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The mirror maze. Of course it was the damn mirror maze.
Jason wouldn’t even have set foot anywhere near Amusement Mile if it hadn’t been for Dick’s endless fretting over his missing Robin. The kid had probably just gone out to play with his knives, or to rescue abandoned kittens, or whatever it was partially-reformed child assassins did in their free time.
And now here Jason was, following Dick into the depths of one of the worst carnival attractions ever for no reason at all.
“He’s here,” Dick said impatiently over Jason’s complaints. “Look, the lights are all lit.”
Jason glanced around distrustfully at the multitude of reflections around him, his right hand set firmly on one of his holsters. “You cannot be serious,” he muttered furiously under his breath as he followed closely in Dick’s footsteps. “Kid has a serious problem if he’s hanging around places like this.”
The narrow passageway widened abruptly into a vast room of mirrors, stretching upwards and outwards further than Jason would have thought possible. He inclined his head, looking around as the prickling of unease at the base of his spine heightened.
“What the fuck kinda maze is this?” he wondered out loud.
“Thanks for cooperating, Dick.” The voice, so thoroughly automated as to be unidentifiable, boomed out from a speaker set somewhere high up. Jason jumped, instinctively whipping his pistol out and taking aim.
“What are they talking about?” he demanded, his gaze flicking briefly sideways towards Dick, who looked ghost-pale beneath his mask. “And why the fuck are they calling you Dick?”
Dick turned slowly to look at Jason, his expression distinctly ill. “They have Robin,” he said, his voice low and wretched. “They sent a flap of skin to my apartment, and they told me to bring you here. They wanted Hood, but no Batman or they’d send a finger next.”
Jason spared an additional second to glare at Dick before brushing the betrayal aside. As snotty as Damian was, he was still a kid, and he couldn’t exactly blame Dick for prioritising the twelve-year-old. What was more concerning was how exactly this mystery kidnapper knew Nightwing’s identity, and what he wanted with Red Hood.
“Heard you were looking for me,” he called loudly, tilting his head to scrutinise the panels above them, but the endless reflections made it difficult to tell where one mirror ended and another began, and there was no sign of a camera or speakers. Whatever was going on here had been some time in the planning.
“Yep.” The voice buzzed as it lilted upwards in a demented imitation of cheeriness, and it popped the ‘p’ obnoxiously. “See, I have precious little Damian with me here, gagged because he was being a little mouthy but otherwise in perfect health. If the two of you pass my test, I’ll release him. That’s it. No tricks.”
Jason glanced at Dick, who was starting to look angry. It was a good sign – Jason wouldn’t want to stand between an angry Dick and whatever was being kept from him.
“We need proof of life,” Dick snapped, his fists clenching and unclenching compulsively at his sides.
There was an extended pause, and then a burst of static before Damian’s voice, high-pitched and more panicked than Jason had ever heard him, bounced around the room. “Nightwing, it is Timothy –” Something that sounded like a slap cut him off, and then a grunt of pain before silence fell.
Jason blinked, his thoughts racing. Timothy, as in Tim Drake? He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen the guy.
“Oops, guess I should’ve expected that,” Tim said with vast insincerity, and it was jarring to hear such a familiar voice sound so cold. “Anyway, I guess this makes things easier. You know I wouldn’t lie about this, Dick. I have Damian, and you can have him back if you both do something for me.”
“Tim?” Dick’s face was blank with horror, and he looked a little like he was the one who had just been slapped in the face. “Tim, what are you – what’s going on?”
Tim laughed, and the unstable pitch of it almost made Jason wish that he would switch the voice modifier back on.
“What’s wrong, Dick? Are you seriously asking me what’s wrong?” he asked mockingly. “How about you letting the brat take my suit without asking before tossing me out like a bag of rubbish? I don’t blame him, you know. I hate him, but he can’t help how he was raised. You, though – you could’ve said something. You didn’t even try. And Jason – because I know you’re gonna ask – you stabbed me with a Batarang and left me for dead. I think that’s enough reason to hold a grudge.”
Jason’s mouth opened in a soundless snarl of fury. “You fucking hit me with a crowbar, you deranged freak!” he shouted back, leaning up onto his tiptoes as if he could get closer to Tim that way.
“Ever heard of turn the other cheek?” Tim shouted back, his voice crackling over the speakers from sheer volume. “What did I ever do to you, you petty bastard?”
“What do you want, Tim?” Dick asked quietly, as if Jason hadn’t just been shouting at thin air right beside him. “Tell me what you want from us so you won’t hurt Damian.”
