#like attacking tim

Fenton’s away right now, so Jason takes the time to do a sweep for any less visible bugs or cameras. He finds nothing unusual other than some unlabeled wine. The cottage is small, and almost eerily idyllic. It’s located in the English countryside, surrounded by woods but close enough to a town to not be completely cut off from civilization. 

Jason has no idea what he’s supposed to learn here. 

Gravel crunches underfoot outside, and Jason turns to watch a man walk up to the front door. His steps only falter slightly when he realizes the door’s unlocked, but stops dead in his tracks when he sees Jason sitting at his dining table, arms crossed over his chest and staring daggers at him. 

“Your security’s shit,” Jason tells him. 

“Um,” Fenton says in reply.The man’s probably late twenties, early thirties and doesn’t have much muscle mass. He’s carrying an honest to God wicker basket filled with miscellaneous plants. His face goes through several emotions, completely unguarded. Fenton’s clearly not an assassin. He finally lands on realization. “Oh! You’re Talia’s kid, right? She called a few weeks ago. Didn’t, uh, say why you’re here, though?” 

Fenton passes Jason to drop his basket off near the sink, putting his back to him while he washes his hands like Jason couldn’t attack him right now. Or that Jason isn’t big enough of a danger to consider a threat. He tries to stomp down the indignant anger that wells up in his throat. Fenton turns around quickly without turning off the faucet. 

He stares at Jason, squinting at his eyes. Jason stares back, showing anger instead of confusion at the sudden tone shift. Fenton tilts his head like a cat getting a new angle. Jason tries not to feel like a bird, but the comparison only stokes his anger instead of anything useful. 

“What?” he snarls out, resisting the urge to just deck this guy for wasting his time and leave. He’s here to train, not get stared at like a caged specimen. 

“...Sorry.” Fenton quits glaring and turns the faucet off without looking behind him. “I think I know why she sent you here… Um, what’s your name?”

Talia hadn’t told him? Not even a first name? “...Bennet.” Clearly she doesn’t fully trust this guy with how in the dark he is, so Jason’s not going to trust him either.

“Alright, Bennet. I’m Danny.” He shuffles around the kitchen for a minute, pulling out one of the unlabelled wine bottles from the back of the cupboard and a plastic cup from a cabinet. He uncorks the bottle, fills the cup, then slides it over to Jason. 

Jason looks from it to Danny, who sits across from him. “I’m not old enough to drink.” 

It’s not something he really cares about anymore, especially with the fluctuating limits across Europe, but it’ll say more about what type of person Danny is if he forces the issue or not. Jason takes note that Danny didn’t take a cup himself. 

“It’s not alcoholic,” Danny says. He keeps the bottle on the table, but recorks it. “So, Bennet, I take it you took a dip in the Lazarus pit?”

“How do you know that,” Jason barks out, uncrossing his arms if only to be in a better position to get to his dagger. There’s no way Talia would have told him that but not his name. 

Fenton shrugs. “I have an eye for that sorta thing.” He sniffles. He looks more tired than he did a minute ago. “Also your eyes are glowing green.”

Jason snaps his eyes down, looking away from Danny’s too calm face. His gaze lands on the cup, and looking for a distraction he holds it in both his hands. The smell is more floral than he expects wine to be, even a non-alcoholic one. 

“How’d you get in? The demon’s head is pretty possessive of his goo.” Fenton fiddles with the bottle, tipping it back and forth by the top. 

“Talia,” Jason grits out, still staring at the table. 

Danny hums. “She threw you in? Must be pretty special for her to break the rules like that.” He pauses, and Jason feels eyes on him. “But I guess the why’s not important. The how, that’s what I want.” He hums again. Fenton lets go of the bottle, and it slams back onto the table. “Lemme guess, head injury?”

Jason grits his teeth against the sudden flash of memories the suggestion pulls, and then against the immediate anger at feeling, at being so weak. He’s alive again, it shouldn’t affect him so much. Jason pulls on that anger as an anchor, lifting his eyes again to glare at Fenton. The man doesn’t react, only looking at him expectantly. Like he thinks he’s owed an answer. Jason doesn’t deign to give him one, pointedly downing his drink instead. 

He immediately regrets it. 

Not even a second after it’s down his throat does the burning start. He lurches forward in his seat before stumbling out of the chair entirely. He has mind enough to fumble over to the sink to blow chunks in it. Instead of this morning’s breakfast, however, nothing but sickly green Lazarus water spews into the sink. He coughs out the last of it, collapsing against the sink’s counter. He tries to move his arms enough to get his dagger out of his boot, but his limbs are lead. 

Jason presses the side of his face against the cool surface of the counter, staring across the room at Fenton, who has the audacity to look sympathetic. “What. Was that.” 

“Blood blossom extract,” Fenton answers while swishing the bottle. He sets it down only to wipe at the stream of blood coming from his nose. “It’s toxic to the undead, but flushes out pit residue.” 

Jason expects the anger that rises in his chest, but he doesn’t expect how quickly it subsides to the fear and coldness that follows. He tries to muster up any rage, just for the heat, but only gets another surge of green he barely shoots up to the sink to get rid of. 

Jason leans over, panting against the countertop. “I’m not undead.” His voice comes out shaky. 

“Yeah, which is why the ectoplasm from the pit keeps trying to fix you the only way it knows how: emotional energy,” Danny explains, “It hits harder than usual with head injuries. Gunk in the gears, you know?” 

Jason does not know. His legs waver and he sinks back down to the floor, back against the counter. Fenton stays where he is. Not close enough to be an immediate threat and making no move to put himself in a more beneficial position. 

“Ectoplasm,” Jason bites out, “like the ghost stuff?” 

“Yeah. I’m kinda an expert. I figure that’s probably what Talia wanted me to teach you about, or, like the pits in general I guess?” He sighs. “I can never tell what she wants.”

Jason ignores the chatter, instead focusing on the important parts. Ectoplasm is ghost stuff, Danny got a nosebleed next to the blood blossom extract, the blood blossom extract is toxic to the undead. Talia sent Jason here to learn about the pits from a ghost that poisoned him. Poisoned him with a bottle that’s easily accessible.