Warnings: Off screen Non-Con, murder of innocent young people, violence and general unpleasantness.
This is for the Batfam Xmas Exchange, for Tristen84
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Jason first realized they were on the same case about two weeks before the shit hit the fan. It was no surprise really, both Dick's night job and his day job seemed to have been taken up with tracking these bastards down and ZK12 was the kind of organized crime gang the Red Hood took down with extremeprejudice.
Their primary money-maker was drugs, but they also took frequent forays into prostitution, human trafficking, and kidnap for ransom. They had originally been based on the west coast, but in the past months had started to set up in smaller cities in the east of the country. They were staying out of Gotham because of the Bat, and sticking with the smaller port cities, but Bludhaven was close enough to Jason's turf to get his attention. He knew Nightwing would be on it too, but he fully intended to get there first and put the fuckers down.
Jason had been investigating for a few weeks and growing increasingly angry at what he had found, when he got his first break. In fact, the intel that lead him to the disused warehouse on one of the 'Havens less savory docks was his first bit of luck.
Unfortunately, it turned out it would also be his last.
Entry into the building was easy, but Jason wasn't anticipating a deal actually going down that night. The two teenagers were sitting on the cold cement floor; the boy, barely fourteen, had a glassy look of trauma. His eyes were dry, but his face was puffy, like he had been crying. The girl, older by a few years and with bruises on her skin, sat stiffly and glared at her captors defiantly. Jason realized they were two kidnap victims, missing for almost a month, one the teenage daughter of a low ranking politician from Santa Prisca and the other the son of a hotel manager. Small time pickings for such a well-organized gang. He reasoned that initially they were to be used to gain leverage in some way rather than for money, but then an American tourist had been caught in the crossfire and the story had hit the news, hard. The kids were no longer of any use, but being young, the gang could just move them and sell them to a brothel or private buyer.
The thought made Jason's blood boil.
There were five armed men surrounding them, with at least another seven on watch around the docks. Not terrible odds, but the hostages were going to complicate things. He would have to act before the buyer arrived, as they were an unknown quantity. Jason had the bare bones of a plan when fate intervened.
The apparent leader answered a call on his cell, his gun still held loosely. Jason shifted forward on his perch although he couldn't hope to hear what was being said. If his luck held, perhaps it was the buyer running late - but more likely it was reinforcements or something completely irreverent.
"I see," the man said. The sound of his voice barely carried, but Jason could read his lips. His face was expressionless as he shifted his weight and turned his body to the side. His lack of emotion, of any feeling at all, wasn't telegraphing his intent and it was just a glimmer of insight, a second too late, that clued Jason into his intentions.
Jason moved, guns already sighted and aiming but he was moments too late, and suit guy fired first. His gun swung up, not a flicker on his face as he shot the girl straight in the head. Jason's shot hit him bare moments after, but too fucking slow.
He swung down, already firing when, once again not doing the expected, a second man ignored him completely and opened fire on the boy, cutting him down as he scrambled towards Jason.
Cold fury took him over, almost blinding in its frigid intensity. These fuckers would wish they had never been born.
Jason sat on the roof and lit up a cigarette. He couldn't bear the weight of the helmet on his head, or the way it covered his face like a shroud, so it sat beside him, splattered with blood and gazing at him mockingly. Next to it was the phone the suited fuck had been using. While he couldn't ascertain the identity of the caller, he knew where the call had come from, and that was enough.
The fingers holding his cigarette were caked in blood and he stared at them dully as he waited. He had more or less left a calling card down in the bloodbath below; for those who knew what they were looking for, anyway.
As if on cue, the rooftop door opened, almost silent, despite years of rust. Officer of the Law, Dick-face Grayson, stepped out, whisper-quiet in his regulation shoes.
"What the hell happened down there?" Dick asked, without preamble. His face was a little pale in the faint light but his voice was very even. Remarkably calm, considering the state of some of the bodies. Not to mention the two dead kids.
Jason took a final drag on his cigarette and flicked it at Dick. A ridiculous gesture, especially as he would have to pick it up before he left, but sometimes pettiness was all he had.
Dick ignored it, waiting.
