Chapter Seven
[Happy early birthday to me, unfortunately I'm celebrating my sweet sixteen on super bowl Sunday...]
Warnings for the following: Panic Attack, Internal Dehumanization, Illegible Text, and a case of translated text (Both translations are offered at the end of the chapter)
"Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that's where I imagine it - there's a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in awhile, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you'll live forever in your own private library." ― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵
The creature felt its mouth hum as it gazed at the man before it. Jason had somehow found a way to soothe the ache in the creature's core, yet it still felt hollow.
There was a nagging sense of something missing, someone perhaps. If its memory could be trusted—which was a questionable prospect given its non-human nature—there should be four others. It should have a .. team?
For the past year or so, there had consistently been five individuals on the creature's mind. The first was one the creature may have known for its entire existence. If it recalled correctly, she(?)—it presumed she was a she—had bright orange hair and striking light blue eyes. Whenever she appeared in the creature's thoughts, she exuded an aura of importance, demanding attention.
But the creature couldn't recall how she was connected to him. Perhaps if it saw her...
...
The sound of a voice caught the creature's attention. Had Jason invited someone over?
Rushing over, the creature concealed itself behind a wall as it heard Jason speaking on... a phone, it presumed. There was no one else in Jason's living room besides him.
The other side of the conversation would be inaudible to human ears.
Fortunately, the creature was not human.
"Akhi, ana mashghul min al'afdal 'an yakun hadha mhman." Jason addressed the person on the phone. He might have sounded slightly irritated, but the creature could sense Jason's core pulsing comfortably. It couldn't understand the language he was speaking.
It sounded very familiar..
Its core purred slightly with familiarity.
"Akhi. Abi yanzaeij min ghiabik." A voice on the phone responded, sounding youthful—perhaps younger than the creature, it pondered. It found human ages weird.
Really weird.
Jason clicked his tongue, "lidhaa?"
As the creature continued to listen, a sense of Déjà vu started to rise at a concerning level. The language sounded too familiar, but why? Did the creature know this language at some point?
.
.
Oh.
Oh!
It's Arabic! The creature knew Arabic! .. at least it thought it did. Its memory was foggy, but it was worth a try.
(Unless it failed miserably like it always did)
The creature strained its memory, attempting to decipher the words it had heard before.
.
.
It couldn't recall the exact words spoken earlier. It realized it needed to pay closer attention now, it seemed.
"Yadaei 'anah qalaq ealayki. 'ana la 'usdiq alnifaq bishakl kamil."
The creature caught the word "hypocrisy" in the conversation. Judging from the look on Jason's face, it appeared that word was right.
Glancing toward a dark corner of the room, the creature noticed red eyes glinting back. They seemed equally curious, but it merely shrugged in their direction.
Jason paused, cautiously picking out his words, "'Akhbir brus 'anah bihajat 'iilaa alhudu'i. 'ana lam 'aeud tiflan baed alan."
The person on the phone clicked their tongue, "Wahadha lays sabab dhikr dhalika. 'iinah yueatil dinamikiat al'usrati, niema. lakinani la 'ahtamu kthyran bidhalika."
"Ma aladhi tahsul ealayhi?"
"'Ahtaj 'iilaa tasfiat dhihni. laqad 'azeajani walidi bishakl la yutaq min khilal altadribu. wa'ana 'atlub musaeadatakumu. 'ana qadimu."
"No, you are not—" The line went dead before Jason could finish.
The creature sensed irritation emanating from Jason's chest, evident in the way he pocketed his phone.
"God damn it—" Jason cut himself off as he turned around. Did he notice the creature?
It realized it needed to work on its stealth.
"Jesus! Danny—I forgot how quiet you are when you need to be.." Jason remarked, dramatically placing a hand over his chest.
The creature tilted its head, emitting a sense of confusion.
"..What? Do you.. not remember when you..?" Jason removed his hand and walked over to it as he trailed off.
"No.. Should I?" The creature mumbled a question in response, feeling its throat itch, but it brushed it off.
