Work Text:
Dick tugged listlessly at the chain that trailed from the cuff that had been locked around his ankle. He could pick it if he had any of his tools, or even a stray bit of metal. Maybe even a toothpick. He had none of those things. In fact, he had nothing. Oswald had made sure of that. The old bird had gotten wiser after having had Robin on this side of the kidnapping gimmick so many times. He had made sure everything had been taken from Dick and kept away from him from the moment he had acquired him.
No longer Robin, not by many years now, but Nightwing had proved something of a nostalgic trophy for the man to claim in the aftermath of what was now being referred to as The Tartarus Pact. Luthor had amassed The Legion to new extremes, and while Dick would have thought it impossible for the Justice League to fall, they had had no warning, and Luthor had put nearly everything he had into that first strike against them. Between Lex’s planning and the combined forces it had been catastrophic on both sides, but the heroes had been the ones to perish in mass at the end.
It had taken a lot longer for the Legion to come for the likes of Dick, or his brothers, but they had. The Teen Titans had risen against them, and the Outlaws, and The Birds of Prey, and one right after another they had been felled or captured. Some were tortured for information. Some were sold to old foes. Dick had had the pleasure of both fates.
The Penguin being the one to purchase him though… that had surprised him, and somewhat relieved him at the same time. He could at least survive Penguin. There were worst enemies he had, but few that were richer, and even less had their ear pressed as close to the ground as Oswald did, just waiting for opportunities.
Dick tugged again at his chain, listening to the restless clank of the links, the soft clang as they pulled against the unmovable bar of his cage.
Dick hated the chain.
He hated the cage even more.
A literal bird’s cage. Bars as thick as his wrist, but sculpted and welded all around him into the domed shape of an old-fashioned bird cage, empty of anything save for himself and a bar-swing that hung down in the center. It was stationed in the far corner of Oswald’s main office at his club, where Dick’s only form of entertainment was to watch the man do his paperwork.
At first Dick had thought that that would be to Oswald’s detriment, trying to pay the man back for just some of the tortures he had suffered in sharp jeers and taunts, but he hadn’t gotten away with it long before Oswald had given Dick a sickly, sharp smile from under that beak-like nose of his and said, “My little birdie wants to sing… I’ll teach him to sing for me then.”
When he had sent three henchmen into the cage with Dick, he had fought; of course he had fought. One had been knocked unconscious, and the other two had made it hurt worse on behalf of their fallen comrade when they had raped Dick against the cold bars of his cage, making him cry out while Oswald finished cooking his books for the IRS. When he had finished them an hour later, he had simply left Dick on the cage floor, flipping off the light of his office on his way out.
For some reason, no matter how many tortures they visited upon Dick, it never failed to shock him when a new one would be introduced, and the thought that that might be one in The Penguin’s arsenal had not occurred to him before that night. Knowing now that it was a possibility, however, in no way prepared him for the instances that occurred after that.
Oswald’s perversions were perplexing to Dick at times. Loathed as he was to ever wonder about such things pertaining to the villain, sometimes it was his only distraction in the midst of the depraved acts he was forced to participate in. Oswald didn’t seem to find the violations of him personally arousing, barely paying attention whenever it would take place. Yet he would order it done. Occasionally he would toss in an odd instruction in the midst, but for no apparent reason.
Other times it was fairly clear what the man’s motivation was, the humiliation he was seeking. Those were the times he would have Dick violated by some of his men, only to then bring in some other grandstanding villain from Dick’s past to conduct business with. It was a sick display, like a peacock flaring it’s tail- look at me, look at my power, look who I can make suffer so casually.
But then there were others with bigger names than “The Penguin”, people that he needed to make alliances and deals with because they could reach places he couldn’t- not just a crack at his height. For those people it was an offering- look at my shiny little toy, I’ll share it if you agree to play with me.
Sometimes they were past enemies of Nightwing, and they were all too keen to add into the mockery of Dick’s suffering between business talks.
One of the worst offenders was Two Face, who on the flip of a coin added his two cents that Dick should be made to choke down the barrel end of Penguin’s umbrella gun. It was only the second flip that kept him from demanding the trigger be pulled.
