corrects himself, 'I was dug out of my grave by this guy; he knew I was still alive... he knew when Batman didn't... and he knows about Batman and Robin.' But his mouth decides to spout off without checking in with the rest of his brain, and Jason sarcastically retorts,

"Oh, yeah? Can't say I recall going for a swim in a Lazarus Pit lately, Connor."

"Your immortality doesn't come from an outside source," Connor explains calmly, not rising to the bait. "Like me, you had the potential waiting to be unlocked... and it was inside you from the day you were born." Dark, serious eyes lift from the task they have been studying so intently -- lock gazes with dubious blue -- Connor continues, "From the day you were born... to the day of your death."

Jason flinches.

"This is going to hurt you a lot more than it does me..."

"Sorry, kid. Looks like you picked the wrong person to trust."

"The only way you can truly be killed is if you lose your head," Connor says, adding yet another splinter to the little bloody pile on the kitchen table. "And I am speaking literally. Unless you are beheaded, you will come back. If you are drowned... if you are shot..."

"If you're beaten to death and blown up?" Jason rasps out, fighting the tears that suddenly rise and tighten his throat.

"...you will come back, yes." Connor finishes, also pulling out the last of the splinters. He studies the young man for a moment, deciding that he will give Jason some time to regain his composure. He goes to the kitchen sink and turns on the faucet. While he waits for the water to warm, he takes an old floral-patterned hand towel out of a drawer and a metal mixing bowl out of a cupboard above the counters. He fills the bowl with warm water and carries it back to the table.

Jason looks up at him.

"I'm going to get the soap from the bathroom. Once your hands are clean, I'll bandage them up. It will probably take a day or so to heal...you're still recovering from..." he pauses, and decides to be honest without cruelty, "the damage that the Joker inflicted before your first death."

Connor heads toward the bathroom. He stops at the doorway and turns back.

"Jason... when I came back after my first death, no one knew what I was. They thought I was a demon or a witch, and they turned me out of the village. In those days, banishment was a serious punishment... and I wandered for a long time. I lived without knowing what I was. I don't want anything like that for you, my boy. I'll help you."

Jason doesn't look up from his task. Regardless of the years spent with Bruce, his early life as a denizen of Crime Alley has marked him deeply, too deeply to be effaced by a scant handful of time in high society. Promises are cheap; words mean nothing. Actions will prove the truth to him. They always have.

End Part One

Comments

*Sniffle*.

[bluezybunny.livejournal.com]

*Sniffle*. You killed the idiot Bluez plot bunny!

-Quip

[glymr]

This is really clever. I like this crossover very much; it's a fun combination and makes sense of Jason's return in a way that canon never did. I'm very interested to see where you go with this.