"You have a leak, is what happened," Jason gritted out finally. "They got a call from the precinct, before your raid even left the damn station. Then they murdered the hostages while I just sat on my ass, planning my next move." He bit his tongue. Dick had no right to see his grief, or the churning self-hatred for the consequences of his own failure.
Dick saw it anyway of course, or perhaps tasted his own bitter. He shut his eyes briefly, a small, strained grimace on his face as though it was him watching and re-watching those kids being shot every time he blinked.
Jason lit another cigarette. "What no lecture? No self-righteous speech about killing?"
"Not tonight. You know it all already, anyway."
Dick really chose his damn moments for compassion. The scene downstairs must have disturbed him, but his face was almost as impassive as the killers. Jason winced away from the thought. "So you just going to stare at me all night?"
Dick shrugged and sunk gracefully to the cold cement rooftop, heedless of the bird shit he was no doubt getting on his nicely pressed pants. He looked at Jason, earnestly. "You didn't leave us much to go on, Jay. What did they give up before they died?"
"Nothing," Jason lied. "I didn't kill them for info, I did it because they deserved it."
Dick stared at him hard, unblinking and Jason resisted the urge to squirm. They had deserved it. But despite what he would like people to think, Jason did not like to make people suffer unnecessarily. When the medical examiner checked the bodies later, they would see how much damage had been carried out post mortem. Not just a result of Jason's rage – but a handy way to terrify the living into spilling their guts.
"Jason," Dick said, finally - and there was his lecturing Nightwing tone. "This case is huge, it involves law enforcement from three different countries and we are so close to cracking it. You need to back off."
"Yeah, you're doing so well. You didn't just watch two kids get their heads blown off. Because of a fucking leak, Dick." Jason realized they were both on their feet and he had Dick up against the wall. Dick wasn't fighting him though, just holding his arms lightly.
"I know, I'm sorry. I'm close to plugging it."
"Close doesn't cut it!" Jason tried to ignore the pain on Dick's face. This epic clusterfuck must have been hurting him too. They were both feeling responsible, but where Dick turned his feelings inward, Jason knew he had a tendency to lash out. He tried to hold it back somewhat, and his body trembled with the effort of not throwing a punch. "You and your cop buddies don't get to tell me how to do my damn job, Dick, not after this. You want information? Go fucking find it, pig."
And Jason had walked away. Surprisingly, Dick let him, watching with an unreadable expression on his face.
A week later, Jason was on route to Santa Prisca.
2.
The reason the gang was so successful, was the fact it was so widely spread – spanning Europe, the US and areas of South America. It was an uneasy mix of the cartels calculated brutality and the casual opportunism of street gangs. Jason had considered traveling to the suspected base in Europe but changed his mind at the last moment. The kids had been from Santa Prisca, and they deserved to be avenged. He wanted to find their families too, tell them that justice had been done.
He set up in the popular tourist side of the island; nice hotels, truly spectacular eateries, sleazy bars and lots of opportunity to dig up illicit dirt. There he made some discreet inquiries that led him towards the island's central district. It had suffered greatly during the drug wars of the late nineties, and was still re-establishing itself. Part of ZK12 was based there, their supplies hidden in the dense jungles.
Jason made sure he was well kitted out on this trip – he had weapons obviously, and what amounted to a portable science lab. They had been saturating the market with new drugs and Jason needed to be able to test and identify them if any of the people he hoped to rescue were dosed. And, of course, he had enough stuff to make a lot of things go boom. Always his favorite part of the job.
It was surprisingly easy to get the lead that took him to the old concrete house, half way into the jungle and high above the mountain river. This was supposed to be recon only, and as the jungle was thin here he had hired a bike with thick tires, good for the terrain. He parked it well clear of the main road, and travelled the rest of the way on foot.
It was a hard climb, but clear of any sign of people. In fact it was all a little too easy, and Jason was cautious as he stepped over the threshold. The house appeared deserted, the leaves, rubble and jungle dirt covering the floor seemed undisturbed, but something about it was pinging his senses. Perhaps it was the fact it was too untouched, no sign of animal activity, despite the open door. He paused, carefully reassessing.
Then there was an incredible blast from the floor, so strong, it knocked him clear off his feet. He fell backwards, and a second blast hit him harder, no longer insulated by the rubber soles of his boots. The whole damn floor was wired up. The third shock was stronger still and nearly blew his head off as it overrode his own suits defences and sparked the detonator in his helmet. He just about got the thing off in time, spinning it away from him across the floor. He groped for his gun but he was too disorientated.
