Gifts From the Sea [Batfam Bingo 2019: AU: Zoo] - Part 28 (rough draft)

A Batman fanfic by Raberba girl

Jason had never been so scared in his life. Maybe it only felt that way because he'd finally thought he was safe or something, but right now, being pinned down on the dirty floor of a van as men cussed at him and tied him up painfully tight, it felt like he'd never been more scared in his life.

He was being restrained so hard that he literally couldn't move, but he cussed back for all he was worth until they taped his mouth shut.

At last they let go of him, when his arms and legs were bound and he almost hurt too much to move. He groaned and moved anyway, forcing himself to roll over and sit up.

He leaned back against the side of the van and glowered at the two thugs, who grinned back at him and threw a slew of insults at him until they tired of that and started playing phone games.

Jason fiercely resisted his tears. It wasn't like this was the first time he'd been held captive. This time, though, he knew what he was in for, and he felt sick as he thought of the cage that was coming, and the screaming and crying from other captives, and...when eventually he'd be cut into pieces, because most people who wanted slaves wanted mer, not seals, and he was no good to anybody alive...

He'd been- he'd been good to Bruce alive. Bruce had...wanted him. Bruce had been...so gentle, always, both before and after he found out Jason was a freak, both when Jason had been cute and furry and when he'd been not cute at all.

Jason shivered and couldn't hold the tears back anymore. Bruce...cared about him, he couldn't deny that. Bruce was always, always saving him, since the moment they met. Maybe...maybe Bruce would save him this time, too...

That bitch had hurt him, though. The gunshots had started up and Bruce had freaked out, engulfing Jason with his body so that Jason felt safe from stray bullets but also kind of smothered and panicked because he couldn't move. Bruce hadn't responded to anything he shouted, either, and then Sheila had bashed Bruce over the head and there was blood, and Jason's human shield had slid away.

And then Jason wished he was still being smothered because then those thugs had come and dragged him, taken him away from his dad, thrown him into this fucking textbook Stranger Danger van and tied him up, they were going to kill him and he'd never see his...family...again.

Jason was sobbing now, struggling frantically to stop because the fucking gag and all the snot in his nose meant he couldn't fucking breathe.

He nearly suffocated to death right there in the van, and when it stopped and they dragged him into a warehouse and ripped off the tape, he was too grateful to fight when they cut his bonds and threw him into a cage.

It took him a long time to calm down. When he finally raised his head, exhausted, he found the familiar sight of a dim warehouse filled with cages and tanks, a couple of guards playing cards in the middle.

The woman in the cage next to his, noticing him stirring, murmured, "Hey, kiddo."

"How often do they come for us?" Jason asked.

She shrugged. "Depends. Sometimes we lose two or three a day, sometimes nothing happens for a couple of weeks." She squinted. "You got transferred or something?"

"I escaped last time. They caught me again," Jason said miserably. " 'Cause of that bitch."

The woman's face twisted. "She's a seal, too, you know," she growled. "Fucking traitor turned human, sniffs us out and delivers us right into their hands."

"I know!" Jason exclaimed, sharing in her rage. "All she had ta do was sign the fucking papers, but she tricked my dad and now...and now...!" He grew too choked up to speak.

"You miss your dad?" the woman asked, her voice softening.

"He's not really my dad," Jason sniffled. "Jus'...jus' some random guy who saved me when they stole my pelt, an' saved me again when I got stuck in a trap, an'...he knew, but he was still so nice, he...he was gonna adopt me, but she wouldn't sign the papers and then she stole me, right outta my dad's fucking arms...!"

"Ssshhh, honey," she crooned as he cried again. "Ssshhh."

"She hit him," Jason choked out. "I hope...he's okay...he was bleeding, she knocked him out...I hope he's okay..."

That night, Jason jerked out of a doze when he heard the warehouse door opening. The captives stirred. The guards looked up, and Sheila gestured with her head. They all sighed and complained, but hauled themselves to their feet and followed after her. They made their way down the cages and stopped in front of Jason's.

"Whaddaya want, bitch?" he snapped, glaring.

"I'm going to watch while they cut you up," she said calmly.

"Fuck you!"

The guards opened the cage and dragged him out. He fought, but they easily overpowered him and tied him up. "Why are you DOING this?!" Jason screamed at her. "I didn't do ANYTHING to you! I didn't do anything! I'm not him!"

"Give me a minute," Sheila snapped at the guards, who backed off and moved so they could see the TV again. The woman glared down at Jason. "Why the hell did you come to that meeting? Wasn't it obvious I never wanted you?"

"You were supposed to sign the papers! That's ALL you had to fucking do!"

"Why the hell would anyone want to adopt you? He didn't need papers to do whatever he wanted to fucking do with you."

"He needed papers to be my FUCKING DAD, that's what he wanted to do with me, you psycho!"

He wasn't prepared for her foot to embed itself in his gut, and the air was suddenly forced out of him. He was still wheezing to get it back when it happened again, and then again. He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated as hard as he could on getting air to his lungs.

"STOP."

There were voices; Jason didn't bother listening to them. He was trying to remember how to breathe, trying to keep the damn air in his lungs so it had time to do its job before skittering back out.

He'd only just managed it before he was kicked again. He curled up, trying to protect his stomach and chest, and flinched at the next blow.

Except this one was more movement than force, yanking him across the floor. A moment later, a weight hit his back, not hard enough to be painful but firmly enough to press him into the floor. It took him a second to realize she was fucking standing on him.

