A/N: This chapter includes some vague and a few not-so vague references to torture, both physical and mental. Nothing particularly graphic, but if that kind of thing bothers you, consider yourself warned. Also, I just wanted to say that only in writing Pipster fanfiction does one find watching Looney Tunes to be "research." Cheers.

"Lie to a liar, for lies are his coin; Steal from a thief, for that is easy; lay a trap for a trickster and catch him at first attempt, but beware of an honest man"

-Proverb

CHAPTER TWO

"Ahhh… Ah jeez!" a huff of breath. "…Look what he did …" Another. "…to your face!" The next breath was shakier. Desperate. "Still… Scars do add character, they say, eh?" The Pied Piper tried again to breathe, failed, and chuckled- a mad sort of sound that reminded him of someone he saw Joker-gassed once- a desperately pained laugh that shouldn't exist, that had no right to exist, but that couldn't be supported or held back. It just sort of floated there, amid breaths that became increasingly difficult to take between the panic, and the helplessness, and the pain. "Now let's get up and find the-" another gasping bid for air- "the genius who invented these cuffs… Do the…" gasp "same to…"

"To…"

"…"

James jolted awake, shuddering with the aftershocks of his (dream? vision? torture?), it was getting hard to separate the three these days.

Wait.

Days?

Had it only been days since he'd arrived here? Here…

He'd been to Hell before, but never had he experienced such an unpleasant stay.

James laughed. It was a broken sound.

Then again, it was hard to laugh around the blood in his throat.

He considered. He remembered arriving at Hell's gates, chained up like Satan's birthday present with a great big 'SOLD' sign on his forehead. He remembered Neron's delighted grin, the sinking feeling in his stomache, the fleeting hope of striking a bargain- Neron did love a good bargain- and the crushing reality that his old enemy favoured payback this time, and wasn't ready to be tricked by the Trickster threetimes in a row.

But how long ago was that?

A day?

A month?

An hour?

It was difficult to tell anything in Hell. James wondered if Time even existed here. This was Neron's realm, after all. Heck, the air could probably be made of bubblegum if Neron wanted it to be.

But it wasn't. It was made of fire, and darkness, and stereotypes and James was trying not to lose his mind.

He couldn't tell if it was working. He kept imagining Sylvester the Cat staring frightfully at that fiery pit of bulldogs, and laughing out loud, sometimes while… otherwise engaged. He wondered if this was how the Joker felt.

Hopefully Piper managed to escape this. Then again, Hartley had never made an enemy quite as hellish as James had. He wondered if Hart was even still on the run.

'What did you call m—'

'NO! Not him… Not NOW!'

Damn. Maybe he was doomed to relive those last moments over and over and over and- He wished Neron would just pick a torture and stick with it. All this variety was givin' him a headache-

A fire of shots, the smell of smoke and BAM! BUDDABUDDABUDDABUDDA right in the center of his head, as if his brain exploded- and he guessed it had.

And that bastard Deadshot couldn't have picked a worse time, could he? Right when he was about to- to what, exactly? Come out of the closet? Go in for a silver-screen smooch? Profess his undying lo- Stop right there, James. Doesn't really matter anymore, does it?

It just provided another viable mode of torture for the great and douchey Neron, who liked to entice him with visions and images of what the outcome of that little train ride might have been, if it hadn't been cut short, some domestic, some pornographic, and some so cruel in their representation of Hartley's rejection, they were almost worse than the physical tortures Neron was equally fond of. Almost.

There was a sudden charge to the air, an almost electric feeling that reminded Trickster of the static electricity that followed in the wake of the Flash on a warm day of screwing around and having a laugh with ole' Flashy Pants- only this made a chill rush through his body, his hair stand on end.

Speak of the Devil and he doth appear.

"What do we have on the agenda today, Giovanni?" James flinched. He hated being called by his birth name, but if that was all he had to endure today, he would count his blessings.

"That was for what YOU did to Trickster, you sick son of a bitch!"