Then he felt something strike his unprotected neck and as the drugs hit his system he realized he was well and truly screwed.
When he came to, he was still fuzzy headed. And a man was taking his mask off none to gently. Jason struggled against his bonds - it didn't really matter if they saw his face, but it was annoying and kind of embarrassing.
One of the men slapped him casually, making the one pulling his mask off grumble as he was jostled. Jason allowed his head to loll, taking in his new surroundings. He was upstairs he guessed and tied to a chair, and behind him were windows, built to take in the view of the river and the sweeping landscape. One of them was open, and if Jason tipped his head back he could feel the cool, damp air on his skin, and see a splash of moonlight.
"Give him a shot of the good stuff, before we question him," the man said.
Jason's mind swum away from him again with the prick of a needle against his skin.
It was later. Probably.
Jason's head was hanging down and his hair was falling over his forehead in sweaty curls. He hated that.
He watched moon shadows dance across the floor and wondered if it was tomorrow or if it was still yesterday? The hair situation was really annoying him, so he tried to lift an arm to brush it away from his face. He was upset when he couldn't, and Jason scowled fiercely. He tried to figure out why his arms weren't working and after some twitching he realized his hands were bound behind him. That wouldn't do at all, so he started to attempt to free himself. His mind seemed a little foggy, and he kept getting distracted by leaves and light, but his hands seemed to know what they were doing so he left them to it and watched a lovely plant sway in the slight breeze from the open window.
It was really pretty.
Then the door slammed open startling him and his hands. He did manage to pick his head up, though. And blink in awe at the woman who strode into the room and pointed her gun at him.
"Santa Prisca police!" she said in English. She swung her gaze and her gun from one shadowy corner to the other with cool professionalism.
Jason's head hung forward again and he struggled to gather his thoughts. There was something he should say here. Something important. He squinted at the woman, trying to focus. She was approaching middle age, with striking features and a practical, tight bun restraining her dark hair. The expression on her face promised murder.
She was even prettier than the plant.
The woman turned back towards the door. "Clear. It's just your friend, Grayson. He doesn't look in a good way."
Grayson. He was prettier than the plant too. Jason shook his head again. There was something more important going on than who was more attractive than foliage. He just had to concentrate.
Then there was a thunderous looking Dick Grayson himself, dressed in tac gear and clearly pissed off. The sight made Jason feel pleased for some reason. But then he noticed the gun in Dick's hand. The fog in his mind had receded a little, but the sight of Dick holding a gun like a professional, like he was comfortable with it, was still fucking bizarre.
And a little hot, but whatever.
"He's not my friend," Dick said acidly. "He's a PI in way, way over his head."
A PI. Good explanation, Dick! Jason nodded approvingly. His hair bounced against his face again and he tried unsuccessfully to blow it away.
"Who ever he is," the woman said, "his presence meant we moved too early. ZK12 have gone."
ZK12. That was why Jason was here. Tied to a chair – although he was almost loose, well done hands! He must look like such a dumbass for getting caught, but he didn't really mind. Everything felt a bit floofy, like poodle fluff. And anyway, nobody could have anticipated the clever trap they had set for him, so they could ask him questions about stuff he didn't actually know the answers to.
He looked at the gravel covered cement floor. That trap had hurt like a bitch, and then they had hurt him more and tied him to a chair with hair in his eyes.
Things were swimming into focus, but slowly.
The trap hadn't been for him, it had been for the cops, that had been obvious during questioning. And now the cops were here.
That was bad.
He tried to tell them, but his words got a bit tangled and all that came out was; "Floor!"
"Ruiz, it's a trap!" Dick shouted, catching on despite Jason's lack of coherent explanation.
But it was too late. The electricity knocked the pair of them off their feet, guns skittering across the floor. Unaffected, Jason struggled, trying to shake off his bonds and the fog in his mind.
"Don't bother, asshole," a voice said. The accent was American, and Jason vaguely recognized the man who strolled into the center of the room. Other armed men were emerging from a hidden door behind him.
They were so fucked, and Jason couldn't understand quite how it had happened.