Dick still had nightmares about that occasionally.
That was how tonight was going to be, it seemed, because the second that Oswald turned on the lights and came waddling into his office he motioned towards Dick’s direction for his lackies. “Get my little birdie high up on his perch, boys. I want him sitting pretty for my guest tonight. I’m sure he’d just love to see this particular birdie stuffed.”
That was not good.
Dick gave a final, hard yank of his chain, no more apt to break than it was the last thousand times he had tied. The door to his cage opened, and he leaned back when two burly men advanced. One of them knew better, falling back, not new to Dick’s tricks. The other was new. The other closed in on him, and got a face-full of Dick’s heels, the kick breaking his nose. Dick used the recoil, letting it ride back down his legs as he tucked them in close to his chest and let it roll back through him as he summersaulted backward from the second guy.
The second he was on his hands and knees he launched himself at that one’s stomach like a missile, but was brought up short when the chain at his ankle suddenly snagged and nearly popped his leg out of place.
Dick looked back as he hit the floor of the cage. A third man was there, one of his usual violators, just outside of the cage, and he had a hold on the chain’s slack, pulling back on it until Dick’s foot was sticking out between the bars, pinning him against them. He was much wiser to Dick’s tricks.
Dick growled at him like an animal, but the second guy was grabbing him, pinning down his shoulders and back, and Dick flailed and struggled while the guy outside of the cage touched his foot in a way that was horribly intimate and unwanted. A soft caress, and then a hard grip that forced Dick to cry out for fear the man would break his toes.
“There’s my birdy’s sweet singing voice,” Oswald commented, although a glance over told Dick that his back was to them, digging around in his hidden wall safe for something inside. “But louder fellas. And again: I want him perched. Where he can be seen clearly.”
Dick continued his struggle, knowing well what that meant, a cold sweat breaking out on him. It did nothing, the first guy was starting to collect himself off the floor, blood smeared all across his face where his nose was running. There was a fair puddle of it on the floor because a broken nose bled like crazy, and Dick wrinkled his own for a moment as a stray thought pointed out to him that he would be trying to sleep around that after all this.
It was far from his biggest concern at the moment though, the second guy trying to haul him up, the third not exactly helping him yet as he tried to run his fingers between Dick’s toes. Dick tried to kick at the pervert, but that only took his attention from the guys in the cage with him. Bad call.
The second guy was too busy moving him to notice as the first one got himself up. His face was as red with anger as it was with his own blood, and he let out a hard growl that gained their combined attention right before he kicked Dick in the face.
Dick saw stars and felt the kiss of tingling numbness spread across his whole face as the nerves there were shocked from the blow. He tried to hold onto it, because he knew well what came right after.
Sure enough, the next moment was fire, starting all around his lips and spreading to the rest of him, blood trickling into his mouth. His teeth were stabbing at him with pain. Had he lost any? His arms were still held by Asshole #2 so he couldn’t check.
“Damnit, Paul! He won't sing for the boss if you knock him out!” the man outside the cage berated him.
“He can do other things for the boss if I knock out all his teeth,” Paul growled back, eyes still alight with violence.
Penguin let out a squawk from behind his desk. “You birdbrain! No- that would compliment the likes of you. You’re in there to ruffle up his feathers. Not snap his neck. You think my guests want to try to guess who he is like a child’s party game just because you swelled up his face past recognition? Take Max’s spot. And then once he’s strung up you can get yourself cleaned up so you’re not further embarrassing me when my guest arrives.”
The man holding Dick’s chain, Max, snickered at Paul as he came grumbling out of the cage. As he handed over his chain, Dick’s stomach twisted with the knowledge that he would be coming in to take his place. He was one of the most depraved henchmen Oswald kept, proved further in his departing comment to Paul that he looked like a boy that just got his red wings.
Paul kept hold of the chain until Max could get in the cage, closing the door behind him, and then let the two of them haul Dick up from the floor before he let go to go wash his face off as instructed.
Dick spit out some of his own blood, tongue telling him his teeth were all still there as he groaned through another spin of his head. His lip was very split, that much was certain, but he thought there might be another cut along his cheek. Somehow his nose had survived intact.
