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It all had started normally enough. Jason Todd was still on the fringes of the Bat family. He hadn’t tried to kill any of them in almost a year, and while Tim still flinched subconsciously if he moved too quick near him, life was improving.
The case he was working on was pretty simple in theory. Scarecrow had broken out of Arkham again, but wasn’t causing any trouble yet, so it really wasn’t important enough to dedicate more than one or two bats to it at the moment. So far, the leads had been few and far between, and Jason was getting frustrated. Most clues were snapped away before the Red Hood could investigate, and the ones that weren’t had dead-ended, but not without significant hardship on Jason’s part. He was tired, his ribs hurt from a healing fracture, and the incessant bickering of the bat family, were stacking on top of each other, making Jason into a live wire, touchy and willing to snap at any provocation.
The tension was spent equally snapping at his family and being harsher than usual in crime alley. Criminals were starting to sense that the Red Hood was having a hard week.
Dick did too.
The evening was chilly, but somehow altogether too warm at the same time. Jason’s suit was sticking to his body with sweat, and the buzzing of the street lights frayed at his last nerve. Jason was returning to the cave after a mission gone wrong. He had been shot in the shoulder, right below his collarbone. All things considered, it could have been worse. He’s had worse; it nevertheless hurt like all hell. He deeply hoped that he could get to the medbay before anyone noticed, especially Bruce. Jason did not want to be benched. Maybe Alfred could help him? Jason and Alfred got along well during his Robin days, and even now, they understood each other in a way neither did with the others.
Dick was waiting for him in the medbay, not as bad as Bruce, but still, Jason would have preferred his brother not to interfere. Jason felt a stab of annoyance when his older brother worried about him. He was a crime lord, for god’s sake! He could handle a little bullet.
“Little wing-” Dick started, concerned.
“Can it, Dick.”
Dick narrowed his eyes, apparently sensing something was up. God, he was like their mother. Jason readjusted his posture to hide the wound; he did not want to be babied right now. The pain made him wince slightly, just enough for Dick to notice. He stood cautiously from the bed he had been sitting on and stepped forward, raising his hands in a placating gesture, like Jason were a wild animal. Jason hated how justified it was; he was known to lash out verbally and physically when he was hurt, or, less commonly, scared. It only made him madder.
“You’re hurt,” Dick tried again.
“I said buzz off!” Jason was shouting now. He hated how dramatic he was being; logically, he knew how little he was helping his case, but right now, he was seeing green. Jason stormed out toward the stairs of the Batcave to the manor, shoulder forgotten, even if he technically wasn’t allowed to with his suit still on. He needed someone to beat up.
*
He was almost with his second patrol of the night an hour and a half later, when he saw the flash of movement through the shadows of an alley. Honestly, the only reason Jason decided to check it out was just to avoid Wayne Manor for as long as possible. Jason crouched on top of a roof overlooking the alleyway. From what he could see, it was just a drug deal, a large duffel bag exchanging hands, for what seemed to be a lot of money.
He should leave it alone.
But he was Red Hood; he needed to ensure new dealers knew the rules.
Also, it was this or deal with Dick again.
In one swift movement, Red Hood swooped down silently onto the street. His guns were up as he moved toward the goons. They jumped and scurried to cover the evidence. This was going to be fun.
The first thug charged, and it was like a spell was broken; they all followed, running at Jason. Oh well, he liked a challenge.
It turned out to be as far from a challenge as possible; goons going down and staying that way seemed all too easy, and it was almost over when Jason began to get cocky. His ego made the shots, swung the punches, and he wasn’t quite paying as close attention as he ought to have been. Apparently, one of the guys had circled behind him, hands grabbing the side of his face surprised Jason. Before he could do anything, still occupied with the dozen still in front of him, he felt his helmet retracting, his domino mask still covering his eyes; apparently, the hands had found what they had been looking for, because they pressed a heavy cloth over Jason’s nose and mouth.
Crap
Jason tried. He really did, kicking and yowling at the man on his back until his movements became slow, until he felt like his head was underwater, his consciousness slipping through his fingertips.
*
Jason came to tied to a chair, but seemingly no worse for wear, his mask and suit were still on, and his jacket was hanging over the back of it. His captor took his weapons, or at least the ones they could find. Jason could feel at least three still on his person from where he sat. He was in a dark structure, probably brick or concrete, from the way his breathing echoed back at him. Vents along the floor made Jason wary. His wrists and ankles were double zip-tied to the chair, while his arms and legs were bound with rope, making it harder for him to do much to escape. Clearly, whoever did this knew what they were doing.
