Jack Frost Young Justice Cameron Junior
Cameron was sitting silently at the table in the middle of the "visitors" *cough*interrogation*cough* room, quietly nursing a bloody nose. The blood was uncomfortably hot against his naturally chilled skin, and the numerous attempts to wipe it away were leaving bloody smears against his lip, the bright reds a stark contrast to his pale skin.
The fellow inmates had been especially rough with him, when they found out about his unintentional involvement in the failed escape attempt. Granted, he'd had to fight off a few extra inmates to cover the faux terror twins escape. That hadn't been very good for his rep either. At the same time, he was both guilty and insanely grateful to find out his father had been immediately detained and placed into solitary confinement with several of the other ice villains.
At least he was saved a couple extra nasty bruises. As he lifted his arm for another swipe at his nose, he winced, his muscles giving a throb along his ribs at the sudden awkward movement. Granted, the bruises he had been given weren't anything to laugh at either.
He wasn't a doctor, but the amount of pain he had in his rib had to be bad enough to be a fracture or something. This was one of the rare moments he was infinitely glad for his ice powers, glancing warily at the two way mirror as he casually crossed his arms across the table, and secretly placing a cool hand against his side, sighing through his nose with faint relief.
He didn't even know why he was here anyway. The camera film and the two junior Justice League members already knew what happened, so why had he been dragged from his cell with only hints from guards suggesting he was about to have an important meeting? He leaned back in his chair, lifting his chin to look up at the immaculately white ceiling tiles in boredom. If it was a news meeting or some bull crap like that he'd make extra sure to make a few inappropriate hand signals at the camera.
Suddenly, the locks in the door turned. Cameron stiffened, unconsciously straightening in his seat as the door opened. A black figure swept in, the door shutting quietly after him. Two white eyes glared down at from the darkness of the man's mask, his tall and muscular form menacing even in the stale whiteness of the room.
Cam's eyes widened.
Cameron sat rigid to his seat, not even daring to breathe as the Batman stood like a statue, staring him down with unblinking eyes through his mask.
Suddenly, he was very self conscious of the now flaking red bloodstains across his nose and lip, though he didn't dare raise a finger to wipe it away. God knows the bat would think him reaching to attack and break his neck before he could say "icicle junior".
So the young felon couldn't help but flinch when the Bat suddenly strode over to the opposite side of the table. He didn't deign himself to sit down in the chair across from the young juvenile, but remained standing imposingly above him.
"Icicle Junior." It wasn't a question.
Cameron forced his suddenly numb lips to move. "Y-yes." He couldn't even be bothered to kick himself for stuttering.
"We have been… notified of your involvement in the escape attempt." The man stated, his voice rough with a sandy edge to it.
Tommy… His stunned brain supplied Tommy told him… Not really knowing how to respond, he made himself nod, the movement stiff and stilted.
"You aided your father, Icicle Sr. to break out the prisoners, and broke into the female sections of the prison so they could finish the attempt to overthrow Belle Reve." Cameron nodded again dumbly, remembering the fight that broke out afterwards between the ice users...
"And you aided two of our heroes in their escape from the facility. I want to know why." The man said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the teen.
"I…." Cameron's lips parted to speak, to deny the part, to claim that it was all a mistake, and suddenly stopped, the denial dying on his tongue, evaporating like steam under a desert sun. Why had he helped the two teens? Tommy had betrayed his trust, his crush turning out to be an alien, and his father's plans crumbling around his ears. And yet, strangely enough, he wasn't that angry; I mean, sure his father was going to have the fit of the century, but he wasn't mad at them. And then, when he heard the pounding footsteps of the few straggler inmates who weren't wearing collars running towards them, he heard the words streaming from his mouth as his body moved of its own volition.
"Go. Run, I'll cover you." He said glancing at the startled couple as he stepped in front of them.
"Junior I-" Superboy started, his southern accent all but dropped at the incoming danger.
"Go. And make sure my Dad doesn't catch you." He had been standing there, wondering when exactly his mouth suddenly began speaking for him, when another shout came down the hall, even closer than before.