The woman, Ruiz, was still out cold, blood trickling from a wound to her forehead, probably from striking it during a convulsion. Dick meanwhile, was shaking it off, fingers edging clumsily towards his gun. Jason could tell him from experience, it wasn't going to fade quickly.
The surrounding thugs knew it too and they ignored Dick's twitching. The lead guy looked pleased with his catch and kicked the woman over onto her back, peering down at her smugly. His predatory expression made Jason want to kill him, right there and then, even through the fog of poodle fluff. When the guy turned the same look on Dick, Jason's rage was almost apocalyptic. Nothing like anger to bring his brain back online.
"Two little piggies in my net," the man said.
Jason struggled for his name. Cadwell? Caldwell? That sounded right . He knew him, had maybe read about him in some file or other. If his mind were clear he would remember all the details but, as it was, he was struggling not to get distracted by the images of pigs swimming around in his head.
Caldwell kicked at Dick, turning him over the same way he had Ruiz. Dick sprawled, groaning. His hand stayed near his fallen gun. God, if Dick was half as functional as Jason hoped he was, they might survive this crap storm.
One of the other men stepped forward, gun pointed at Dick's head. "We only need one of these shits, right? Shall I shoot this one?"
"No," Caldwell smirked. "We do only need one, but the other we can use to show those FBI bastards we mean business. We can flip a coin which lives and which dies – or let them fight it out."
The other men laughed. Then Caldwell turned towards Jason, whose hands had done some stellar work and were a mere moment away from breaking themselves free.
Less than a minute, maybe thirty seconds. It wasn't enough.
"You can shoot the cape though. Enough trouble with these fucks in the States," Caldwell said, dismissively. The guy with the gun grinned at Jason nastily and started to bring his gun up.
"No!" Dick shouted, and lunged for his gun.
Jason ripped a hand free, far too fucking late, oh my god he was going to die in this stupid place with the stunning fucking view and the electric fucking floor and a brain full of nonsense.
There were three guns swinging towards him pointing at his head, Jason was seeing it all in slow motion. He held up a hand helplessly, he didn't even have the coordination to try to tip the chair over to gain himself an extra few seconds.
But it turned out he wasn't the only one who was too slow, the thugs guns were still coming up level with his head when the first shot fired.
The impact struck him in the chest and the chair toppled back, Jason just caught sight of Dick's wide eyes and his police issue gun, aimed for Jason's shoulder before Dick fired again. Bang on target – the impact slammed Jason bodily against the windows, twisting him so the corner of the chair hit first, shattering the glass.
The window gave, and for a moment Jason was staring at the sky, the moon looking down at him like it was as shocked as he was. And then he was falling. Breathless from the bullets caught in the body armor he was still wearing.
He heard more gunfire but couldn't see anything as he fell, glass, chair and all, ass over elbow until he hit the fast moving running river below.
3.
The cold of the water and the wild overdose of adrenaline cleared his fuzzy head quickly - that, and the imminent threat of drowning. He having just survived something he had felt was going to kill him for sure and he was not going to die because of a damn river. He struggled loose from the chair, and the water took it away. Then the river buffeted and tore at him, stripping him down, and tugging him away from the house.
He didn't fight the current, and spun himself sideways towards the bank, until he was able to make a grab at overhanging plants on the bank. Then he dragged his aching body out the river, alive and gasping.
And fucking furious.
He lay for a while and struggled for breath, letting his exhausted body rest for a moment. Then he heaved himself up and checked his gear – not good. Most of his stuff was merrily carrying on the journey towards the sea. He had to get his shit together quickly and rescue Dick. The bastard had saved his damn life.
It took him most of a day, twelve freaking hours, to hobble back to town. Another three hours to puke up half the river, get cleaned up and recovered enough to function, and to scavenge what gear he could.
Those drugs took no prisoners. And if they gave them to Dick, as no doubt they would, then he was going to be as helpless as Jason had been. The bruises on Jason's skin were mottled and ugly, and his chest and shoulder pained him where he had been shot. The ache and throb of it was like a beating drum, counting down the moments, reminding him that every second lost made Dick's death more likely.
It wasn't often Jason asked for help – he didn't trust the cops on a good day, but the fact ZK12 had clearly infiltrated them, meant they were out of the damn question on this occasion. But the Bats might be a possibility, as much as it galled him. Dick's life was on the line and Jason himself was a bruised and battered mess and missing half his gear.
