Fruition Of Lies

Like A Puppet

Jason screamed and lunged forward as Deathstroke tossed Wing's body aside like a rag-doll, blood spraying with the fallen body. No. This wasn't supposed to happen. Slade was going to help him save Wing, not kill him. What had he done? Bringing that man back here? What had he done?

Slade moved to make his escape, yelling back as he did, "Remember earlier when you said you owed me?" He shouted, dodging Jason's bullets, "Consider that debt paid."

Jason roared in anger, firing round after round at the man's retreating form. Jason's vision was overtaken with red, but a pained grunt let him know that at least one of his bullets had hit home. Good.

Deathstroke slipped out through a back room, and Jason, still too injured to give chase, fired a few shots after him before returning to Wing's body, seething.

Collapsing beside him, any anger Jason had dissipated as he watched Wing lie there, gasping and choking on deep, blue blood. His eyes were frantic and unfocused, searching for something that Jason couldn't see, and probably never would. He bit his lip and brought his hands to Wing's throat, applying pressure.

"C'mon Birdie," He choked, "You'll be fine, it's just a scratch," he lied, Wing's gaze finally catching his, and Jason watched the confused storm in his eyes drop, as the realization of what was going to happen finally hit him.

Choked sounds on bloody lips attempted to leave Wings cooling body. Jason leaned in close, hoping to make out the faint sounds.

"Ja-Jay."

Jason looked at the strange blood leaking from underneath his fingers, Wing didn't have much longer, "Yea Birdie? I'm here. It's gonna be alright, don't worry. I'm going to get you fixed up alright?" He spoke, more for himself than Wing, while letting out a choked sob. He had to stay strong for his friend. He wasn't the one dying, not this time. Jason was not going to let himself cry.

More gurgled sounds and a hiss of air. Jason looked away for a moment, not wanting to watch the life leave Wing's strange eyes. He knew it was coming and it wasn't fair, Jason thought in anger. He'd only look away for a moment, and that was it, This was something he couldn't watch. He hoped Wing could forgive him.

After another hitched breath, Jason glanced down at Wing, finding glossy eyes staring back at him, blaming him, at least that what he assumed. Why wouldn't he blame Jason? He took his hands from Wing's throat, blood dripping between his fingers, and cradled his limp body. Deathstroke would pay. Deathstroke would fucking pay.

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The basement was dark as he crept down the old wooden stairs. Tim knew he wasn't allowed to come down here by himself, his parents would kill him if they ever found out. But still, down the stairs he went, only one thing on his mind. The boy in the cage.

The cage was in the back of the room, where it had resided these last few years. Never once did his parents move that cage. It was saddening, Tim thought, how one can seclude a person for that long, never once giving them a chance to breathe.

He crept up to the cage cautiously, not wanting to spook the boy and forgo his chances of learning anything, "Hey," He started, "Do you have any nicknames?" The thirteen-year old Timothy asked, staring at the older teen locked inside the cage. Did it have a life before Talon, he wondered, did it even remember?

The caged teen tilted his head, eyes staring at Tim, observing. The dim lighting of the room allowed it to see more without hurting its eyes, Tim had learned not to long ago.

The boy stopped staring and licked his lips, "Nick-name?" He rasped, shifting his body to face more towards Tim.

Tim smiled, happy he finally got it to respond. It was something he'd been working towards for weeks, trying and failing again and again, "Yeah, did your mom or dad call you anything? My mom likes to call me Timmy or Tim," he used, trying to make it easier for the Talon to understand.