Bruce hasn't moved in hours when they call Dick, drag him away from the journey to the city he's only just been cleared to begin with his bum leg wrapped tightly in Alfred approved gauze.

He can tell, without being there, without so much of a scrap of information that 'something' has gone horribly, terribly wrong. He's racing for the scene in one of the spare batmobiles, speeding through the streets all the while staring at the little blinking dot proclaiming Bruce's location.

It's not moving still, and no matter how much Dick stares at it, begs it too, it stays that way. Bruce stays that way.

Likely hurt, bleeding out on the ground or already dead.

The Gotham streetlights bounce off the sleek black vehicle as he cuts corner after corner, grateful for the curfew keeping all citizens in doors.

Dangerous as it is, he doesn't wait for the speeding vehicle to stop before he's shot his grapple the building, the missing chunk of the building where the dot's been sitting all that time.

Bruce is there, crouched amongst the rubble and the smoke, his shoulders taught, rising and falling minutely with his breathing.

A grin spreads across Dicks face and he limps forward, barely comprehending his own relief.

"Batman." Dick says, reaching an arm out for his mentor. "You haven't moved so much as an inch in hours, some on before you're on an oxygen tank for the rest of the week. What happened? Guessing you didn't catch the Hoo…"

Bruce doesn't respond, doesn't so much as twitch in Dick's direction. The younger man has crossed the rest of the space, can see that Bruce isn't just kneeling; he's holding something, practically curled around the ash covered figure.

His insides drop, all the regular platitudes on the edge of his tongue. Failing to save someone in the line of duty is hard, after the weeks he's been having, god knows Dick understands, but this doesn't look like a civilian.

He has combat armor and heavy boots, a torn domino mask clinging to one side of his gray face.

It's older, but too familiar, the set of that jaw, no longer smoothed by baby fat. The dark locks curling against his brow. Oh and also there a goddamn gash across his throat, blood caking the rest of his neck, the grey fabric down at his chest.

Dick can tell at a glance what caused that gash, what had spilled all of that blood.

"Batman." Dick's hand stops short of touching his mentor. "Bruce what happened, who is this?"

Dick asks, but he already knows. He doesn't want to believe it, but the evidence is right in front of him, it's plain to see, all too clearly. The Red Hood fought like them, knew them, knew how they worked.

"Bruce please, tell me what happened." Dick is begging now, on the edge of hysteria thought he tries to internalize it, tries to reign it in so he's not shouting, not hitting, not slamming his head against the walls brining around him to rid his mind of it.

Through it all Bruce won't speak, he can speak. His hands are wrapped around the boy, the corpse of a boy that should never have gotten that large. His shoulders are shaking, one hand hovering above the bloody mess of a throat.

"Bruce answer me!" Dick shouts, fists clenched at his sides but he's ready to attack if that's what it will take to drag the words out of Batman's throat. With a growl and the knowledge his ankle would ensure his loss in any physical confrontation, Dick lunges for his mentor, escrima sticks drawn.

His attack never lands.

There a series of short beeps and Dick is being tossed across the room like a poorly stuffed ragdoll, Bruce along with him. They crash into a wall, crash through the wall. Bruce is still holding onto the corpse, the corpse, oh god it's Jason's corpse!

That's Dick's last coherent thought before his head cracks against something hard and unforgiving.

Bruce is fighting someone, something, but there's too many, he won't beat them and Dick can't move, can't make his body move.

There's a flash of orange, and Bruce lets out a single grunt of pain. They're trying to take the corpse, drag it away but Bruce won't let go. Exhausted and weak from smoke inhalation he clutches onto Jason's shoulders, then his arm, then his hand.

"She says you can keep this." A sword glints in the moonlight like a firework and Bruce is screaming. He's still holding Jason's hand, sluggishly oozing blood, but someone else has dragged the rest away. Dick tries to scream for help, doesn't know if manages it, and his eyes finally shut to the sight of a poisonous green clouds in the distance.

O

O

O

The screens play the event out before her.

Where had she been when it had happened? She can't even remember, can't force her mind to focus on anything more than the gurgles escaping his mouth through the speakers she'd been adamant he set up.

Talia's hands are her balled in her lap, nails gouging out portions of the flesh on her palms.