But a quick check of his burner phone found multiple calls for aid from him. A peak at the news revealed Gotham appeared to be on fire, and there was no help coming from that quarter.
So he packed up what he could, and headed back into the jungle.
Twenty hours since he fell into the river and he was back in the bunker. This time forewarned about the traps he was a lot more careful. The place was deserted though, and he made his way upstairs to the room with the broken window. The floor was blood-stained and Jason felt his heart race with sudden fear. Had the gunshots he had heard been them executing Dick? He had to stop and gather his thoughts. There were two smears of blood, one small, where Ruiz had banged her head, and one larger, much larger, where Dick had been laying.
Jason knelt and examined it. There was not enough blood for it to have been a fatal bleed, but it was enough to be concerning. The bullet was still in the floor, crumpled against the cement. At least it was a through-and-through.
Jason followed the blood trail toward the hidden door the men had been hiding behind. He picked it and entered a surprisingly large room. There were computers and security system set up, but all switched off and deserted. He followed to drips of Dick's blood down to the garage, there the droplets stopped. They had taken their prisoners further into the jungle by car.
Jason allowed himself a moment of panic, followed by one of rage. Then he carefully collected himself and went back up the stairs to tear the room apart determined to find some clue of where they had gone.
4.
It took a total of three days to track Dick down. Three damn days.
He was being held separately from Ruiz, and with a lot less security. Probably because he was injured. Jason lay in wait, watching, even though it chafed him - he couldn't afford to fuck this up. This place really was a bunker, and according to the plans he had seen it led underground for quite a way. It was probably built in the 60's or 70's and was one of the places Jason had scoped out while still in Gotham. The only bit of luck he'd had.
The guards were well trained and fairly disciplined, but they clearly were not expecting an attack. All there efforts were on Ruiz, and the police force trying to find her. It didn't take Jason more than a few hours of observation before he was able to move.
He didn't take prisoners, and instead slit the throats of the any unlucky guards he came across, collecting weapons, radios and anything else he could on the way. He killed the electrics as he went too, counting his steps so he could find his way back through the dark.
Five men down and he found the passageway he was looking for. As he approached, he found that he was terrified of what he would discover. Why was there such a small number of guards here? Was he too late? Had he made a mistake? Was this the wrong place?
Jason's fingers were trembling with rage and fear by the time he typed in the code of the steel door to the holding room. He had to steady himself, breathe deep and fall into the zone. A trick Bruce had taught him: later other people had trained similar behaviors into him, but with a more lethal edge.
He released a breath, and typed the next set of numbers. He was acutely aware of every sound, the drip of water from the damp ceiling, the wet grind of his boots on the puddle covered gravel of the hallway. The lack of any noise from within the room he was trying to enter.
Last sequence. These fucks had not taken any chances when setting up this holding cell – hopefully that was the reason they hadn't bothered leaving more than a handful of men to guard it. Of course this room had been made to hold hard-core criminals, not lowly cops like Officer Grayson. Dick should have been able to escape.
But he hadn't.
Jason's heat pounded in fearful anticipation as he swung open the door. The room was dark, only partially illuminated by the torch clenched in Jason's teeth. He grabbed it and swung it quickly around the room. For a moment he was afraid he did have the wrong place; there was a small pile of garbage in one corner, a dirty mattress and broken cabinet in another and not much else. Everywhere was damp and dripping cold water and puddles on the floor reflected the light, making it spin in Jason's vision.
It took a second sweep to spot Dick, wedged between the mattress and the wall. Jason was by his side in an instant. He was breathing, hot to the touch and definitely alive. He was dressed only in a loose pair of sweatpants, although those were dank and soaked though.
His hands were bound and cuffed to the wall above his head, but there was plenty of room to maneuver. The cuffs were nothing special. Dick should have been able to break free. Jason had him loose in moments and gave him a quick once over, first feeling his pulse, which was strong but rapid, and then searching for any obvious wounds or breaks.
He found the bullet wound quickly, on the lower thigh. It hadn't hit bone and it had been wrapped, but he couldn't be sure how well it had been cleaned until they got out. As well as that, there was clear evidence of torture. Burns and bruises on Dick's exposed skin and, more telling, small puckered needle marks on his arms and neck. That might explain his inertia, and possibly his other symptoms. He hoped it was that and not infection, that could make things complicated.