Tim laughed again, low and bitter. “You know, I thought about this a lot. I thought about how you hurt me and how I wanted to make you hurt, and I thought – is that bad? Is that low of me? An eye for an eye makes the world go blind, right?” Another chuckle, empty and humourless. “But guess what I realised? I don’t fucking care. You don’t understand how much it destroyed me when I told you Bruce was alive and you told me to go to fucking therapy. I’m going to ruin you, and you’re going to do it unless you want me to return your Robin to you in pieces.”
Dick was very still, every part of him tense and angled desperately towards the sound of Tim’s voice, but Jason was turning slowly on the spot, scrutinising every questionable corner of the room. The passageway they had entered by was gone, which somehow didn’t surprise him. The only way out prematurely would be to smash through all the glass, but then Damian would be dead. Jason believed Tim whole-heartedly on that.
“Just fucking say it,” he snapped, ripping off his helmet and throwing it hard on the floor in a fit of pique. “You’re a fucking bad guy now, Tim, so just say it.”
There was silence for a long minute. Jason felt like a rat trapped in a cage, imagining Tim watching them through a screen somewhere and enjoying their frustration as the seconds ticked interminably by.
“I want Dick to fuck you,” Tim said flatly. “He’s going to fuck you and you’re both going to come, I don’t care how – if you suck each other off or whatever – but his cock is going in your ass.”
Jason stopped dead. “What the fuck,” he said hoarsely. He didn’t dare to look at Dick.
Language, Jay, B would have said, but B wasn’t here.
“You have fifteen minutes,” Tim added casually. “Maybe ten if I get impatient. Chop chop.”
“What if,” Dick said slowly, and his voice scraped horribly in his throat in a way that Jason had never heard before, “we did it the other way?”
Jason whirled to face Dick, furious for no reason he himself could identify. It was sick. Beyond sick. Dick was as good as his brother, the only one he’d ever had or wanted.
“What the fuck, Dick?” he repeated.
“I don’t think so,” Tim said, clucking his tongue in disapproval. “I thought this through properly, remember? This is what Dick is good at – hurting someone for Damian’s sake. He’s had practice. And Jason – well, I don’t know. I hope you’ve taken cock before. I mean, with your history, living rough on the streets. Maybe you’ve had practice as well.”
Jason couldn’t believe those sickening words were coming from Tim Drake’s mouth. It sounded like Tim, even talked like Tim, but it was as if something had snapped in him – and for what? It had hardly been an uneven fight when Jason had stabbed him, and sure, maybe getting Robin stolen out from beneath him had sucked, but he’d gotten a new identity, hadn’t he? Stolen it off Jason, in fact.
“Is this just because you’re a fucking sore loser?” he sneered. “Can’t take losing a fight? Can’t take losing your favourite toy to a kid? You’re a fucking piece of shit, Drake. Never knew you had this in you.”
“Clock’s ticking,” Tim said simply, and Jason let out another furious round of expletives before focusing on Dick, who was still standing with the eerie silence of someone shocked into mindlessness.
“Dickie,” he said quietly, stepping forward and grabbing Dick by the shoulders, only just resisting the urge to shake him into a response. “We gotta do it, Dick. For Damian, okay? You with me?” The words sounded distant and wavering to his own ears, an ultimatum he surely couldn’t be considering, but he said them anyway.
Because the worst thing was that Tim was right. Not that Jason had ever sold himself – never that – but that he knew what it was like to have to do something just because it was necessary. He had begged and stolen and even mugged an old lady once, just to survive.
Saving a life – that seemed like a pretty noble cause in comparison.
Dick just looked at him, the eyes of his domino a blank, lifeless white, betrayed only by the uncontrollable tremble of his lips.
“No, Jay,” he whispered, shaking his head like a dazed animal. “No, please. I can’t, Jay, I can’t. I can’t do it.” He sounded on the verge of tears, but despite his whimpering protests he didn’t try to pull away.
Deep down, Dick knew just as well as Jason did that there was only one option left to them.
“Let’s get this over with,” Jason said gruffly, averting his eyes from Dick’s trembling mouth, only for them to land on Dick’s shaking hands instead. He looked away again and forced himself to be grateful for the fact that Dick moved easily from the slightest pressure of Jason’s hands, to his knees and then down onto the ground, his legs almost seeming to collapse beneath him.