With his vision still spotty, kicking at his attackers was more or less muscle memory as they hauled him up and wrestled him over to the bar swing. Dick was forced to bend over it, the hard metal bar cutting into his stomach, and then biting cruelly into his hips as he was forced to double over it, putting his ass up in the air, feet losing purchase on the ground.
It was asshole #2 that pinned him against it, crowding him from behind and giving Dick his only balance as his legs parted and kicked uselessly in the air, every shift digging the bar harder into his hip bones. They would be bruised for weeks after. They always were when the bar was involved. Dick gripped desperately at the bar, feeling nauseous as his top half hung upside down. It didn’t last long, the sound of Asshole’s zipper dropping caught his attention, and then it was harshly reclaimed when Max gripped his hair in his meaty fist, pulling Dick up to about waste-level with him, and then moving that hand to the underside of Dick’s neck.
It was a balance, literally, the hand both bracing Dick’s body up, but then also strangling him softly with his own weight whenever he would tilt forward away from Asshole. He coughed a little, the air already thinner as Asshole moved up against his ass. Max leaned over Dick to get a better view.
“Spread his cheeks, Greg. Let me see his little rosebud before you make it bloom.”
Jesus, Dick caught a lot of flack for the way he run his mouth, but he fucking hated Max’s penchant for talking.
Asshole- Greg, spread Dick’s cheeks, and Dick gave another small useless kick of his air-born leg as Max leaned over him even further, hand pressing up against his throat as he moved. Dick started to cough for more air, and Max chuckled above him. “It winks when he does that. Watch.”
The hand tightened around Dick’s neck more, and he tried not to, but the cough was a reflex, and Max didn’t let up until he was gasping, his other hand petting softly against one of Dick’s ass cheeks tenderly as if he hadn’t just been choking him out.
Dick could admit, he had a few fantasies of his own about Max. Namely, shoving escrima sticks into places they should never go and turning the power up all the way.
No, Max would probably like it. He’d save it for Paul and Greg. He had two sticks for a reason. He’d just leave Max to rot in some horrid little cage for the rest of his days. Prison had a well-earned reputation of not being kind to rapists.
Max backed off a step, giving Dick a chance at oxygen again, but it left him quickly as Greg started poking at his ass with a slicked-up finger. Dick tossed his head, trying to scramble the thoughts and sensations from reaching his mind. He wanted to take nothing away from this. The less he could recall clearly, the less to haunt him later. And a lot already haunted him.
Max still held his neck though, and he pulled up on it, bringing Dick’s head higher, making him choke once more in little coughs that eased the way for Greg’s probing. Nothing for bodily functions, but it still filled Dick with shame that he couldn’t make his body fight against it as he coughed.
“See, slips in real easy this way,” Max grinned. Dick couldn’t see it, but he could hear the sick glee in the man’s voice.
“Hush all that coughing,” Oswald complained from back at his desk. “He’s going to make me sympathy gag if he keeps it up. Coughing isn’t singing, boys.”
“Greg will have him singing real fast for ya, Boss,” Max assured him, but in the meantime sought to muffle Dick’s coughs. He did it in the most offensive way possible, of course, pushing the crotch of his cheap suit pants up against Dick’s face to muffle him, leaving him puffing out his bids for air against the tent forming there.
Greg’s finger sank in knuckle-deep, and Dick cried and choked as he started moving it about, teetering precariously on his perch between the two men. “Open up little pig, let us in,” Max taunted.
Greg started forcing in a second finger, and Dick cried out at the stretch, cold sweat spreading over his back to leave him shivering. Max moved back to let the noise carry. “There’s a sweet little tune for Boss Man. Let’s hear another.
Another cruel jab and twist from Greg, and Dick did cry out again, eyes closed tight in shame.
So he didn’t see anyone else come into the room. Didn’t hear the sound of the door opening over his own cry. Not until Oswald spoke up. “Ah, here right on time. Welcome, Mr. Deathstroke. Or can it just be Mr. Wilson between old colleagues? I didn’t realize you wouldn’t be alone. Got yourself a partner now? Isn’t going to cost extra is it?”