Very few times in her life has she experienced such anger, such abject horror. Part of her wants to wail, wants to put her fist through the screams and hide the sight, the blood, the sound from her senses.

A larger part of her screams for vengeance. Demands she go herself to that cursed city and eviscerate the one responsible, the one who dared.

That, the nightmare that plays out on the scream, it's not what she'd planned. He'd been meant to play his little game in Gotham, distract the Batman from their plans elsewhere, see for himself that he'd be rejected and come back to her.

It was Bruce Wayne's punishment; he was the one that was meant to be punished, to lose the child he didn't deserve, not her.

She shakes as she watches the burning city of Bludhaven, hopes his son was there when the bomb went off that, he's feeling the same anguish as she.

"A pity." Nyssa is there, hands resting on her younger sister's shoulder. "The boy showed promise, but he was too volatile, we couldn't have done much with him in that state. Not to worry sister, we will acquire you another pet."

"What have you had the Terminator do with his remains?" Talia asks, not breaking her eyes from the static filled screen.

"Disposed of." Nyssa's gathering up the hair that has spilled over Talia's shoulders now, drawing it, drawing it back away from her face. "I would have been a distraction otherwise."

"Of course." Talia makes herself say. "A wise decision."

"I've ordered him to wait for you, in the case you wish to pay your respects." Nyssa sighs forlornly. "If only you'd revealed his existence sooner, we might have been able to alter his course." She clicks her tongue and Talia listens to her sisters retreating footsteps, still keeping a tight rein on her grief.

O

O

O

The Terminator's daughter, Ravager is guarding the end of the hallway when Talia approaches. She nods at the girl, a small scrap of acknowledgement that might serve her well in the near future. The girl nods back, the expression on her face taught, anxious.

Talia learns why when she nears the door and Shiva exits, passing by Talia with narrowed eyes hiding something between dismissal and anger. If things went according to plan, her daughter will be arriving soon. The woman has plenty to be apprehensive about and Talia doesn't hold it against her, she can relate.

It's not the first cadaver Talia's ever seen, not even the first of one dear to her. Her mother, her father, and so, so many others she would never see again. Still, the sight of him has Talia pausing at the door, fighting to force down her emotions once again.

There is nary an inch of him without a bruise, hideous splotches and burns extending from his brow to his toes and likely beneath the towel that is the only thing preserving modesty he is incapable of caring for anymore.

His body had been cleaned of the ashes that coated him in the footage she'd made herself watch, but not well enough. There still more of rubbish clotted at the tear in his throat, the one from which his lifeblood had poured, that had taken him away from her.

Taking the arm that hasn't been mutilated on her sister's orders, she his remaining hand against her cheek. It's not hard to imagine how much he must have suffered in his last moments. Faced with the truth of the man who should have been his 'father' choosing that abomination over him.

She knows now she should not have sent him to Gotham, should not have allowed him to leave her. If she'd denied his requests, exerted more control, hadn't let herself fear his hatred, he might have lived.

Even the sweet thing she'd dropped in the Pit, if she'd waited, allowed him to be sent away instead he might have beem returnes to her when Nyssa had deposed their father.

Her blame is undeniable, knowing she hadn't been able to bear the thought of loosing another son as completely as she may well have lost Damian with how securely she'd had to hide him from her sister's ambition.

Silent tears fall from her eyes, coat the cold, dry lifeless flesh of his hand.

Then, she'd refused to lose him, and now again she refuses. Carefully, though she knows he cannot care for gentleness, Talia lays his hand down and leans forward to press a kiss to his brow, ignoring the stench of death that clings to him.

Talia gets to her feet and marches to the door with purpose she hadn't felt in months as she orders the girl to contact her father.

Soon the base will be too busy preparing for the arrival of someone realize what she does with Jason for a time, she will have to use that time wisely.

O

O

O

"The pay had better be worth this 'Lady' Talia." Deathstroke grouses as he runs through the emptier halls of the base after Talia and his daughter, Jason's cadaver strung across his back.

They turn a corner and Ravager charges forwards, her sword making short work of the straggler unlucky enough to be in their path. Talia will not any allow anyone to jeopardize her mission, not matter how miniscule the risk they pose.

The next passerby gets by Ravager, but Talia's on him before he reaches Deathstroke, reaches Jason, and he's soon just another lump of flesh amongst the dozens Talia has already ordered executed.