"How about letting me go?" He meant it to sound light and playful, but his voice came out a thick rasp, his lungs and vocal chords having refused to cooperate long ago. (Maybe? It seemed like long ago, anyways.)

Neron chuckled, a noise that sounded like flame and darkness and hate. "Now you know I don't want to do that, little Trickster. I knew you would be sent my way someday and I've been waiting for you. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…? It's something that hasn't been done before, and I think I owe you a little friendly reminder of that fact." He sneered. "But you already know that. And yet you continue to ask, every time I come to say hello. Why is that?"

"This is my Swan Song, trickster. What shall I play?"

'Because it's all I have left," James thought, 'All I can do is keep trying, keep going. I can't let myself lose sight of who I was- who I am. I can't let him- or this place- beat me. The show must go on.'

"I stand on a lonely stage, with a single spotlight…"

"Nothing to say," Neron goaded, reaching for the Trickster with one great gnarled claw. "Good. Save your voice, Giovanni. You'll need it to scream."

"Another hero, another mindless crime."

James closed his eyes. He found it easier to deal with the pain if he couldn't see what was happening. It was like walking on the tightrope all those years ago. Don't look down. Don't look down. Be strong.

But after waiting on bated breath for the worst, nothing happened. Not a scratch, not a tickle, not a poke. He opened one eye cautiously; afraid he was walking into a trap, so to speak, but upon glimpsing his captor, opened both eyes wide in surprise. Neron was frozen, hand mid-air, outstretched claw just inches from his left eye, and a look of paralyzed confusion plastered on his face. James blinked.

"Behind the curtain, in the pantomime…"

He heard a faint tune, as if a flute or a clarinet were playing Queen. But that couldn't be right. Neither flutes nor Queen existed in Hell. "Uhh, Neron?" he was afraid to move , lest the devil break out of his trance or fall over, claw first, in his direction. "Can you… kind of back up a bit?" It was just a joke, his defense mechanism, but then Neron actually did it. He took about three steps back and lowered his arm, still looking completely puzzled, but obeying Trickster's command.

Obeying my command.

"Outside the dawn is breaking…"

Perhaps the Trickster wasn't completely out of Tricks after all.

"Hey Neron," he tried to get a good steady breathing pattern going. This- whatever it was- might be his ticket out of here. "How about a deal?" Neron narrowed his eyebrows but nodded slowly, once. Glory be to anything and everything that wasn't Neron! "You let me go, and in return, you can kiss my ass." If that wasn't testing the waters… A thought occurred to him. "Uh, figuratively, of course." He held his breath for a response. If Neron was just fucking with him… But he would never agree to a deal without the intent to actually follow through! Neron nodded again, as if being pulled by some invisible string.

"—but inside in the dark—"

James wasn't entirely sure. He might have actually whooped. The chains holding him up suddenly disappeared, dropping his body, nearly useless, to the floor. He hadn't even realized there was a floor. It all just looked like darkness and this was actually working! He had to do this right. "And make sure all my body's wounds are healed! And everything's working right and I'm not a fucking zombie!" Neron nodded. James couldn't move from a combination of agony and numbness, but he twisted his face into the biggest grin of his life (or death). "And make sure Piper's alive! And… and you know what? Throw in some metahuman flight while you're at it. I want to fly through the air with the greatest of ease…" Neron seemed about ready to bite off his tongue with rage but he couldn't help nodding. "Oh," James continued, voice dropping suddenly to something serious and chilling, "and one last thing. I never want to see your ugly face again. Don't come looking for me. Leave me and my friends alone. I want your word that you won't drag me back here the moment whatever this is stops working, and then I want you to send me back. …Agreed?"

Neron opened his mouth almost mechanically and ground out the single word, between tense notes of anger, "Agreed." And then he reached to the side and extinguished a single candle between two of his great clawed fingers, and James Jesse's world went dark.

"—I'm aching to be free!"

The Trickster was gone, and all the fires of Hell raged in Neron's eyes.