...It wasn't Sheila, though. It was some other bitch who talked like she thought she was a queen.

Maybe she was, if she could afford to pay that much for him.

He squirmed in alarm, not sure whether it was worse to stay in this hellhole where his own mother wanted to cut him up, or to go with an owner whose plans for him were a complete unknown. It was entirely possible he'd been bought as a culinary delicacy. "Get the fuck off me, bitch!"

To his surprise, she did, but only so her people could stick a needle into him. He panicked, but the drug was inexorable and his new owner was completely unmoved by his begging. He cried as he lost consciousness, wondering if he would ever wake up.

o.o.o

He did wake up, eventually.

The first thing he noticed was that he felt naked. He wasn't literally naked, so it took him a minute to realize that the reason he felt that way was because his pelt was gone.

Complete panic instantly overtook him. He flung himself to his feet and searched the room like crazy, looking for his pelt.

It wasn't there. It wasn't anywhere, they'd taken his fucking pelt. He sank to his knees and couldn't fucking breathe, the panic froze his lungs and he couldn't get a breath in, no matter how hard he tried. He was dying. He was going to fucking die because they'd ripped away his skin and now he couldn't breathe.

He didn't know if he lost consciousness or just lost time, but at some point, he blinked and became aware of his surroundings again. His chest hurt, and his throat and eyes and nose. His head started pounding as he sat up.

The room was small, either a crappy bedroom or a decent cell. The single small window had bars on it, there was a bedside table with a freaking pitcher and washbasin like he'd time-traveled to the past, a built-in shelf with a little collection of books, a small table, a plain chair, and a wardrobe in the corner. The wardrobe doors were open, the contents spilled across the floor in his frenzied, fruitless search. It hadn't had much in it, just a few adult-sized outfits that looked like costumes for a ninja movie and some toiletries in a drawer.

Come to think of it, the clothes Jason was wearing now looked like they came from a dōjō or something. He plucked at them with shaking hands, and it occurred to him that someone would have had to change him into them. Horrified, he tugged frantically until he could see his underwear, and discovered that he was not wearing the underwear he'd put on back at the manor - it was some weird garment that looked homemade. Someone would have seen him naked while they changed him into it, and he was going to be sick.

Once he'd managed to gulp down the nausea, he stood shakily and hobbled to the door. Of course it was locked. He pounded on it and shouted until he was hoarse, then kept beating his fists against the wood even after he lost his voice. When his hands hurt too much to continue, he slid to his knees and hid his face against the arm still braced against the door, feeling his eyes brimming with tears.

He wanted to go home. He wanted his dad. He wanted his brother and the ocean and their big quiet house by the beach, he wanted his books and his own clothes and his fucking pelt and his entire life, he wanted his life back, he wanted everything back and he would never complain or misbehave again if they just returned his pelt and gave him...back...to his dad...!

o.o.o

There was an honest-to-God chamber pot under the bed. Jason stared at it, unable to think of any other use for the thing when it had been set in that specific location. He'd seen it while tearing the room apart earlier, but hadn't given any thought to its function until now, when he really had to pee.

Maybe he was wrong and it wasn't a chamber pot, but if so, then too bad. His captors deserved to have their random ceramic pots filled with pee.

o.o.o

Most of the books on the shelf were in Arabic; a few were in other languages, and only six of them were in English. There was the Quran, two books of poetry, Rachel Carson's Silent Spring, a book about the link between capitalism and climate change, and a book about the impact of discarded plastic.

Jason was making his way through one of the poetry books when the door finally opened. He started and jumped to his feet, flexing his hands around the book as he considered whether to throw it, but it was too late now. He needed to find something better to weaponize.

The person who came in was a woman who didn't look at Jason as she set a tray of food on the little table. "Hey!" he practically yelled at her, "Where am I?! What's-" He suddenly realized that she hadn't locked the door behind her. Without pausing to think twice, he bolted out of the room.

He heard her shouting behind him in a language that wasn't English, but that didn't matter. He needed to find his pelt and then get out of this place, maybe find a phone and call Bruce (now he was really thankful that Bruce had forced Jason to memorize his cell number rather than just relying on speed dial like normal people).

He tore down the hallway, which looked like it was made of stone and had tapestries hanging on the walls. He ignored the shouts of other people he passed, but then two men with swords loomed up and seized him. He kicked and shrieked and fought, but they steadily dragged him back the way he'd come and practically threw him back into his room, locking the door behind them.

Jason spent as long as he could pounding on the door again, yelling to be let out. When he couldn't keep it up anymore, he dragged himself over to the tray that had been delivered and hesitated. He was tempted to hurl the food out the window, but he was really hungry and he couldn't bring himself to waste food. Once his mind was made up, he wolfed it down. It was fairly bland but filling, high quality considering it was for a prisoner.

Once Jason had finished, he sat there for a while, considering. He wanted to make a mess, but it occurred to him that it likely wouldn't be his captors who'd have to clean it up. This operation, whatever it was, was big enough to employ what looked like servants, and he didn't want to make more work for them when they probably had nothing to do with why he was here.

No, he needed to figure out who owned him now, talk to her and try to reason with her. Or bribe her with Bruce's money or whatever. And he needed his pelt. He needed to not be a prisoner, but he couldn't even do anything if there was no one around to persuade...!

TBC

A/N: The al Ghuls are not religious. They only have a Quran in the cell because it's a Muslim-majority region.