Chapter Text
Jason felt stupid. He could have escaped while being transferred from Arkham. But he lost that opportunity and now he's in Blackgate prison in his cell with his cellmate lying on the cold floor with broken jaw and probably concussion. Bastard thought he could show a newcomer who's the boss. Well, obviously not this big fat piece of shit.
At least he isn't in Arkham, that place reminded him of his own grave too much. Bruce put him there hoping to 'fix' him. But he isn't broken. That snakepit only proved that he was sane. For his part Jason never doubted his mental health, but Bruce... ah, fuck Bruce. Fuck Dick. Fuck Replacement. Just fuck them all. He has something else to think about. Like how to get out of here. He knows that Blackgate is not that secure. Hell, he met and fought those who made it out of here. No prison will hold him. Not when the damn clown is somewhere in Gotham. His Gotham.
Guards come and take his cellmate later satisfied by Jason's answer that the guy just fell. Seems like this kind of unfortunate accidents is common here. All better for him.
Next day Jason spends examining the place and its inhabitants. And oh, how well he knows their kind, after all he grew up in Crime Alley, he was on his way to become one of them. Most of them are petty criminals: thieves, dealers, frauds, henchmen, of course there are more than enough murderers and rapists too, but as far as he knows no one from high league villains. They watch him too, he's new here and already put down big bad Jax (his roomie). Some eye him with suspicion, some (mostly young guys) with awe, some with poorly concealed lust. Guards are mostly deaf and blind unless something 'really bad' happens. All the rest is ignored and honestly, Jason can't blame them. This prison is overpopulated, staff is lacking to control every damn thing.
At first no one approaches him and he's damn fine with it. But hey, every prison has unspoken rule that you have to stick with someone or else you are going to be messed with constantly.
In the yard a skinny dude cautiously patters to him. Jason is smoking a cigarette he recently pick pocketed. He hasn't smoked quite some time.
"So, Miles..." Mark Miles, an alias Bruce gave him. To preserve his own secrets of course. "What are you here for?"
For being a better Batman than Bruce. For being better for Gotham. For willing to do what has to be done. For being alive.
"Stole some tires, among the other things." This isn't even a lie.
"Sure you did," well, Jason hasn't hoped anyone would buy it. "They say you are here for long. Might as well make some friends, no?"
No. But Jason doesn't have to articulate it. Skinny just shrugs.
"Suit yourself, kiddo. Tell me, if you change your mind."
Skinny walks back to his group and Jason can swear he knows few of them from somewhere. Maybe they are here because of him. Doesn't matter much to him anyway.
Fence... with his skills he can easily top it. Even right now. But he'll probably end up riddled with bullets. If he starts an alarm or something to distract guards. And then he'll need a way back to the yard. He can steal the keys. He can escape this fucking shithole.
Soon enough he found the guard with keys he needs. Jefferson. A decent guy, apparently. If only Jason could stay out of trouble just a little longer. Ha.
He just snaps. He can't help it. He's so fucking angry at all these bastards who think they own the place and do whatever they want to whoever they want. That is exactly why he thinks jail doesn't help much. Some scum should be put down and forgotten. What is bred in the bone will not go out of the flesh.
It starts with little things: sarcastic comment, an insult or two, hard shove in the shoulder... and voila. He is cornered in the showers by six brutes and guards are nowhere near. One of them managed to tear the pipe from the wall. One goes to watch the entrance. Low ceiling, slippery floor, lack of space... odds are not in his favor. He clenches his fists preparing to fight. And he does, but not for long. They literally fall on him, pining him down. That's how he ends up here.
He is pushed face down on the cold wet floor of prison showers.
"Look at him, boys. Thinks he's better than us, huh," the bald yanked Jason's hair hard.
"I think I saw him before. Dan, remember that... Todd, or what his name was?"
Jason froze. They know him, they know... wait. They can't. It is impossible.
"Now that you said that... yeah, I remember. You don't forget your first kill."
"Thought himself so smart too..."
Jason couldn't believe it. With half an ear he heard those thugs bragging how they beated Willis Todd to death with bats and threw his body into Gotham's bay. Jason remembers little about his father. Only affectionate 'Jay' and smell of cheap tobacco. 'Petty criminal. Presumed dead' he remembers. Killed. For double-crossing Dent. He learned that only after Bruce took him in. For years he had believed dad abbandoned them. And Catherine... she waited and then got hooked on druggs and then... she died from overdose on the bathroom floor. On white tile like this one.
He knows what's about to happen as his shirt is being ripped from his shoulders. But his mind is in that shitty appartment where Catherine... his mother was taking another dose, not hoping her husband would come home. That's it until his eyes catch weird red light coming through draining grate inches from his face. It's faint, but it awakens his senses.
