Young Justice -:- Resurrection

Summary: It has been nearly two years since Jason Todd died in a mission gone horrifically wrong. But that was not the end of his story. He has returned to find himself unavenged… and replaced.

Setting/Spoilers: Set towards the end of the time-skip, a few months or so before the beginning of season 2/No spoilers

Pairings: None

Genre/Rating: Angst/Tragedy/Rated T due to some bad language and depressing themes

Disclaimer: If I owned Young Justice, Jason would have shown up as the Red Hood in season 2!

Authors Note(s): Again, not the sequel I keep promising, but this time a two-shot partially inspired by TheBlueFoxtrot-A-Samba's 100 Word Prompt challenge. As far as I can tell, there is no canon within the YJ universe for Jason's story other than the fact that he was Robin for an undetermined period. As such, this is how I imagine him fitting in, as you can't have the BatBros without their black sheep! :P

Enjoy

Atrophy noun: 1, a wasting away of the body or of an organ or part, as from defective nutrition or nerve damage. 2, degeneration, decline or decrease, as from disuse

Part One

I remember drowning. Which is weird, because I didn't drown.

It was the smoke that killed me. I have no idea why I was there, or who I was with, or what the hell I was doing in some burning warehouse by a lake that day, but I do distinctly remember my last few moments. When I close my eyes, I can still feel the heat of the flames blistering my skin. I can feel the thick smoke in my lungs, tightening my chest to the point where I decide that it's a really good idea to just lie down and sleep because damnnit I don't have the energy to move anymore.

There's a voice in my ear; God only knows if it was my conscience, or a friend or… a brother? All I know is that it kept begging me to hold on, that help was coming…

I guess that help came too late.

I don't know. All I know is that when I woke up, I still couldn't breathe. The heat was gone, replaced by a cold so chilling that I felt as if I had been flash frozen. I couldn't move, couldn't think… the lack of ability to breathe was still an issue… but I didn't have the energy to panic. Lethargically, I peeled open my eyes to see nothing but green water, and belatedly realised that I was drowning. I can't say that I was thinking overly straight – in fact, I went a little bit crazy for a good while after my 'rebirth', but I knew enough to realise that drowning was bad.

Instincts alone made me force my uncooperative limbs into action and swim desperately for the surface. When I broke free and took my first breath in well… a really long time, I may or may not have been screaming.

It's a blur after that. I was wrapped in dry cloth by some faceless attendants. Emerald light rippled across the roof of a cave, only to be replaced by the crimson canopy of a ridiculously comfy four-poster bed. There was a beautiful woman with dark skin and golden eyes.

And then there was nothing.

When I wake up, I don't open my eyes. I don't fidget, adjust my breathing pattern, or anything. Why? I have no idea – it just feels like the right thing to do, like some instinct that has been drilled into me… training, maybe? I decide not to think about it, and focus on listening.

I can sense an open window to my right, the distinct lack of any city sounds telling me that I'm not home (wherever the hell that was once upon a memory wipe). It's warm, and whatever I'm lying on feels comfortable, so that rules out a hospital, despite the beeping of a heart monitor and the wires I can feel trailing across my body. There's a low murmur of voices muffled by thick walls, telling me that wherever I am, I'm not alone. Which means that I have to figure out whether my hosts are good guys or bad guys.

It would help if I could remember. Anything. But I can't. My mind is a stubborn blank, as if someone has come along and stolen all of my memories away. I don't have a clue how I got to wherever I am, or what I was doing before I passed out or whatever. I don't even know my own name.

Oddly, this doesn't concern me half as much as it should.

The next startling discovery comes when I decide to get up and investigate – and find that I can't move. At all. My eyes open to reveal the deep red of the canopy above me, but I can't turn my head to see anything else. My body feels leaden; heavy and non-responsive – almost as if it no longer belongs to me, or hasn't belonged to me for a really long time. But, on the plus side, I can feel it, which means that I'm not paralysed.

Logically, I know that I should be panicking right now. I have no idea where I am, who I am, and I can't move. But for all of these very valid reasons to be hyperventilating, I find myself calm – fearless even. As if I had been through far worse than this and survived, whether I could remember it or not. I feel warm, comfortable… safe.

And very, very tired.

So, apparently my name is Jason – sorry for the belated intro.

I would love to say that I remembered that on my own, but no; I'm still having issues remembering anything. The mysterious woman with the dark skin and golden eyes filled me in, and the moment that she said 'Jason', it just felt right, and I knew that she wasn't lying. About that, at least. Nothing else she says is sitting quite so well.