Dick wished for his own death.
Maybe this was it. Maybe the mercenary was here to give him such a gift. If not- he prayed to whoever would listen that Slade wasn’t here at all if not. Let him be hallucinating. He cracked an eye open, daring to look, despite not being a masochist.
Slade Wilson was indeed there, standing right next to the cage, towering high over him where he was pinned on the bar. His helmet was off, resting between his hip and his arm, the white lenses level with Dick’s own stare. They were easier to meet than Slade’s remaining eye, cold grey steel in color, and just as sharp as it pierced through Dick where he curled in shame over his bar, the henchmen pulling him out of his own huddle once more as they continued with his violation uninterrupted.
Slade had never been an easy man to read, and that was still the case now, Dick unsure if he would gloat, or be disgusted by what was taking place. Dick would almost prefer gloating, already feeling like something truly grotesque being put on display like this.
But indeed, Slade wasn’t alone, and as the other man stepped up from his side to see what had his attention, Dick’s whole world came crashing down around him. Not since before the last stand had he seen Jason, had no clue if he had been left alive or dead when the fighting was done. Jason had been fearsome in leading his Outlaws, a blaze of red helmet in the light of the explosions all around them. There was no red now, but instead the black and grey colors of Ravager adorned him, a grey helmet with red lenses tucked likewise under his own arm, and he looked at least a decade older now, worn from training, and body and face cut sharper than glass for it.
Those teal eyes fell upon him, turning hard, turning angry, and then they fell upon his face, and the recognition of who he was even looking at caused Dick’s breath to catch in a way that Max’s meaty hand had yet to achieve.
He didn’t know what sort of face he was making, what he was giving away in his eyes. Jason’s own face was clear to read, however, twisting with that disgust that Dick feared, and a rage so deep that it made him shiver. Jason’s green eyes were gleaming as they took him in, practically flashing from so much anger. Where Slade had absolute control, Jason had none.
“Ah,” Oswald broke into the moment, rising up from behind his desk. “I see you’re admiring my little-
There was an explosion.
Dick thought there was at first, anyway. The bang had been loud enough. It had filled the room, caused his head to ring, and his heart to stop. Caused everything to stop.
He saw Slade close his eye in a grimace before he even saw that Jason had drawn his gun and turned it on Oswald. “Damn it, Kid,” the old mercenary bit out under his breath, and then a loud squawk rose up to fill the room, Oswald crying out in intense pain from his injury.
Dick was released by Max, causing him to drop back down, giving him an upside-down view of Oswald’s desk behind him, the man gripping his shattered and heavily bleeding shoulder as he let out another squawk and fell back into his chair. Jason advanced on him, gun still up, aim true as he shot into the other shoulder at close range.
Somehow, loud as Oswald’s cry was, it was drowned out by the blast of Slade’s own gun, drawn and fired before Max was done reaching for his. Dick grunted as Greg’s fingers jerked out of him, trying to raise in the air in surrender. Too late. Slade had him marked from the moment this started, second shot sending a ringing through Dick’s ears that split his skull.
Turned down like he was, he noted that both men managed to hit the ground at the same time despite the moment between their deaths. With his leg chained, Dick couldn’t afford to tumble forward off the bar, but his balance was precarious and his head was still spinning, hip bones screaming in pain as he tried to carefully scoot himself back on it, reaching up for one of the chains holding the swing to better pull himself up.
He hadn’t noticed Slade come into the cage, not until his shoulder was grabbed and he was suddenly being tilted right-way up. Too much, too fast, Dick fell back onto the floor, only half cushioned by Greg’s body. The impact jolting the rest of his body as his chain clanked against the floor. Slade was kneeling next to him in the next moment, but Dick turned away, just trying to roll off Greg’s body quick enough…
He heaved on the floor of the cage, little though he had been getting fed, it all came up. Some of it hit Greg’s ankle, which was nice. Some of it also hit Dick’s own wrist, which was not. And Slade was privy to all of it, which only made his stomach twist again in self-reproach as he wiped his wrist off on Greg’s pant-leg. Not just Slade had seen him like this, Dick lifting his head again to find Jason, who stood murderous over Oswald as the man writhed and screamed in pain.