He is angry. But it's not a helpless anger mixed with fear like when Joker was beating him into bloody pulp. No. It's like... like after Lazarus' Pit. Burning suffocating rage that makes blood boil. He gnashes, deep growl is forming in his throat and when it breaks free it sounds almost animalistic. Inhuman. He doesn't listen what they say or yell. All he hears is that monstrous loud laughter piercing his mind. And he sees red.
Red paints white leaking from broken nose. Red smears his knuckles as he strikes again and again. Red oozes from his side as he's stabbed with a grind. Red splashes when he collides the bald head with tile. Red fills his mouth with copper taste. He fights mindlessly, driven by rage and instinct. He is trained well, even in this state his aim is precise and every movement is balanced. They don't know whom they've been fucking with.
Suddenly Jason realizes that there is no one else to fight, but he can't calm down, red mist still cover his eyes. He looks at bodies scattered on the floor, one has only half of his skull, another's head is twisted to the side unnaturally. Those too are dead. He's killed them. He doesn't think what troubles it will bring him. He thinks, good.
Something red floats at Jason's eye level. A ring. Without thinking Jason outstretches his arm towards it. And ring slips onto his middle finger. It's too big for him, but...
"You have great rage in your heart..." resounds in his head loudly.
"Jason, you belong..." Belong? Jason... belongs? Even a thought seems ridiculous. "...to the Red Lantern Corps," and the ring closes tightly around his finger. He has no time to catch the meaning of this when a guard comes rushing into the showers.
"Hey! What's going on here?!" the guard, not old, but hair streaked with gray.
Jason can't answer him.
"What happened here, kid? You alright?" the guard... Jefferson his name is, Jason remembers, frantically shakes him.
But Jason isn't able to say anything, because everything hurts. Pain is vile. Worse than when Joker was killing him, worse than waking up in your own coffin and realizing no one would help, worse than when Lazarus Pit was healing him, worse than when Bruce chose Joker over him... Every heartbeat is like a strike of that crowbar, only difference is that it's like it was heated incandescent first. Blood is boiling under his skin. He can't breathe. All he can think is that nobody ever paid for all the pain he suffered. But it's not just about him, it never was, it never will be. Jason concentrates hard enough to push away Jefferson before his blood breaks forth through his mouth. He's vomiting crimson liquid out violently, painfully. His body is shuddering in convulsion.
It feels like eternity. There are people yelling and screaming, but Jason has no idea what are they saying. Blood flows out of him, leaving only nasty copper taste in his mouth and sore throat. The last portions of blood are nasty slimy. The last heartbeat signals the start of something... something beyond life. His back hits the floor, but there is no pain. His body is being filled with fire, nothing unnecessary is left.
"Kid?" he feels a touch of cold skin on his heated one. "Fuck, Larry, he's dead!"
Dead? Ah, yes. He is. Dead. Gone. But who cares? He has no one.
"Those are goners too. How the hell..."
"So much blood here... Where the fuck was Sanders?! Where is he now?!"
So much blood everywhere, Jason thinks. Blood of innocent. But here, here the blood of murderers and rapists. Blood so worth spilling.
Jefferson puts his cool fingers on his eyelids and closes his eyes. But even with closed eyes Jason can still see red.
"I'm going to warden! Don't let anyone in. Got it?"
The other guard mumbles something in response.
Jason lies in the puddle of his own blood. He opens his eyes. His body is filled with crushing anger he needs to let out. But first... swear, the ring whispers, swear your loyalty to me...
Heavily Jason gets up, first to his knees, then to his feet. Ring whispers and he repeats:
"With blood and rage of crimson red," red, all around.
"Ripped from a corpse so freshly dead," his corpse? Yes.
"Together with our hellish hate,
We'll burn you all -- that is your fate!"
The oath echoes out, through the walls, into space and further, making Jason a part of something greater he could ever be...
Jason looks down and prisoner's cloths are gone, he's dressed in black and red. His favorite colors. It feels like second skin.
The one who's still alive is awake, he struggles back to his feet and hate radiates from him. He grabs a pipe and wades heavily towards Jason. He doesn't even see Jason, but he wants to destroy him. Jason will destroy him first.
As the vermin aims first blow Jason strikes him with his knee into the solar plexus hard. The pipe is falling from tattooed hand and Jason gets a hold on man's collar. Fire rises up his throat and Jason diesn't swallow it back. Infernal red melts the face in front of him like napalm. This is what runs in his veins now. All consuming fire. The scream dies almost too soon for Jason's liking.
Bare skeleton drops down with a clatter. A guard in the doorway looks at him paralyzed with horror. Jason is angry. But not at the guard. This man is innocent. Joker. Guilty. Batman. Traitor. Egon. Dead. Joker. Joker. Joker must be punished. He will be. And it will be just.
Ducra said his rage made him weak. But right at this moment he feels stronger than ever. Even gravity can't hold him down anymore. Red energy surround him, this place full of bitterness and hatred fuels it. Jason takes off and walls are crushing under his fist. He's free.
Rage, Jason. Rage.