She claims that I'm sixteen – which feels odd, like I skipped a birthday or something. I still haven't been able to get up (or move in the slightest), so I haven't been able to check out my reflection, but I don't feel that old. Her answer to that is that I've been 'asleep' for a long time, which again, doesn't feel right. When I sleep (which is a lot – being conscious is exhausting) I see flashes of flames and smoke and water, and a really scary theory is beginning to form in the back of my mind. I think… I think might have…

Nah, it's impossible.

I may have some serious gaps in my memory and feel about as educated as a kindergartner, but even I know that dead people don't just wake up again. So the fact that I'm lying here right now, having the odd conversation with a distractingly beautiful woman shoots my stupid theory down in flames.

Ouch. Bad pun.

Her name is Talia, by the way – the exotic woman who currently holds all the answers. She comes to visit me every day (as far as I can tell) and talks to me for around ten minutes, depending on how quickly I manage to steer the conversation towards my potential family/home or how I ended up here. She'll talk about my brilliant recovery, or how I drool in my sleep – but the moment I try to find out about my past, she'll claim that she has to leave.

I want to be suspicious. I really do. I can read her expression and body language (a very handy skill that I had no idea that I had) and I know that she's hiding something from me, but for some weird reason I trust her.

It must be Stockholm syndrome.

By my guess, it's been about two weeks since I first woke up in this room. I spend most of my time asleep, trapped in nightmares that have had me waking up screaming on more than one occasion, but if I'm right about Talia's daily visits, then fourteen meetings means fourteen days. Our talks are getting shorter, and I think that she's beginning to realise that she's going to have to tell me the truth sooner rather than later.

I'm starting to remember things.

There's someone important that I vaguely recall. A shadowy figure – all dark and threatening and prone to glaring instead of talking. Okay, so this guy doesn't exactly sound friendly, but for some reason, I associate him with feeling safe and protected. I think he might be… I think he might be my Dad.

I tried to ask Talia. She practically ran from the room.

My sleep pattern is finally starting to regulate so that I actually see most of the day now. But that just means that I spend more time awake and thinking… and confusing myself with the tiny fragments of memories that come back to me. Nothing makes any sense.

There's another person that I remember – someone similar to the shadowy figure I have tentatively dubbed 'Dad', but lighter, I guess. I remember this guy smiling at me, teaching me something… I kind of feel in awe of him, like this is the guy that I wanted to grow up to be. Which is just weird, because that is so not like me. Okay, so I'm not entirely sure what I'm like, but I'm pretty sure that I don't do hero worship.

At least, I don't think I do.

Talia hasn't been by since I asked her about 'Dad', so I can't ask her about my growing theory that I may have a 'brother' as well. Instead I try to distract myself with my only other visitor.

As far as I can tell, she's a serving girl. She doesn't talk much (in fact, she didn't say a word for the first two weeks) and she keeps her head bowed and avoids all eye contact. Her job is to check the many tubes attached to my invalid form (you don't even want to know where some of them are inserted) and to help me with simple exercises to get my body to function properly again.

I figure it's about time that I learn the name of the girl who has spent an uncomfortable amount of time in my personal space.

I've been in a fricking coma? For two years!?

This cannot be happening. This cannot be happening. Two years? I lost two years of my life?! This cannot be happening.

Her name is Sora, by the way – the serving girl. It took me four days of wheedling, and a level of charm that I did not know that I possessed (considering that I'm flat on my back like a helpless turtle while the girl waits on me) but I finally got her name. And the truth.

I have been in a coma, for two years. And I may have freaked out ever-so-slightly when I found out.

Apparently, Talia knew my family before some mysterious accident happened. I was the only survivor. She took me in and looked after me until I woke up about a month ago. The reason why she avoids talking about my past is because it's too painful for her to remember my family.

I may not really remember 'Dad' and 'Brother', but it still hurts to know that they're dead. I was just beginning to learn about them, beyond the emotions that tied me to their vague memories, and it feels like a part of me has been torn away now that they're gone. But I know that I'll survive – it's what I do, after all. I'm pretty damn sure that I was on my own before they took me in. I can handle being on my own now.

But there's something that's nagging at me. When Sora told me the story, there was something off. She sounded sincere and apologetic enough to be bearing the bad news. But she never met my eyes. She constantly looked down and to the left.

Somehow I know that this means that she was lying.

Talia comes by for the first time in nearly two weeks, and confirms the story. She tells me of a plane crash that occurred when my family and I were travelling over to visit her – calling it a tragic accident that took two very special people far too soon. I picture the flames and the smoke that haunts my nightmares, but it doesn't fit with the incident she describes. I ask her if we crashed near water. She looks confused.

She tears up rather convincingly when she describes my headstrong and brave father, but when I ask what his name was, she hesitates. There's a flicker of something in her unnaturally golden eyes – almost fear, but not quite. Apprehension? It is almost as if she's worried that his name will somehow open the floodgates to my memories. Is it concern for my wellbeing – to prevent me from recalling some trauma? Or hers – to stop me from seeing through her lies?