Jason didn't respond. Instead, a dark expression crept over his face as he clenched his fist tightly, mumbling something the creature almost caught.
"Uh," it hesitated, weighing its options. It trusted Jason; its core felt soothed in his presence. Surely asking a question wouldn't hurt, right? "Who were you talking to? I heard a vague mention of a 'Father' or something."
"Eh, yeah. I was talkin' to one of my brothers—wait." " Jason paused, processing the information. "You know Arabic?"
This time, it paused.
"I think so..?" Jason sighed and shook his head.
.. was it not supposed to listen in? Did it make a mistake? Oh Ancients, it hoped it didn't. Mistakes brought pain. Pain and anguish. Both were bad! _Really_ bad! Jason looked mad too.. mad at something it said. Mad at it.
Its core cried out, Mistake—Fix it—Fix it NOW
Shit shit shit, could it fix this mistake? It could force itself to forget. Yes! That would be the right way to go. Forget the entire conversation; it could barely translate it in the first place.
Maybe then Jason would feel better! Jason was in charge of the creature now. A happy Jason would lead to a happy creature. The creature always angered the GIW. But Jason was kinder than that. It would be easier to fix it! Right?
Breathe.
It needed to breathe. To think of a proper solution, it needed to think.
But to think it needed to breathe.
Breathe!
The rumbling in its chest kept growing louder, and louder, and louder, and louder and—
"Danny! Danny.. hey, hey, it's alright,"
It heard Jason's voice cut through the haze of its mind. His voice sounded distant; yet, at the same time, close as it looked up. Dazed, the creature ignored the red eyes in the corner of the room, opting to play it out as a hallucination as it focused on Jason.
He adorned a worried yet angered expression on his visage. Of course, he was mad at it. It never did anything right
"Danny, look at me. I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at what those bastards did to you.. fuck, those fuckers—I'm going to kill them all. I swear—" Jason turned but the creature grabbed his hand. It didn't mean to, but it did it instinctively.
Jason's hands bore many healed blisters and calluses. Scars, grime, and many more cues hinted at how Jason had been a hands-on person for years. In just a mere moment, the creature could tell Jason had endured years of hardship..
"Sorry I'm just.." It paused, its voice quivering slightly, "overreacting. It's fine. I-I'm fine, I promise." It croaked, voice shaking with emotion it forgot how to differentiate.
It noticed the way Jason's expression shifted slightly, morphing into something unreadable until finally settling into sadness.
Into pity.
The creature looked down and clenched its hands into fists. It hated it when people looked at it with pity.
It would have honestly preferred disgust over pity. At least then, it wouldn't have to deal with the fact it embarrassed itself.
...
It felt like only an hour or so had passed before Jason began to feel the familiar surge of annoyance coursing through his veins. The stunt—well, perhaps not stunt. But he didn't have a better word—Danny had pulled earlier had pushed him beyond the limits of passivity and into the realm of aggression. No matter how hard he tried...
"Danny, look at me. I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at what those bastards did to you.. fuck, those fuckers—I'm going to kill them all. I swear—"
"Sorry I'm just.. overreacting. It's fine. I-I'm fine. I promise."
He couldn't shake the image of fear from Danny's eyes. It took every ounce of restraint he had not to storm off and exact revenge on every member of that cursed organization.
But he restrained himself.
Danny still needed time to heal fully.
Jason noticed how Danny would limp slightly as he walked. He was aware that the wounds on Danny's chest had most likely not even scabbed over yet. Yet, here Danny was, still up and about, trying to put on a brave face for Jason, despite the excruciating pain he must have been in.
And Jason despised the fact that Danny felt compelled to do that for him.
"Todd."
Snapped out of his reverie, Jason turned to face Damian, "Brat."
Damian narrowed his eyes at the term but refrained from comment, "May I inquire _why_ there's a teenager in our home?"
Jason raised an eyebrow at Damian's choice of words, especially considering their relative ages. "He's five years older than you."
"Nineteen still qualifies as a teenager. And it's concerning why a nineteen-year-old can fit into the clothing of a fourteen-year-old." Jason rolled his eyes.