This far from home, and without Bruce or his equipment, having a sample of whatever they had used on him might be essential. Jason wasted a precious second or two debating with himself: was it worth the risk of taking the time to search?
He decided he had to chance it. If Dick had been given too much, Jason might have to synthesis an antidote on the move. He was good at that side of things, but he preferred to have a damn lab and computers to work with. Still, better he had something to actually test.
He started a careful but quick examination of the mattress. There was a cup of water and some tubing with a sludgy substance in it – a feeding tube perhaps, Jesus, if he was so out of it he had to be force fed then Jason was definitely doing the right thing. He took a sample, in case there was any other substance in the food. He moved quickly on, There were cigarette butts on the floor and he scooped them into a baggy. DNA evidence for later – and he was damn sure some of these had been stubbed out against Dick's skin.
The pile of garbage in the corner by the door yielded what he was looking for. A hypodermic with traces of a liquid still inside.
He also found three used condoms. He stared at them. There were other explanations rather than the obvious. There were. He had to fight down the spiral of rage and grief and guilt that rose into his throat and burned there like bile. He couldn't afford to lose his shit over this, not until they were out and safe.
He had to remember there might be another explanation.
Right.
He scooped them up into baggies too. If they contained Dick's DNA then he was going to find whoever had done this and they were going to wish they had never been born. There would be no quick death for them.
Still shaking, he went back to Dick who was still unresponsive, lying where Jason had left him. Jason gently lifted him – the guy was heavier than he looked. Thankfully, adrenaline could easily overcome Jason's fatigue and he slid carefully out into the hallway. He flicked off the torch, leaving the damp corridors completely black, and walked forward, counting his steps as his shoulder touched the grimy wall for guidance.
He should have slung Dick over his shoulders, but he couldn't bring himself to, and instead clutched him to his chest, bridal style. He couldn't shoot like this, but his best defense was the dark that covered them and the drip drip of the water that helped muffle the scuff of his boots.
They slipped easily out of the tunnels and back into the forest. The guard Jason had killed earlier had not been replaced, so they had what looked like a small head start. The next problem was going to be the bike. It was over a mile away through thick jungle. He had planned for Dick to be wounded though, and had scoped out good hiding spots, places they could conceal themselves long enough for Jason to perform any medical tasks he could and to run some minor tests on the drugs in Dick's system. Then he would go and fetch the bike.
5.
The spot he had chosen was a small enclave behind a waterfall from one of the small tributaries that led to the river that had both saved him and nearly killed him days earlier. It provided the necessary cover and enough space to do what he needed. Not to mention the supply of running water.
Dawn was starting to break through the trees, giving Jason enough light to see as he stripped Dick out of his sweats. First priority was to check the bullet wound and try to get some fluids into him. Thankfully the Bat issued first aid kits came with an alarming amount of options and he was able to set up a small IV while he dealt with the wound. It had been cauterized with the flat of a blade, which had stopped the bleeding, but not the infection already in the blood. Jason cursed to himself under his breath, this was the sort of complication he had been hoping to avoid - already weakened by the drugs, this could end up being pretty serious if he didn't act soon.
He cleaned what he could, and carefully steered his mind away from the thought of internal injuries he could do nothing about and the location of some of the bruises on Dick's body. He couldn't think about it now, it would be too damn distracting and Dick was relying on him to get them out of this mess.
Later, when they were safe, he would deal with it.
Dick's eyes were starting to move behind his closed lids, which Jason chose to interpret as a good sign, so he started to set up with his portable drug kit. It was important he check for the presence of some components in the drugs before he administered any medicine of his own.
Finding the hypodermic was a real stroke of luck, it seemed some of the substances were already working there way out of Dick's system and having access to an uncorrupted sample was essential.
He was so absorbed in his final tests he completely missed the point Dick woke up. He was brought up to speed though, when Dick's heel caught him square in the face. It was weak and uncoordinated, but even so it made him reel back and threw him off balance, allowing Dick to hook an ankle around his neck and Jason had to move damn fast to avoid a choke hold.