The door to Oswald’s office bathroom suddenly opened up, and Paul came out, face freshly cleaned of blood and nose stuffed up with TP, eyes wide in shock and curiosity to find what all the noise was about.
Jason turned his gun and put a bullet right in the man’s forehead, blood running down from the hole it left, making him a mess once more. He went down slow, body sluggish to realize it was dead.
Oswald was squawking up a storm, angry and pained, nasty little eyes turned up toward Jason as he brought his gun back around. “W-wait, wait… I know you,” he managed to gasp and hiss out through his pain, eyes narrowing further in recognition. “You were one of those bat droppings, weren’t you? I thought… I thought you bats don’t kill.”
Jason said nothing back, beyond words in his righteous fury. He pressed the muzzle of his gun point-blank against Oswald’s forehead.
Oswald’s eyes saw something there in Jason’s because Dick could read them when they widened a little in surprise at what he saw. Death.
Dick almost said something. Almost called for Jason. Almost tried to get up, to say something. To stop that death from occurring. Slade was making no move to grab him now, sitting back.
Ultimately… Dick stayed silent.
“Well… good on you kid,” Penguin quipped.
Jason pulled the trigger.
X
They moved quickly after that. With nothing better for cover, Dick had had to run under the cover of Slade and Jason’s rampage out of Oswald’s club in nothing but a towel that Jason had gotten from the private bathroom for him. It was clear that Slade was far from happy, but none of them were. Except, maybe Dick, maybe just a little, just knowing that Jason was alive after all this time, despite who he was with. Who, for all intents and purposes, he was working with. Jason went shot for shot with the older man, covering blind-spots, Slade watching Jason’s in return. They moved swiftly, even without words, the kind of natural fluidity that Dick and Bruce used to have when fighting side by side.
“Damn it, Kid, we were here on a job. If you think that stunt won’t cost you-
“Fucking bill me!” Jason snapped, taking a couple blind shots around a corner to clear their way through the lobby and into the private parking area.
They made it out, the whole club a swarming nest of henchmen and sycophants alike that were now scattered and trying to make sense of what had happened. The smarter ones were just desperately seeking exits, just like them.
Dick followed Jason’s back on blind faith up into a van, vaguely aware of Slade getting behind the wheel and getting them moving, engine roaring and concrete zooming by on all sides of them through the windows before there was suddenly a night sky, partially smogged over like good old Gotham was known for. Dick stayed curled up on the van floor next to Jason, not realizing Jason had been doing anything else until an emergency blanket was being draped across his shoulders. “Here Dickie.”
Shit, when had he lost his towel? He hadn’t even noticed in that last mad dash. Dick pulled the blanket tighter around himself, wanting to hide everything, mind still reeling, Jason and Slade starting to talk above him, though he no longer understood their words, despite knowing the language perfectly well, focus zoning down to just the blanket, and holding it close.
But then… Jason. Jason his brother, whom he had thought might be dead. Jason who had been fighting alongside of him back then, but now fought beside Deathstroke. Dick turned to look at him, once again taking in his sharpened features. He looked Dick’s age. He shouldn’t though. He had been so young once.
Dick and Jason both jumped in surprise at the same time, both equally caught off guard when Dick’s hand reached out to run across his squarer jaw. Something Slade said finally made it through, “He’s clearly in shock. We’ll get him to a nearby safehouse. Patch up his face and see about other injuries before we regroup with the rest of Defiance.”
“I want to get him the fuck out of Gotham, Slade! Now. If I ever find out that you knew The Penguin had him this whole time and didn’t bother to-
“Kid,” Slade bit back, tone full of warning. It dropped a bit when he went on, but Dick still managed to catch it. “I wish I had known.”
Dick was clinging to Jason. He didn’t mean to, but he wasn’t letting go either. Jason didn’t seem to mind it, wrapping an arm protectively across his back. Dick didn’t know if he ever wanted anyone to ever touch him again, but Jason… Jason was okay. “You’re alive,” Dick gasped. “I thought-
“Yeah, Dickie, not the first time,” Jason sighed, fussing a bit with his blanket to make sure he was covered. “And… same, I thought the same about you.”