She's watching me just as closely as I'm studying her, and I can see the calculation in her gaze.

"Your father…" she pauses. Sighs resignedly. "His name was Bruce."

I blink. Once. Twice.

And suddenly I can see his face. Weathered skin, brow permanently furrowed from stress and the effort to maintain that perpetual scowl that could somehow convey pride as well as disappointment. Black hair meticulously kempt to portray a socially accepted image, even as the first grey hairs betray his arrival at middle-age. Eyes a dark shade of blue, dulled slightly by exhaustion but still passionate and determined. I can almost hear his voice.

Talia's still watching me, trying to figure out how much I remembered from that one name.

Part of me knows I shouldn't, but I still trust her. She's been lying to me ever since I woke up; only now beginning to tell me anything because I was halfway there on my own, but I can read beyond the words. I can tell that her concern for me is genuine – whether there is an ulterior motive behind it or not. Somehow I know that there haven't been a great many people who have actually cared about me in my short life. It feels nice.

I tell myself that she is lying to protect me. I try to ignore the fact that I'm lying to myself.

That night I dream. For the first time in a long time though, there are no flames.

I'm beyond starving; the hunger so bad that I can actually feel my stomach eating itself as I run through the streets of a city. It's raining, and I'm cold and wet and miserable. It feels familiar, but I don't really remember this. Somehow I know that I'm twelve years old, alone, and desperately searching for my next meal ticket.

I don't recognise the buildings I pass, or the street names I catch as I try to stay out of sight, but I seem to know exactly where it is that I'm going. I spot a graffiti-ed over sign that once said Park Row and quickly dart down it. Adrenaline is pumping through me like crazy, making me hyper-aware of every little sound and movement. I know this place is dangerous, but I'm too hungry to care.

That's when I see it. Sleek, black, beautiful. A wonder of modern engineering and design. Practical and built for speed, but also aesthetic – instantly recognisable as the chariot of damnation that it was. It wasn't just a car.

It was the batmobile.

Custom made tyres with a distinct tread that labelled them as the Bat's – I knew a guy who'd pay a pretty penny for a trophy like that. I'd be eating like a prince for months!

If I didn't get caught, that is.

I drop to my knees beside the front wheel, ignoring the rain and the grime that instantly soaks through my worn jeans, and focusing on the task at hand. Within an hour, I've got three tyres off and the infamous batmobile up on bricks. It was as I working off the last one, however, that a shadow fell across me.

I'm on my feet and backing up before I've completely registered that I'm not alone. I realise that I've put my hands up, inadvertently displaying the tyre iron that pretty much makes my guilt irrefutable. I gulp down my fear and nervousness and try for false bravado as I look the shadow in the eye.

The Batman stares back. And I recognise that scowl.

My memory comes back to me pretty quickly after that. I remember my criminal Dad and my drug addict Mom from before that night in Crime Alley. I can see Wayne Manor in my mind's eye, the grandfather clock guarding the entrance to the cave. I can practically smell Alfred's cookies, hear Dick's ridiculous cackle, feel Bruce's reassuring hand on my shoulder…

They weren't dead, like Talia told me. I knew that much. There hadn't been a plane crash. And I suspect that there probably wasn't a coma either.

I really did die.

The details are still hazy, but I remember the flaming warehouse beside the lake, and I know that I wasn't alone. There was a green-skinned girl who was really not faring well in the heat, and another girl with long blonde hair. The three of us were trapped, waiting for a rescue that we all knew was going to be too late. I got free of the bonds and released the others, but the building was collapsing. As we were trying to get out, I got separated. Left behind.

It takes me a while to figure out how the hell I went from crispy critter to paralysed prisoner, but eventually word association pays off.

Bruce – Batman. Batman – Robin. Robin – Dick. Dick – Hero. Hero – Villain. Villain – Ra's. Ra's – Talia. Talia – Al Ghul.

Al Ghul – Lazarus Pit.

Talia, probably under her father's orders, must have resurrected me in the waters that had been keeping the Demon's Head alive for centuries. I have no idea why, but I'm pretty damn sure that it wasn't out of the goodness of their hearts. Sure, I know that Talia cares for me somewhat; that wasn't a lie at least, but I doubt that she bought me back just because she likes me. I know that they're using me for… something… but what? Obviously against Bruce but…

Bruce… who has no idea that I'm alive. He must be devastated. Heart broken. Taking out his grief on the criminals of Gotham. Okay, so I know that it's been two years and we didn't really know each other for all that long, but I was still a child that he took responsibility for. The guy still holds onto the loss of his parents, he's not exactly the poster child for healthy grieving techniques.