People were probably hunting them out in the jungle and they couldn't afford to be loud, and although Jason didn't want to pin him there wasn't much choice when he was struggling. They wrestled for a moment, and Dick's strength was surprising considering how drained and confused he must be, but Jason assumed it must be fueled by desperation. It was no where near full his capabilities though, and Jason was able to maneuver himself and pin Dick down, one hand over his mouth. Beneath him, Dick's chest heaved and his muscles bunched and tensed ready to carry on fighting. His eyes were wide and unseeing. The sight made Jason's heart clench.
"Dickie, it's Jason," he tried. "You're free, it's just us. Stand down." Jason surprised himself using that particular pet name. It wasn't one he ever used himself, but he had heard Dick's friends use it on occasion, so perhaps it would lend its own small comfort.
Dick shut his eyes and stopped struggling, but there was still a coiled tension in his body, radiating up and into Jason's own.
"Blink if you're with me, Dickie and I'll let you go, OK?"
Dick blinked.
Jason released him, giving him as much space as the cave allowed. Dick scrabbled back until he hit the wall, head down and knees clutched to his chest. Jason gave him a moment, but he needed to get some meds into him, so he couldn't wait too long. He needed to get him warm and dry too, there was a thin sheen of sweat on his body, from panic, exertion or the infection.
And he probably wanted some pants.
"I got some clean stuff for you here, Dickie. It's not much but it's dry," he said, keeping his voice neutral. "You need a shot or two as well I'm afraid."
Dick shuddered, but held out a hand for the clothes Jason pulled out of his pack. He didn't dress immediately though, instead he carefully examined himself, testing bruises with fingers and flexing his muscles, checking for injuries that might hinder him in someway. It was what they had been trained to do, but Jason couldn't help cataloguing every twitch or wince out of the corner of his eye, despite his efforts to keep himself busy until Dick was dressed, if only to give him the illusion of space.
"Are you OK?" Jason asked, after a moment. A fucking stupid question, but one he couldn't seem to stop himself asking.
Dick wet his lips, "Yeah," he croaked. His voice was hoarse from disuse.
Jason handed him some water, feeling horribly awkward. "You want to give the shots to yourself, or shall I do it?" he asked.
"You do it. What ever they gave me has given me the shakes," Dick rasped, holding out a trembling arm.
Jason slid closer and prepared the shot. "It should wear off soon. The shakes, I mean. But you need these antibiotics, and I don't think we can risk painkillers."
Dick grunted. He didn't flinch when Jason took his arm, and instead rubbed the fingers of his other hand across his face, like it pained him. "Where's Ruiz?" he asked, after a moment.
"They're holding her elsewhere," Jason told him, reluctantly. He wished they had been together, so he could have got her out too. "I figure our best bet is to head back to town and try to get help for her."
"No, we get her now." Dick said, and despite the rasp of his voice, it was the no nonsense tone he used when he meant business – the one that promised if you hurt one of his, he would kick your ass from here into next week.
This was going to be a problem, not least because it was Jason's instinct too. "You need medical treatment, and I'm running on nothing but angst and rage," he reasoned. "We're in no fit state to stage a rescue."
Dick looked at him straight in the eye for the first time since he woke up, and Jason knew he had just lost the damn argument.
"No, we go now, " Dick insisted, "We are not letting them keep her a second longer than he have to." His lower jaw jutted out in his most obstinate facial expression. "We've faced worse odds."
That was true, but Jason was also aware that an attempt at a rescue could put Dick back into their hands. Hell, it could put him back into their hands too, drugged and helpless. The thought terrified him in a way it hadn't in the aftermath of his dip in the river, but the idea of abandoning Ruiz to a similar fate was almost too abhorrent to contemplate. It didn't matter that he didn't know the woman, he would want to rescue any victim in that situation and leaving anyone behind would be a decision he would regret for the rest of his life.
He wrestled with the conflicting feelings for a moment; his desire to protect Dick, his need to rescue Ruiz, and his own shameful fear.
"You don't have to come," Dick said stubbornly, "just give me your info and I'll go myself."
There wasn't really going to be a choice it seemed and Jason rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. Like I would leave you to get captured again, or shot." He let out an obnoxious, put-upon sigh. "Fine, we'll go after Ruiz, but we have to go smart. Because neither of us is in any kind of shape to be doing this crap right now."