A figure in an orange jumpsuit darted around the corner, spotting the teens ahead. "Go!" He had yelled, shouting at the clone. Superboy had blinked, and then solemnly nodded grabbing the young Martian's hand and darting through the female segment of the prison, leaving the young delinquent behind to hold off their pursuers.
It had been a week since the incident. He had fought valiantly against at least 5 prisoners before the guards arrived and beat them all back into submission. Shortly the next day, word spread like wildfire that he was to blame for the failed escape attempt. His life became hell. He became a massive target at the prison, and thanks to the collar, was completely helpless at the hands of the other inmates. The guards didn't blink an eye at the violence, merely watching as the kid was beaten to a pulp at the hands of the other inmates. The lazy farts probably thought it would help the angry prisoners to take their rage out on him, rather than them.
The only time they interfered was when a fellow inmate nearly took it too far, and began strangling him. The bruises still lingered below the orange collar of his prison jumpsuit, the black and blue bruises a stark contrast to his pale blue tinged skin. But, despite the numerous beatings he had gotten, he didn't question why he helped the two heroes escape. He just… did.
"You don't know." The gruff voice startled him out of his thoughts. He flinched, looking back up at the tall black figure above him. The man's head ever so slightly leaned back, as if in consideration.
Cameron winced. God knows how many heroes would use that against him. Ugh, he'd never be taken seriously ever again. Not that he was ever taken seriously, even by the villain population. Well, now he was officially his father's failure. A villain with a heart. How effin poetic.
Batman was watching him again, his mask covered eyes staring unnervingly at the young juvenile. It was then that Junior realized he had unconsciously been scowling at himself, and quickly schooled his expression. "So what?" He snapped, slipping back into the persona of the cocky meta punk. "What's it matter to you? You gonna lock me up for it? Cause I'm already in prison!" He mocked, spreading his arms wide to the room.
The Dark Knight didn't blink an eyelash at the the shout (not that he could see if he did or not) and Junior huffed and slouched back in his seat, crossing his arms in irritation. He gave another sloppy wipe of his nose with his knuckle, and glared off to the side, clenching his jaw.
Stupid heroes and their power plays. Why couldn't he have been interrogated by Flash or Captain Marvel? At least they wouldn't have the brains to call him out on his confused morals. But no, they had to call out the freaking Dark Knight, the Sherlock Holmes of the super hero league to have him figured out in under a minute. God damn it.
"Superboy seemed convinced you did it of your own free will." Batman responded after a moment's silence. Cameron stiffened. That must be Tommy's real name, he thought, or code name.
"What does he know…?" He replied bitterly, his lip curling.
Batman raised an eyebrow.
Then, after a few minutes silence, he appeared to come to a silent decision. "This is a Justice League communicator." He stated, and placed a small earpiece on the table. "This signal cannot be traced, so don't bother giving it to one of the other cellmates to dissect. Keep this on your person at all times, and don't let the guards see it. If you change your mind and want to talk, use this."
"Wait, what?" Cameron started, staring at the device. Was this some kind of bizarre trap? What kind of league member hands out private cell phones to their enemy? He looked back up at the dark knight like he'd suddenly grown two more heads. "Am I getting punk'd?"
The man's mouth twitched ever so minutely, and moved towards the door.
And paused. "You should get that rib looked at."
Cameron froze, eyes widening into saucers as the man stalked out.
Cameron limped back to his cell, the guards pushing him in roughly as the door slid shut. He hissed, stumbling as his ankle burned and ached angrily at the abuse. He hopped over to the bottom bunk, too tired and in pain to even think about trying to climb the ladder on one leg. Junior eased himself onto the stiff, thin mattress and sighed through his nose, propping his ankle up on his pillow.