"Can't argue with that, but please leave."
Damian arched an eyebrow, suspicious of his older brother's behavior, "What. Is he your lover?"
"WHAT—" Jason coughed, "NO—Ancients, no. He's just... Look, this really isn't a good time, brat. I'll help you with your daddy issues later, okay?" Jason quickly retorted, sputtering out information.
"Tt. I will hold you to that. You're lucky I also have something to attend to, Todd."
"Wait," Jason called out as Damian started to leave. Damian didn't turn to fully meet Jason's gaze but acknowledged he was listening.
"B' is probably throwing a fit over me missing two dinners in a row. I'll make the next one, but this kid's important. Got it? Keep this to yourself."
"I'm insulted you think so little of me, Ahki," Damian grumbled before exiting through the window.
A small—definitely minuscule, he was _not_ grinning like an idiot—smile tugged at Jason's lips. Damian would keep his word; Jason knew this.
The use of "Ahki" symbolized that.
His smile was quickly wiped off his face with the next word he heard.
"Jason!"
Without a moment's hesitation, Jason was in motion. Danny sounded distressed, and worse, terrified. Could the warehouse have been compromised so quickly? Surely, he would have noticed any government agents, right?
Right?
As he burst through the door to Danny's room, two things struck him immediately. First, Danny lay on the floor, his demeanor suggesting he was on the brink of tears. His body trembled slightly, his fists were clenched tightly. Second, there was a ring of light encircling his waist, eerily still and unmoving. It just stayed there.
"I wanted— I just wanted to see if I could... if I could help my ghost half... I can't," he choked out between sobs, his voice hoarse from shouting and unused for possibly months, "I can't transform... they—they—"
Jason approached cautiously, uncertain of what to do. So he drew from his memories, recalling back to whenever any of his family the 'Bat Family'—as Stephanie continued to label them—dealt with panic attacks. Bruce, emotionally reserved as he was, provided a support system and space. Barbara attempted to distract the person with their favorite things. And Alfred—Alfred!
Alfred offered comforting words and physical affection.
Jason could surely do that.
"It's alright .. it'll be alright" Jason murmured, attempting to soothe the distraught man before him. It wasn't much, but it was the best he could offer. He had never really tried to calm someone down from a panic attack before. When he was younger, he would simply scoff and walk away. But, now that he was older he felt nearly as emotionally constipated as Bruce.
But he would give it his all. He couldn't bear to fail Danny—his king—not again.
‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵
On the distant side of town, obscured by the city's imposing skyline, a man found himself caught in the throes of silent discontent. Clad in a nondescript beige trench coat, he traversed the bustling streets, drawing quizzical glances from those who crossed his path.
Yet, in Gotham, a city filled with danger and psychotic rogues, such fleeting curiosity was nothing more than a passing whim. For here, in this urban labyrinth where every alley whispered secrets and every shadow concealed dangers untold, prying into another's affairs was a precarious endeavor, one that could easily lead to one's demise.
(Even if it was odd a man was wearing a trench coat on a surprisingly warm day)
Despite the heat that hung heavy in the air, the man reached into the recesses of his coat, retrieving a cigarette and a flickering lighter. With ease, he ignited the slender stick of tobacco, its ember casting a dim glow in the dimly lit alleyway. In an ordinary course of events, he would have been far removed from the confines of Gotham, attending to matters of business that spanned the breadth of the nation.
As he took a drag from his cigarette, allowing the acrid smoke to curl around him in a hazy veil, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to happen, something profoundly wrong. It wasn't just the nervous glances exchanged between his usually stoic informants or the palpable tension that crackled in the air like electricity. No, it was something deeper, something far more ominous than he could articulate.
After all, he wasn't in Gotham for any funny business. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. His informants, those "ever-vigilant" sentinels of the city's underbelly, were on edge, their usual reticence replaced by a palpable sense of dread. Some refused to meet his gaze, their eyes haunted by unseen specters, while others spoke in hushed tones, their words laced with a sense of foreboding. Yet, amid the cacophony of whispers and half-truths, one phrase echoed like a clarion call:
One thing they all said that stood out to him.