Adrenaline surges through her veins, making her more aware, but also more anxious, irritable, and she can't afford that. Cannot afford to skewer Wilson every time they turn a corner and part of Jason is clipped by the wall, not with the man's loyalty as shaky as it is.

The golden glow of the pit room floods the next hall they turn down, grows brighter and brighter wit every second. They're close, just minutes away when a voice calls out behind them. Wilson tosses the boy at his daughter and turns to face the threat,

Progress is slower, but still just as steady. There's a row of challengers waiting for them in the room. Shiva's students, those she believes her daughter will take command of.

Talia's blade is slices through the air, slightly off center; it misses the one nearest her by a hairs breadth. They're not skilled enough to beat her, not even near her level, but all they would have to do is stall and Talia's plans would fall through. She's more careful with her next strike.

"Pay them no mind." She orders when she sees the girl is about to drop Jason. "Submerge him in the pit."

The child, is no imbecile, she knows dead clients don't pay, but neither does an incomplete job, and they are running out of time. Ravager leaps over those blocking her way, Jason still secured to her back as she makes for the pit.

Deathstroke appears back at her side not long after, just in time for one of the metas to reach his daughter. He's there in an instant swinging his blade at the man. It doesn't connect.

Shiva has caught the blade with one of her own, fury painted across features that seem almost demonic with the golden glow at her back.

"Enough." She says, waving an arm at her students. "This is no fight of yours, return to your positions or I will be your opponent."

Talia doesn't let down her guard, she backs towards the pool, towards Jason and the guards she'd hired, keeping her eyes locked on Shiva until the last of her students leave the room.

"Take him through my quarters." Shiva says the corners of her eyes softening almost imperceptibly. "And hurry, I expect this room will soon be in use."

Talia nods and hurried forward, Deathstroke has already taken Jason from Ravager, and is lifting the boy over the barricade.

''Wait." Talia, for the thousandth time, taken in the golden glow, so similar, yet different to the green she'd dropped him into the before, and hesitates.

That had been a selfish decision, she'd know so even before, she'd done it, and it had only lead to more suffering, indirectly or no. She has to consider that this might have a similar outcome.

Waving Deathstroke off, she wraps her arms around Jason herself, lets herself really feel the looseness of his flesh pressed against her chest, the cold where there should be warmth, the tension in his muscles that is still fading as his body passed through yet another stage in a process that will turn him to nothing.

He's heavy, but at his stage, he should have gotten heavier still. She motions for a chain from one of the many winches nearby and wraps his securely around his waist, then in contrast to the harsh shove of before, Talia gently lowers him over the edge, as a mother would lower her child to its crib.

Unseen currents pull the cadaver away from her, and all those gathered watch wordlessly as it bobs towards the center of the pool. They watch, all of them silently as he's dragged further to the center and the last strands of dark hair finally fall beneath the surface.

She counts the seconds, hands wrapped around the chain, her breath barely daring to make a sound above the gurgling of the pool.

The water stirs, and Talia holds the chain more tightly, she waits.

All at ones he breaks the surface, thrashing violently as blood again flows from the wound at his throat mixing with the golden water in strings of crimson before diluting to nothing, both his hand and the quickly regenerating stump straining against his bonds in an attempt to reach at the wound as silent screams try to escape his gaping mouth. It takes less than ten seconds for the gape at his throat to heal, and with it comes his voice.

Loud and terrible, the screams shatter the silence like a freight train, hurling his pain and anger to reverberate all around them. Talia yanks on the chains, drags him back to the edge with Deathstroke's help. He girl watches from the sides, horror and wonder warring for dominance on her face.

Talia doesn't pay her any mind. Soon Jason's thrashing body hits the solid ground. He growls at them, spitting vitriol, his uncoordinated limbs flailing in an attempt to attack them. To destroy them for daring to bring his soul back to his burning body.

Desthstroke doesn't dare try to restrain the boy himself, steps back for Talia to approach instead.

Enough time had been lost to his indecision already, there was none to console or coddle him. Talia strikes out before he can escape the chains, hits a bundle of nerves at his neck and his body drops, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

However, he is breathing, chest rising and falling, and a pulse at his wrists, both of them whole. He lives, and she is keen on seeing to it that he stays that way for a long time, no matter the lengths she has to go.