I have to tell him that I'm alright. I have to get home.

Trouble is, I'm still not exactly mobile. Yesterday moving my pinkie unaided was a monumental achievement. It's not as if I can just get up and walk out of here. And where is here? How do I travel and get to Gotham when I'm legally dead?

And what if Talia tries to stop me?

Essentially being paralysed is beyond frustrating.

It didn't seem to matter so much before – I didn't have anywhere to go – but now it's driving me insane.

Sora has noticed that something is different about me; I'm actually trying when she puts me through my paces with the basic exercises, and the small movements that would have been a cause for celebration before are now irritatingly below par. She doesn't say a word though. I suspect that the dark bruise around her eye is punishment for her telling me anything (even if it was the lie that we were both force fed). I don't try to pry any more information out of her.

Talia is watching me closer than ever. I try to act as lethargic and care-free as possible whenever she comes by for one of her visits, but I'm not gonna flatter myself with the belief that I'm actually fooling her.

It's another two weeks before I'm given the green light to try walking. Probably because I got up the night before and attempted a few steps, before face planting and pulling out a lot of those tubes and wires.

I'm sitting on the edge of the bed (unaided, I might add) where I have spent the last God knows how long, ready and waiting to take my first steps. Some of the wires have been removed to make it a little easier, but the ones that remain feel more like a leash than a lifeline. After failing as epically as I did last night, there's no way to avoid the supervision that I get now. There's Sora and a physician grasping each of my arms, while Talia watches from a chair in the corner.

I don't appreciate the audience.

There are no words of encouragement as my feet hit the stone floor, but I don't really expect any. In my head I imagine Dick grinning at me while Bruce scowls from the corner, and I know that if they were here, they would be proud of me. It's not every day that a dead man walks again.

My muscles cry out even at the slight weight of my emaciated form, but I grit my teeth and force myself to put one foot in front of the other. I'm panting from the exertion once we cross the room and turn back, but I can't help grinning. It feels good, so good, just being vertical. I want to run, pick up the pace; but my knee gives out and I crumple to the floor.

The doctor says that I need to rest. I tell him where to shove it.

An hour later and I've shrugged off my human crutches, replacing them with wooden ones as I pace from one side of the room to the other. I'm beyond exhausted, but I refuse to stop. I was trained by the Batman after all. We don't understand the term 'take a break'. It's time to quit when you're face down on the floor and wheezing because you've worked yourself into oblivion.

Speaking of – I'm gonna pass out now.

I'm staring at my reflection. I didn't really believe Talia when she said that I was sixteen, but now that I'm standing in front of a mirror, I kinda do.

I'm taller than I remember being – I might be nearly six foot – probably taller than Dick… I can't wait to rub it in the little midget's face! And my face looks older too, if a little gaunt. There's stubble lining my chin and I realise, rather jarringly, that I'm gonna have to learn to shave once I escape (Sora does it for me at the moment) She's been keeping my hair short too, in an attempt to make me presentable, though I've still got terrible bed head. I lift my shirt to see just how horrifically thin I am; every bone visible through my skin, and my once-impressive abs a thing of the past – but I can fix that.

What I can't fix though, is my eyes. They have always been blue, not as crazy blue as Dick's, or as dark as Bruce's, but still blue. Now though, when the light catches them, I can see a ring of green around my irises. I realise that I have seen the same markings around Talia's golden orbs.

It's just a side effect, but I can't help but feel branded by the power of the Lazarus Pit.

I can officially tick 'walking' off of my escape to-do list.

Actually, I've achieved quite a bit this past week. I cannot tell you just how fantastic it feels to wake up in the morning and simply stretch. To actually eat a meal that hasn't been drip fed through my arm. Hell, being able to get up and use the bathroom when I need to is a mighty accomplishment right now.

Today, Talia is supposed to be taking me for a walk around the grounds of this place. I'm finally going to leave this room and figure out where the hell I am – and then I can figure out a way home!

So… slight issue with the whole 'escape' thing…

I am in the middle of freaking nowhere!

Okay, so maybe I'm exaggerating slightly. I'm pretty sure that I'm somewhere in the Middle East, judging by the architecture and the ethnicity of the staff, but that doesn't exactly narrow things down any. The walk that Talia took me on this morning followed the whole way around the property edge, proving that beyond this place's borders is a whole load of nothing.

Talia did this on purpose, I know. She seemed to take great glee in telling me that the nearest town was over twelve miles away.

She's trying to kill my spirit; keep me as her placid little prisoner.

She has completely underestimated me.

Tune in next time for Jason's amazing escape from Talia's clutches and his journey home to Gotham! But will the reunion go as he hopes...? I'm thinking not, somehow...