One thing that made him dangerously worried.
'The king's cries have silenced.'
Those words, spoken in hushed tones and tinged with an air of finality, sent a shiver down his spine, for they spoke of a truth that he dared not contemplate. In a city where power was the ultimate currency and influence the key to survival, the silence of the king could only herald one thing: chaos. And in Gotham, where chaos reigned supreme, the consequences of such an eventuality were too dire to imagine. And that was only if it hadn't affected the mortal realm yet.
.
..
A slither
echoed through the void,
a sinister melody haunting the depths.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
A whisper
in the shadows, barely discernible
yet chilling to the core.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
A fleeting feeling,
like icy fingers tracing along her spine,
leaving a trail of dread in their wake.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
A fleeting shiver down her spine,
a premonition
of impending doom that she couldn't shake.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
An all-consuming darkness,
a suffocating cloak
that devoured every glimmer of hope in its path.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
An abyssal void engulfing all light,
swallowing everything in its path,
leaving only the echoes of despair.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
She was dying,
her essence fading into the endless void,
desperate for salvation that seemed beyond reach.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
Desperate for salvation,
she reached out into the darkness,
grasping for any flicker of hope to pull her from the abyss.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
She needed to be saved,
her plea echoing through the emptiness,
a desperate cry for deliverance.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
The young king wandered into her domain,
oblivious to the peril