Jason was caught halfway through the squirm he was attempting when the intercom above him crackled to life.
“Well, well, well, the birdie is awake,”
This was bad. Like, really bad. Jason was at least aware enough to know that. The voice sounded like Jonathan Crane. Scarecrow.
The door behind him swung open, admitting three guards with heavily duty gas masks carrying a video camera. Jason’s foggy mind knew he should make a joke, something to hide how anxious he was, but he honestly couldn’t think of one at the moment. It took two of them to set up the camera, which was facing the chair.
“I hope you can learn to keep your nose out of other people’s business. Maybe this will teach you,” The intercom buzzed. “I’d like to perform a little experiment. How much can one bird take until its mind snaps? What about its body?”
Hmm, that’s not great.
“I have left your mouth free against my better judgment because I expect you to be an informant. I want to hear from you, on a scale of one to ten, how is your pain? Go ahead, birdie, we need a baseline.”
“Eat rocks, idiot!”
“That’s not very friendly. Maybe we can knock some politeness into you,”
White hot pain surged through Jason; his body writhed in agony, and he couldn’t think, his whole world was contracted into him and the pain. After what felt like hours, the electricity suddenly retracted through the chair, and Jason could breathe again. His head flopped forward onto his chest as he panted. The relief didn’t last long, however. Much too soon, in Jason’s opinion, the shocks started again.
Jason didn’t want to die, he realized.
He didn’t want to be alone.
*
It had been two days since Jason stormed out of the batcave without a word; it wasn’t technically unusual, but Dick still worried about his absence. He had set an obviously hurt Jaon off and had to deal with the consequences. Their relationship was still rocky most of the time, but Dick cared so deeply for his brother and tried to make that clear whenever possible. Sometimes, though, he feared it wasn’t enough.
Currently, Dick had thrown himself lethargically over a chair in the Batcave, his torso contorted in a way unthinkable to anyone with bones. A notification from the batcomputer had him perking up. It seemed to be a link to a video. Curious, Dick opened it and froze, his heart felt like it stopped as he registered the scene in front of him.
It was Jason, his shell apparently shattered, he was suspended by a meat hook impaled just under his collarbone, swinging subtly. He seemed to be breathing, but not particularly strongly. Jason’s eyes were unmasked and half-lidded, barely visible to the horrified observer. Blood dripped in a steady drip, drip, drip, collecting into a puddle underneath Dick’s baby brother.
As he watched, Jason groaned aloud.
Dick felt like he was going to be sick, frozen in place for what seemed to be hours, each shuddering breath breaking his heart a little bit more when Bruce came down to tell him about dinner upstairs, and went rigid as well. He ran to his first son and the screen, food forgotten.
*
Jason was having a bad time. Everywhere hurt. His throat was raw from screaming, and he lost track of time a while ago. Jason honestly didn’t expect to be saved at this point. Scarecrow had told him that this was being recorded for his family, they were watching his humiliation. Bruce was probably disappointed in him, Jason couldn’t blame him, though; it was his fault, he was better than this, he should have done better. But he knew Dick would worry. He always did. Jason hated making his brother worry. He knew Dick deserved better than him.
Tears started to fall again, Jason’s face burned with humiliation, which only made the tears come harder. No one was coming. He would die alone again, this time, though it was his fault and he knew it. Every small twitch tore more at his skin and the dozens of other wounds.
They had stabbed him, burned him, and beaten him until he could barely move. He currently had a metal pole sticking out of his leg, pinning him to the chair.
But the worst part? The worst part was the screaming.
Whenever Scarecrow thought that Jason wasn’t reacting enough to whatever physical torture was inflicted, the screams started over the loudspeaker. Dick’s throaty cries spun together with Tim’s quiet sobs, creating a horrific melody. Jason would thrash, inevitably making his wounds worse, but the only thing on his mind was his family; they were, however annoying, worth more than whatever pain Jason felt.
*
Dick and Bruce were making some progress, but it wasn’t enough. Dick had been awake for upwards of 72 hours. Whenever he felt drowsy, he had Alfred make him a cup of coffee and rewatched the video they had been sent. It was four minutes of Jason hanging, making small sounds of pain, and dripping blood. They had tried to trace the video with no luck, so they had to split up, searching every warehouse, butchery, or general spooky building that might fit the backdrop of the video while still trying to maintain a normal patrol schedule.
After another exhausting search, Dick entered the Batcave, nearly falling off his bike and earning concerned looks from Bruce and Tim.