His rib felt even worse than yesterday. A couple of the other inmates had ganged up on him again today, and instead of beating him on the ground like they usually did (and letting him curl into a protective ball), they dragged him to a corner of the laundry room while the guards were distracted by the other inmates, and two of them held him up while the others began beating the sense out of him. They took immense pleasure out of beating his extra sensitive injuries, and what felt like a severely bruised ankle; it was an angry bluish purple the last time he checked it. Even his cool skin did nothing for the injuries anymore, which were bone deep and aching.
They still hadn't released his father yet, which he was still conflicted about. On one hand, he was immensely grateful that his inevitable punishment at his father's hand had been postponed. On the other hand…. It was going to be less than pretty when his father was released. He closed his eyes, and was about to turn onto his side when he felt something hard in his pocket. He paused, and pulled out the communicator from yesterday, taking a moment to stare at it.
Batman had handed the device to him for a reason, and it wasn't charity. The Batman had probably hacked into the cameras here and seen everything long before he came in for that meeting, he was sure of it.
He swallowed; his throat suddenly very dry. His father would probably be talking him into handing the device over to Dr. Freeze or Captain Cold or one of the other technologically advanced ice villains until he got out of solitary. Then he'd shoo him off while he and the other 'big boys' worked on whatever scheme they were coming up with, and leave him in the dark until they were ready. After all, that was how it always worked.
But he's not here… A voice murmured at the back of his head. "And I don't know what to do." He growled back at the voice, glaring at the tiny ear mic in his hand. He tossed it onto the bed and pulled his knees to his chest, and anxiously gripped his hair and took a shuddering breath, suddenly feeling tears beginning to form behind his eyelids.
He shut them angrily, and continued to hold his hair in a death grip, trying to hold in any semblance of normalcy he had left. "I don't know what to do…" He murmured to the empty cell...
He sat in his cell, staring at the communicator. It had now been 3 days since Batman's visit, and he'd had enough. He's now had an almost permanent nose bleed thanks to the daily dose of abuse, and his side is one solid punch away from finally cracking.
That and he was now sporting a head injury, courtesy of the Brick, who had smashed it onto the edge of one of the cafeteria tables.
A few minutes after that he'd vomited on the floor.
Now, having been 'assisted' to his cell, he was left staring at the communicator he'd left on his bed. He was becoming desperate, and he didn't know what else to do. He couldn't keep going on like this.
Quietly, and with trembling fingers, he picked it up. Cradling it in his hands, he gently pushed the on button. "This is Batman." The startlingly familiar gruff voice stated.
Cameron paused, suddenly not quite knowing what to say. The communicator was silent, obviously waiting for him to speak.
"Batman…?" He asked quietly, and glanced at the cell door. There was no one nearby.
"I see you've decided to use the communicator after all." Batman replied smoothly.
Cameron sighed bitterly at the device, and lowered his head, swiping his nose. "Yeah, I changed my mind."
"Good. Now, I would like to get down to business." Batman said. "Superboy has been making a request that you join his team."
"Wait- his team?" Cameron sat back stiffly, and rubbed his temple, the migraine that had been plaguing him all day suddenly intensifying. "He wants me to join the junior super heroes?"
"Yes." Batman said patiently.
"But why me?" He asked. "I mean I know I covered his butt when he escaped but I'm a villain. He's a hero. We're on opposite sides of the battlefield. Why would he even consider something like that?"
"Perhaps he saw something you both have in common." Batman supplied.
Cameron put the communicator down on the bed, and let his face sink into his hands. God he was so confused. And tired. And God he ached.
"Superboy can be rash, but he generally is a good judge of character. While you may not trust him, he certainly trusts you. Will you join him?" Batman asked.
Cameron glanced down at the communicator, considering hanging up and pretending nothing happened, or handing it over to one of the more geeky metas to examine. Then he remembered. How Superboy had been friendly to him, had protected him from the other inmates, and even when he foiled his father's plan, he didn't attack him from behind. "It reeks when you're Dad's The Man, you know?" "Believe me, I know."
His nose had begun to drip blood again. He hastily wiped it, and took a deep breath. His father was going to kill him for this. No turning back.
"Okay… I'm in."