“And I hope the kid isn’t seeing this shit,” Jason said loudly, putting all of his anger into those words, all of the burning rage that he had to hold back as he watched Dick struggle out of his suit, shoulders hunched and bared muscles stark with tension. He was crying; Jason knew he was even if he couldn’t hear it, just by the hitching shoulders and quiet panting.
“He’s not,” Tim replied calmly. “Like I said, I’m not going to blame some kid for what the adults around him did. He isn’t seeing or hearing any of this, so go right ahead.”
“Pervert,” Jason spat, but he didn’t waste any time. There was no use in drawing this torture out. Best to get it over with. Get Dick and the brat to safety, and then he could think about what to do next, whether it was hunting down Tim Drake or throwing himself off the nearest bridge.
Shucking off his pants and trying his best to ignore how fucking wrong it felt to have his cock dangling around in front of Dick, he dropped to his knees, spat twice in his palm and took Dick’s soft cock in hand without preamble.
It just felt like a penis. Like flesh. Jason had touched worse, had done worse. He’d sawed through gristle and sinew and stabbed through yielding meat without flinching. But he squeezed Dick’s cock, heard Dick’s low moan of horror in between his sobs, and felt bile rise in his throat.
He continued anyway. He swallowed down the sour bile that revolted from his stomach and massaged at the limp cock between Dick’s thighs until it slowly came to life. He stared fixedly down at it the whole time, trying to think of it clinically. It was simply a penis, and it was better than looking around at the dozens of mirrors reflecting him jerking off his brother.
Dick didn’t say anything until Jason was awkwardly attempting to position himself atop Dick’s lap. He didn’t know how the fuck anyone did this, because it wouldn’t go in, and in a way Jason was glad for it. It was a good distraction, this awful puzzle of forcing something into his ass when he hadn’t bothered with stretching or lubing or anything at all, because he figured it should hurt. It shouldn’t feel good, and he might actually throw up all over Dick if any part of Dick’s cock in him felt good.
“Don’t make me do this,” Dick said suddenly, his voice high and thin, although he still made no move to stop Jason. “Please, I didn’t mean to hurt him. I didn’t mean to, Jay, I’m sorry. Don’t make me, please.”
“Dickie,” Jason started, sick to his stomach at Dick’s desperate begging, and then he grunted with both shock and pain when Dick’s cock finally caught. The pressure he had been exerting spread him wide around Dick’s girth easily, but it did nothing for the pain, and he gritted his teeth so hard as he sank down that he felt it as a dull ache behind his eyes.
“No, Jay, don’t,” Dick sobbed, collapsing backwards in an ungainly sprawl on the floor. It actually hurt Jason each time Dick took a breath, his cock twitching and shifting and feeling like it was ripping him up inside with every slight drag against his tender skin.
It fucking hurt, and Jason was feeling every shade of devastated and furious and guilty right at that moment, and Dick just wasn’t fucking cooperating to help either of them. It was the only excuse he had for what he said next.
“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, “and just come if you want to save Robin.”
He attempted to lift himself off Dick’s cock, and he couldn’t help the low groan of pain that forced itself from his throat as he felt every inch of split, bleeding skin rebel against the friction. It couldn’t compare to a broken limb, and yet it felt worse somehow. Deeper and diseased.
He forced himself up and down on Dick’s cock, thinking only about the pain. Not about Dick, who was still crying noiselessly beneath him. Not about the penis pulsing obscenely inside him. Not about Tim Drake, who was probably recording triumphantly from a dozen different angles as Jason ruined Dick to what was likely the point of no return.
He let his mind go utterly blank as his body moved for what felt like a sticky, endless eternity, until Dick thrashed abruptly, his back arching as he let out a choked wail, and a horrible wet warmth flooded Jason’s body. It stung like a raw nerve, and Jason knew for certain that he was bleeding from his ass, probably badly. He could only hope that Dick’s cock wasn’t equally chafed.
With a harsh, heaving groan, he lurched off Dick’s lap and crawled the few feet he could manage before vomiting a thin, watery stream of sick onto the cold ground. He stayed there on his hands and knees, head bowed and eyes closed, listening to Dick’s quiet, hiccupping sobs with vague, bleary concern. After a few seconds, Jason realised that he could feel Dick’s come dripping down his balls from how quickly he had pulled away, and the realisation made his stomach lurch all over again.
They hadn’t even used a condom. Not that he thought Dick might have anything worth catching, but the thought stuck fast anyway.