“Any updates?”
They all shook their heads
“I’ll go out again, I just need a moment,” Dick knew he was failing at being a good brother to Tim. He needed a pillar, someone to rely on. Usually, Dick would be in that position, upholding everyone else, but at the moment, he had other things to worry about.
He began to climb the stairs to the manor, planning to allow himself exactly one energy bar and maybe a coffee to perk him up a bit.
*
Tim was concerned. Dick’s tendency to run himself into the ground on any normal day was eyebrow-raising enough; but the past week, he seemed to be running on caffeine and spite. Tim was being hypocritical, he knew, but this was different. From the years of observation Tim had from watching both Dick and Jason as Robin, he had learned their tells, their body language.
He followed Dick upstairs and caught him halfway through a granola bar probably stolen from Batman’s utility belt, the ones that the boys weren’t allowed to touch, but Bruce carried extras anyway.
“Hey Dick-”
Dick whipped around from where he had hunched with a shrimplike posture in front of a bat-table. The tension drained out of him, and he turned back with a grunt of greeting. The fact Tim was able to sneak up on him was a testament to his exhaustion. Tim moved to sit in front of him.
“I already know what you’re going to say. I’m not giving up,” Dick stated simply
“I’m not telling you to give up, you just need a break, just a good night’s rest– no, don’t interrupt me– and time to reset,”
Dick rolled his eyes, “I’m not a child you need to babysit, Tim.” He flashed his trademark grin, the joy just missing his eyes. Tim tried something Cass did often; he said nothing. Dick’s grin began to waver.
“Seems rich coming from you, eh? All I’m saying is that you're not particularly the epitome of self-care, y’know?”
Remaining quiet, he raised an eyebrow. Dick notoriously hated silence, which Tim could probably work to his advantage.
“Not that I’m saying I don't enjoy the company, Timbo,”
Silence
“I just feel bad, okay? I wasn’t there the first time, now he might be bleeding out in some random warehouse!” Dick’s voice cracked as he spoke, his eyes getting glassy. “I know I couldn’t have done anything…probably, but I feel like it was my fault, I had a job to do-” His ramble was caught off guard by Tim’s hand on his shoulder.
“Dick, breathe. You’re right, you couldn’t have done anything, it’s not your job to keep all of us safe- we knew what we were signing up for and we begged Bruce for the mantle, remember?” This earned a wet chuckle. “Also, Bruce said if you don’t get some rest now, you’ll not be able to help search until you do, so-” He shrugged as Dick rolled his eyes. Tim decided to take the intervention in another direction, “You aren’t worth any less if you fail at keeping us safe, or anything else, not to Bruce, or to us.” Tim watched as his brother sighed and made his way up the stairs, presumably to rest.
“I wish I believed you.”
*
Jason was feeling untethered, as Tim liked to call it; he felt disconnected from his body, apathetic to his surroundings. The pain was so bad, but it barely registered to him now. Maybe he had already died, he wondered distantly. Wouldn’t be the first time. What would everyone think? Probably a mix of annoyance and relief. He knew he was a burden and a liability to everyone.
The chains felt heavy and cold on Jason’s wrists and ankles. He had been thrown into a cell when Scarecrow had grown bored with Jason’s empty despondency. He was curled in the fetal position staring at a wall, tucked into himself in an attempt to stay warm on the cold stone floor. His suit was shredded; it was a miracle it hadn’t literally disintegrated and fallen off completely yet.
Jason closed his eyes. He was probably already dead. Maybe he’d wait for Dick or Tim (Or Bruce, but he didn’t admit that to himself, even now) in the afterlife, the thought made him smile weakly.
He closed his eyes.
*
Jason wasn’t dead. At least, he didn’t think so. He’d been dead before and considered himself a bit of an expert on what it felt like at this point. Jason’s reasoning for not thinking he was dead was rooted in the bangs, shouting, and general ruckus. It seemed to be coming from everywhere, screwing its way into the middle of Jason’s likely concussion, making him screw his eyes shut and curl himself tighter, wishing he could hurry up and die
*
The next time Jason woke, he was comfortable, a welcome change. His eyes remained closed as his other senses returned. As Jason’s world expanded to his surroundings, he sensed the cold, dry air of the batcave. Next, he felt a weight, heavy and grounding, draped over his legs. He cracked his eyes open just enough to make out the figure; it was Dick, his black hair mussed and greasy. He seemed to be asleep, eyes red and puffy from crying. His hand was resting on Jason’s, and he closed his eyes, gravitating into the touch. Jason was only human after all.