“Then, are the others also…” Dick didn’t finish the thought, afraid of his own hope for the rest of his family.
“We got Stephanie, and Damian. We’re working on the rest,” Jason informed him, “We can get into it all later, Dick. We gotta worry about you right now. But we do have confirmation that Tim and Cass are still alive too.”
Dick’s heart soar. “Where?”
Jason’s face twisted a little.
Slade answered though, speaking over his shoulder. “They’re being held by Ra’s al Ghul, The Demon’s Head. Penguin was supposed to have some papers giving the location of the league’s base, which was supposed to be our payment for the job he wanted us to do for him. Not exactly the kind of loss we can make up for.”
Just as it had risen, Dick’s heart sank again.
That aggravation was back in Slade’s voice, thick now, and he turned his eye to Jason in the rearview mirror. “Kind of needed that information for our big resistance plan, Kid. Could maybe still pull it off without your nearest and dearest, but bringing down the league under the nose of al Ghul is going to be damn near-
“That sort of thing… Oswald would keep it in his hidden safe, wouldn’t he?” Dick interrupted, mouth faster than his mind.
Slade’s eye narrowed. “You know if he keeps a hidden safe?”
Dick nodded. “In the wall of his office, right behind his desk, just under the fish tank. He was messing in it just before you guys showed up.”
“So where we just were,” Slade grumbled.
“But I know the code,” Dick continued, filter gone. “I watched him working, every day. If it’s to save Tim and Cass...”
“Dick, you fool, you don’t even know what you’re signing up for,” Jason sighed, holding him closer, running a soft hand through his hair. It was nice. Dick could scarcely recall Jason ever being so nice towards him. “We gotta take a moment, the safe will keep until we can regroup and go back. I can’t imagine Oswald shared his code with his Twitch following. Slade’s right, we need to take care of you first.”
Dick felt along the split in his lip, wincing, but it was the only pain he was willing to acknowledge for the moment. The rest… he couldn’t do that right now. Maybe ever. It would come for him anyway, at least in his dreams. He already knew that. His mind was racing though, and that was fine, so long as it stayed clear of what was behind him. Whatever was going on around him now, it could have his focus, he would gladly give it, just to keep from looking back. Slowing down, putting the focus and care on himself… it was the last thing he needed.
So of course that was when Slade pulled the van over on the side of the road.
“What are you doing?” Jason demanded, ready to accuse.
Slade couldn’t have been less bothered by the younger man’s demand of him. “You both could stand to take a moment, process a little. Wintergreen assures me it’s good for people some times. I’m gonna wiz.”
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving them stuck. Dick thought about lifting his head to see where they were through the windows, but that felt like too much. Right now, the world outside would be just too much. Maybe Slade was right about that shock. He knew his thoughts weren’t right at the moment- too fast and too shallow. But in here, with Jason, who was alive, who had him, who had picked his lock and taken him out of that cage… that was enough for right now.
That cage…
Dick whimpered softly against Jason’s shoulder, and Jason relaxed his hold just a little around him.
He had been holding him a little too tightly. Dick hadn’t even noticed. Now that he had, he felt cheated that Jason had stopped. Even if it sort of hurt, he just wanted it back.
He whimpered again, and then a sob slipped out without his permission, and then Jason held him tighter.
And then a sob escaped Jason too.
And it was all over for them both, clinging tighter together with each tear that fell, crying for each loss, and each pain, and each injustice. Dick cried for Bruce, and the other heros and friends he had lost. He cried for himself, and the torture he went through before Oswald. He cried for the torture he went through after. Not all of it, but it was a solid start. Eventually, he cried for a newfound hope.
It felt like a long time, but it had been even longer for Dick since he had dared to hope this strongly.
Somehow Slade managed to finish his pit-stop and climb back into the van with them only after they had found some measure of peace once more with each other. He refused to say a word about it to either of them. They didn’t try to engage him though, and Slade started the van back down the road.
“So,” Dick croaked, voice horse from sobbing, still tucked tight against his brother and taking in the state of Jason’s new uniform. “Tell me about this ‘Defiance’.”