that lurked within the shadows.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
The great one was within her home,
his presence a beacon
of both hope and danger in the darkness.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
She would help him,
offering her aid to the unsuspecting king,
though her motives remained shrouded in mystery.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
She would aid him,
guiding him through the treacherous depths,
though the price of her assistance remained steep.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
In return for help from him,
she offered her knowledge and power,
a bargain struck in the depths of the abyss.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
In exchange for his assistance,
she promised him redemption,
though the cost of his salvation remained unclear.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
Rest now,
dear king,
for the shadows will not harm you within her embrace.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
Rest now,
small king,
for the time of retribution will soon be upon us all.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
Rest for health,
for the darkness drains the very essence of life from those who dare
to tread its depths.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
Rest now, rest and regain strength,
for the hour of reckoning draws near,
and only the strong will survive.
.
. .
. . .
. .
.
F̷̨̣̙̘̪̗̮̞̒͊̓͒̿̃̿̈́̈́̊͠ǫ̵̢̛̹̠̳̘͙̜͈͚̩̂͆͋̓͊̏̄̚ͅr̶̨̧̮̳̦̩͉͇̝͙̥̱͚͔̗͙̜̍̂̑̂̉̽͆̐̃͆͌̉̈́̄͒̃̓͠ͅ ̷̢͍̪̘̮̌͑ṫ̵͕͇͋̈̒͂́̾͆͒h̵̹̻͎̲̱͚̾̅͗͆ȩ̴̧̧̳͚̪̩̞̝̼̤͙͉̯̖͕̔̽͂͒̈̈́̄̇̇͜ ̶̝̮̣̰̲̮̼̟̻̉͐͊̀̎̋̎̽͑͘͘t̴̳̭͎͈̮̃͊̂̐̿̌͛̎̍̊̀ͅį̵̺͔̩̲́̍̈m̶͎͖̜͚̥̥̉̔̉̋̏̔͘͜͝è̷̤̞̞̰͖͎ͅ ̷̼̙͔͛o̸̩̻̭̤̐͆̅̐̉̌̀̈́f̸̱̭̪̭̼͎̦͉̌̾̈́͜ ̷̡̝͇͚̞̦̻̤̩̹̤̗̦̖̹͇̾ŕ̵͙̺̯̜͈̠̙̻͙̯͔͍̖̠̖̼ȩ̸̢̛̼̳͚̬̘̠͇͎̊̅̑̏̾̊͒͑̌̓͗̃͘͝ͅţ̸̯͈̫̮͚͚̮͛̏̆̽̇͊͌̌̔͗́̾͊̿̄̚͝͠ͅr̸̲͚͈͕̰͙̗̦̼͖͈͍͖̔̈́̌͘͜͝͝i̶̡̨̛̳̟͙̹̣̟̻͓̜̖̖͛͒͐̌̓̀́̆̒͛͛́͜͠͝͝͝b̵̧̡̦̜͚̰͔̙͉̳̰̀̈́̑̄̑̀̇̓̋͝ͅų̵̡̛͓͖̟̱̫̭̻̭̲̗̣̩̳̏̇̈́̾͆̌͋͂̌̓̕͜͜͠͝ţ̴͓̱͇̪̻͎̤̬̗̠̯̥̟̖͆̓͌͐̆̀̃͆̃̌̃͒ȋ̴̢̪̪̪̩͓͚̬̰͇͖̹̠̪̫̦̓͛͊̆̔̅̚͝͝o̷̗͙̍̎̋̐̐͆̍̈̃̓̒͝n̶̡̛̯̗̎̈́̐̓͠ ̷͎͒̽̈́́ả̶̼͓͖̫̦̭̖̮̯̟͖̾̄̉̍̏͊̈́̈͜͝͝ẘ̶̡̨̢̢̫̖͕͔̥̻̭̝̥͎͚̱̩͌̎̍̌͑̀̓̌͘ͅä̵͉̟̥́͐̿̾͑̒̂͐͠i̶̛̯̞̙̺̪͉̗̠͙͓̻̇͊͒́̓͌̓̐͘̕t̴̗͖͙͈̠̥̫̘̥͈͙̼̰̼̘̎̀͂̊̀̒͝͝s̶̹̮͔͎̯͙͔̞͇͎̱͔̮͇̥̯̜̤͑̽ ̸̨̫̠̘̤͕̗̤̺̲̫̤̞͕̻̠͎̳̈́̌̈́͊͘u̶̜̩̥̞̹̻̺͈̩̿͐̓͒̓̓̅̋ş̴̡̡̞̯͖̀́͗̌̍̅͛͑͐̃͘ ̴̣̻̯̫̔̆̎̄̈́̚͜͝a̴̩̣̯̥̣̬͌̃͋͜ḻ̷̢̨̨͉͎̭̬̻̱̼̣͇͎͓͔̂͗̀̑̓͐͛͌̓́͆͜l̵̫̬͒̀̀̉̃̏̒͂̋͒̊̃͆̄͊͝,̸̸̡͔̲̤͉̟̗̣̩̠̙͔̱͓͙̺̲̱̇̏̂̈́̔̀̾͛́́́͂̇̆̎̒̍̈́́͛͊͂̿̂͌
̶͇̥̠̼̮̻͔̼̲̳͙̠̔̍̍̍̒̈́͒̈́̎́͜͝ͅa̸̩͍̠͒̇́̃́̀̚͝ͅn̶͇̒͛̍̓̈̆̂̕d̷̡̪͇͓͖̞͍̰͊̂̒͑̀͛̌̈́͗̑͆̊̚̕ ̸̫̫͖̯̙̼̤̫̺̦͖̦̙̞̬͗̉͆̽̽̉̈̆͒͐́͗͘͠n̷̠͗̉̒̎̏͑̈͋͘ó̴̭͕̯̪̭̋͒̇̃͊ṇ̷̛̣̄̑̐̓̄̆̿͐̎e̴̡̡̡͖̩͕̜̘͈̞̅̀̓̈͘̚
̴̛̠̻̩͚̦̭͇̉̋̇̃̀̔̈́͋̈́͠͠
̴̨̹̦̥̩̙̗͖̙̱͙̦̫̜̒̅̄̄̀̓͆́͝ͅͅṣ̷͒̇̑̀͑͊̈̓͂͑̔̑̕h̵̢̛̛̙̪̝̬̟͈̯̯͍̟̙͋̇͊̈́͌̓̔̓̓̓̚̚͘͘͠͠a̸͓͗̓͆͆̄͐͗ḻ̶͖̝̫͗̈̐͐̾̊̚͘͝ḷ̷͓͔̼̖̠̻͖͕̑̓̏ ̷̱̳͙͇̔͑͛̒̄̅̊͌̑̉͊̇͗̇͝͠͝͝ͅȩ̷̛͓̺̜̟͙͔̮̤̗͕̠̝̮̲̀̈̃̂͐́̏̒̅̆͂̓͜͝s̵̮̤̠̩̞͋͋̃̄͂̌̈́̑̓̾͆͗̚͠ç̴͈͔̩̊͋̽̓ą̷͎̣̗̠͚͖̥͉͎̰̭̑͠ͅp̸̨̪̳̫̻̮̣̞̗̜̯̰͙͍̺̲̗͋͐̋̎̓̆͂̓͆͆͒͑̎̚ͅe̸̡̧̡̧̱͔͙̥͇̪̬̭̲̭̺̮̊̒͗́̌̾͒̊͘̚ ̴̛̝͍̪̤̪̱̻̲͐͊̋̊͋̽͆̓̈́̀̏̚̚͝t̷̛̪̣̬̱̫̋̆͑͛̿̓͒̎̓̉̌̑̚͜h̸̨̢͔͇̯̪̖͉̼̙͂̇͌͛̑̇̑̂̊̈́̅̀͌̽̈̃̕͝ę̴͉̱͕͉̹̄̌͠ ̷̢̦̱͇̠͙̘̟̻̋̄̈́͛͗́̂͘ͅj̵̧̛͙͈̠̮̹̪͖̼̬̻̙͎͉̣̗̈́̌̑̈́̔̃͊̔̾͂͘͝u̵̡̧̢̯̼̜̠̫̩̙̥̹͖͈̺̓̽ͅd̷̡̡̳̳̰͎̥͔̭͕̒͂̓̎g̴̞̯̠̈́m̵̛̳͙̳̠͚͆̿̒̍͘ḝ̴̛̱̜̝͚̉̇͐̍̌͂̍̚͠͝n̷̯͕̠͎̼̣͉͚̦̻̐͑̍t̵̢̨̧̜̼͔͎̪̺̔ ̶̧̫̗̫̙̦̘̟͍̲͑̈̿͒̍̌̎͝ͅơ̷̱̫̰̲̅̂̐́̓̓͊̓̓̂͊̒̓̊̑͝f̴̢̨͕̦̼̤̖͍͔̘̳̬͉͚̤̃̒́ ̵̨̠̈́͌͑̓̄̄͆̀̊̿̔̄͝ț̶̬̪̳̻̦͍̠͔̗̼͚̱͊h̸͚͐̒ë̸̛̛͇͍͎̳̱́̓̈́͌͑͌̉͋̚ ̷̫̥̲͇͖̑̐͐̔̄̓ͅá̵̧̨̘̭̱̭̤͊̐b̸̧̢̩̬̼̺̝͎̲͓̠̱̔͐̈́́̈́̈́͂͋́̈̏͊͑͘͘͜͜͝͝y̸̭̌̃̒͆͛͋́̑̈́̔̍̓̈̔̾̑̕͝ş̵̧̢̡͈̠̝̙͉͍͉̠̩͓͈̞̄̍̃͒̇̏͑̃͜͜ş̷̥͇͍͍̮̝̥̣̎́͌̒͐͆̈́͂̂̅͊̅̚̚
[As promised, Translations:
For the arabic:
"Brother, I am busy. This better be important."
"Brother. Father is getting agitated over your absence."
"So?"
"He claims that he is worried for you. I am not fully believing the hypocrisy."
"Tell Bruce he needs to calm down. I am not a child anymore."
"That is not why I mentioned it. It is disrupting the family dynamic, yes. But I care little for that."
"What are you getting at."
"I need to clear my mind. Father has irritated me beyond relief via training. And I require your assistance. I am coming over."
"No, you are not—"
Translation for the Zalgo Text:
For the time of retribution awaits us all,
and none
shall escape the judgment of the abyss.]