"Smarts good," Dick said, giving Jason a wan smile. "Thanks, Jay."
"Don't thank me. I think this is a dumb fucking idea, and it's likely to get us both killed, and if I had any sense at all I would just sling your sorry ass over my shoulder and get us the hell out of here. But it turns out I'm just as stupid as you are."
"Don't sell yourself short, Jay, you're at least twenty percent stupider than me."
Jason couldn't help the flush of relieved warmth that went through him hearing Dick sassing him. It felt like a lifeline of normality. "Kept telling yourself that, Dick-Face," he said, warmly.
Dick smiled at him again, this time with a bit more humor. "Can we get some help do you think?" he asked. "I would hate for us to get killed when we could just get Superman to do it for us."
Jason smirked, but it was a somewhat forced expression. "It's Christmas time, Dickie. You know what that means."
Dick sighed. "The world is burning."
"Yup. Literally in Gotham's case. And the Justice Morons are dealing with the yearly invasion of brain eating space aliens over in Europe."
"We're on our own then," Dick said. He rubbed at his wrists where the cuffs had been, rotating the joints carefully. His voice was almost back to normal but he looked grim.
"Yup," Jason said, and started to unpack his kit. "This is what we have. I got some gear from the guys I took out when I came to get you, but even so, we're running low for this kind of crazy mission."
Dick nodded, "Help would be better. But we don't have time to wait for someone to get here even if they're not all busy heroing-"
"That's not a word," Jason felt compelled to point out.
Dick ignored him. "– but we have to think about extraction too. We know fuck all about this jungle, other than it is large and full of assholes with guns."
"Yeah, that's an issue," Jason agreed. "One of many. Once we get Ruiz, we might end up just running in circles or something equally ridiculous."
Dick was eyeing up Jason's Wayne Tech tablet, which was his only surviving bit of technology. "That got connection?" he asked.
"Some, I mean we're in a cave in a jungle so the regular webs are out, but stuff B-man has set up should still be functioning."
Dick nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. "I know some channels, we could put a request in for help. If someone is in the area. Going to have to pay for it though."
"Pay?" Jason asked, "You mean hire a mercenary to come save us? How'd we know they won't just hold us to ransom?"
"Because then they would never get work again. I can use Bruce's account, offer enough money to make it worth while to get us out alive."
Jason frowned. The idea had merit, but at the same time it had some glaring flaws. "We do run the risk of bumping into familiar faces if we do that," he said after a moment.
Dick nodded and grimaced. "That's true, but except for one or two, they won't know us as civilians. And they will be professional, if there is enough cash riding on it. Not to mention reputation and personal pride."
"And if it's the 'one or two' that turn up?"
"We will just have to hope we get lucky." Dick was already typing into the tablet, overriding Jason's passwords and protections with embarrassing ease.
"Right, because we have been so super lucky so far," Jason grumbled. "When you're done trying to get us murdered by professional hitmen, there are a bunch of blue prints and information on there. You might want to go over it."
"You're a star, Jaybird," Dick said without looking up from the screen.
"I know, I'm amazing. While you catch up on your reading, maybe I will go out and-"
"-Sleep," Dick interrupted him.
"Say what?"
"You said you were running on nothing but rage. You need to sleep; we have a few hours before we can move, and you've got to keep your energy up."
"What about you? You're the one who got shot, and you are running a low grade fever – you should rest too."
I will, in a bit. But I've done enough sleeping these past few days," he paused, and looked at Jason from the corner of his eye, his lashes sweeping down against his bruised cheek. "I need to feel like I'm doing something right now. But I will rest up in a bit, I'll wake you."
Don't overdo it, ok Dickie? Make sure you wake me, if you haven't slept, then I'm not leaving and you will have to crawl to where they're holding Ruiz, because you're not walking miles alone on that leg."
Jason wasn't joking, but Dick smiled at him anyway. "I promise to wake you in time to take my own fortifying nap – now go to sleep before you fall down."
Jason grunted and lay on the hard floor. He didn't think his mind would let him rest; it was so full of tumultuous thoughts and fear. But his body's exhaustion was such that he felt himself being tugged down towards sleep in spite of himself. He drifted off while watching Dick as he looked at the tablet, the blue light reflecting on his face like a mask.