“Your turn, Hood. Tick tock.” Tim spoke up suddenly, the faint electronic buzz of his voice echoing absurdly loud in Jason’s ears. He didn’t sound particularly pleased, or like someone who was getting off on this grotesque show he had forced them into. He mostly sounded cold and dead. Much like how Jason was feeling right then.
“Fuck,” he muttered, gathering himself together and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Fuck. Fuck.”
How the fuck he was supposed to get hard after raping Dick he had no fucking idea, and his mouth was so dry he could hardly muster up enough spit to jerk himself off.
The sudden touch to his shoulder made Jason flinch, and he almost backhanded Dick across the face before he managed to wrest back control from the terrified prey animal that appeared to have taken over his brain.
“What is it, Dickie?” he asked tiredly, keeping his voice hushed as he nudged Dick gently backwards and away from the puddle of vomit. Dick shifted obligingly, but the moment Jason stopped herding him he leaned forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Jason’s shoulders.
It was only half a hug really, considering they weren’t touching at all below the chest, but Jason felt a pathetic, shivering whimper force its way out of his throat no matter how much he tried to keep it down. He pressed his forehead to Dick’s warm, bare shoulder and breathed, hitching and uneven.
“It’s okay, Jay,” Dick whispered, his voice thick with some awful emotion that Jason lacked the energy to identify. “It’s gonna be okay. Let’s get this over with.”
“Dick,” Jason said dumbly as Dick shoved him lightly back onto his ass. Pain immediately shot up his spine, sharp and deep, but he held the flinch and squeezed his eyes shut the moment Dick shifted onto his knees and began to lower his head. He didn’t want to see it, not Dick’s head bent over Jason’s lap, moving up and down like some porno.
He couldn’t help feeling it though, the first tentative wet heat of Dick’s mouth before he picked up speed and force. It didn’t feel like it was the first time Dick had sucked cock, and it made Jason sick to know that, like that simple fact was a piece of Dick he had stolen away without meaning to.
The sounds were worse. Dick’s movements hovered on the borderline of frantic, almost manic, every swallow accompanied by wet, desperate slurps as he tried to drag Jason closer to orgasm. It sounded pornographic; it sounded arousing. Jason’s balls tightened even as the nausea returned, and he was suddenly afraid that he would vomit all over Dick.
“Fuck, get off,” he grunted breathlessly, shoving at Dick’s shoulder. He opened his eyes just in time to see Dick reel back, his chin shiny with saliva. Jason looked away immediately, swallowing thickly and focusing fixedly on the ground instead of the thousand hims reflecting back at them as he jerked himself the rest of the way.
The moment his own come spilled over his clenched fist, he sagged, exhaustion crushing him like a lead weight. He stared down at his softening cock, at the stripes of white across his skin and the floor, and felt distantly numb. There was a droplet of dark blood near his right heel, a further scattering of droplets he hadn’t noticed before leading in a wobbly trail towards him, the exact path he had crawled to get away from Dick. Some of them were smudged in red smears.
“Jay,” Dick said, appearing suddenly at his side. He was fully dressed in his Nightwing suit once more, his face pale but his jaw set as he crouched by Jason.
“I’m okay,” Jason said, turning slowly to look at Dick. It took another moment for him to shake off the unexpected lethargy, but by then Dick was squeezing Jason’s face between his palms like Jason was a kid, and then pulling him into another hug, tight enough to hurt.
“The door is open,” Dick said, his voice low and rough with tension. “We’ll get Robin, and then you need a doctor, Jay. Don’t tell me that you don’t. You’re still bleeding – I…it looks bad. I’m sorry, Jay. God, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have – god. Okay, come on. We’re fine. Everything’s fine. You’re gonna be okay.”
Jason sighed and got to his feet before Dick could dissolve into embarrassing incoherency. It felt like there was blood trickling down his thighs, but he didn’t look down as he pulled on his pants, eyes darting around to find the door that had sprung open out of the mirrors. It was clearly not the same one they had entered by, which was probably a good sign.
Tim hadn’t said another word since tick tock, but Jason wasn’t surprised. Tim was no idiot; he was probably long gone, dropped off the radar for good if he knew what was best for him.
I’m going to ruin you, Tim had said, and maybe he had. Jason could still feel the sickening pain of fucking himself on Dick’s cock while Dick cried and begged for him to stop. But Dick had hugged him. Dick had told him they were going to be okay.
Maybe they were ruined. Maybe they weren’t.
Jason didn’t know. He really, truly didn’t.