A/N: Requested from Shiary XD and I love the idea (all of the ideas, actually, and they'll all be written eventually). This chapter really screwed with my search history…whoops! This is my school laptop, so I hope the tech guys don't feel the need to look at that ("Electroshock torture, most effective torture techniques, burn torture," need I go on?)

WARNING: Descriptions of torture included. How bad, you ask? Bad enough for Jason to be praying for death-by-crowbar. :O

I should be shot for having enjoyed writing this.

/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/

It was the bad thing about operating alone. Well, one of many. Don't get him wrong, he and his siblings had been having an alarming number of… almost positive encounters lately. But that didn't mean they all sang Kumbaya around the fire. No, they still disagreed on how to clean up the crime-ridden streets of Gotham. He still killed too… but less-so, not that he'd admit it. Only when absolutely necessary.

He still refuses to wear a ridiculous com-link while out on patrol. And so here he is, fading in and out of consciousness in some sort of torture chamber set up by Two-Face. He's strapped to some sort of metal table and he's been here for what he thinks is around a day, but it's hard to tell. Dent comes in at seemingly-random intervals, and it's always something different, but always unpleasant.

He'd come in with two options on a wheeled surgical stand, flip the coin, and viola. Fun times decided on for the next couple hours. So far? So far he'd been subjected to burns and a crude brand twisted into a crooked '2' (on the bottom half of his body), varying sizes and depths of Xs were carved into his skin with an unclean-looking scalpel (on the right half of his body) while electroshock had been used to send his body into agony and uncontrollable spasms (stopping at the hips somehow), and, lastly, burrowing maggots had been permitted to tunnel into his flesh (but only on the left half) which, if he had to choose, was his least favorite. While the others had turned into background noise, the insects still gnawed and tunneled through blood vessels and muscle tissue

Now that the cardinal directions had been covered, Jason was pretty sure that Two-Face wasn't going to go into north-northeast and southwest. Through the tormented ruins of his mind, Jason felt a vague appreciation for the originality and thought put into his killing. Not murder—he deserved it, this time around. He'd poked his head into one too many of Harvey Dent's operations, screwed up just enough of his reputation to get his life taken. And it was almost okay in the poetic nature, not as much of an insult as a fucking crowbar and bomb.

Tears mix with the blood on his cheeks as he hears the door unlocking again. Jason cracks open his sore lid—the left one being swollen shut—just in time to see Two-Face's scarred hand holding an electric knife.

"I'm too eager," he admits, the deformed side of his face looking like a wicked smile where the lips had been dissolved. "We're not even flipping for this one."

Jason couldn't keep his eyes from slamming shut at the sight—there goes the Death With Dignity plan—and more tears stream down the grime and maggot-raised knobs on his cheeks.

Crowbarcrowbarcrowbarcrowbar .

/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/

Robin skirts around the building's skeletally-brick exterior. Even though he's seen the schematics, knows that it's completely refurbished on the inside, it looks like a dump. Todd's been missing for nearly forty-eight hours, as Alfred pointed out on the open link minutes before. If Two-Face really had him two days ago, he's got to be dead by now. But Father was adamant that if there was even still a chance—which there really wasn't—they were going in after him.

Damian hates Todd's guts with every fiber of his being, would love nothing more than to see his pathetic life ended (except maybe the untimely demise of another certain Boy Wonder, and no, it wasn't Dick and Stephanie's a girl) but there are some things worse than the look on Batman's face if he let it happen. One of which being losing Father to the ghost of the Red Hood.

Batman was at the other end of the building, the front, taking it head-on to give Damian time to get into the 'Interrogation' rooms. Damian wasn't stupid, he knows what torture is, of course. Grandson of Ra's al Ghul, the Demon Head and leader of the League of Assassins? So, while he'd never witnessed much of it, he's prepared.

"All guards have vacated their positions to deal with the threat," an urgent voice growls in his ear. "Go, Robin."

He gets in with no problems, and starts his search. The rooms are empty save what look like autopsy tables and some blood—and an ear swept into the corner carelessly—until he gets to the fifth. There's a…body on this slab, but no mask, boots gone, and helmet absent. In fact, Damian wouldn't recognize Jason except for the silver tuff of hair blossoming from the black. Even though it's dirty, it's still there.

Robin rushes forward without hesitation and tires to feel for a pulse on the jugular vein, but something squirms underneath the skin and it takes the kid a moment to realize that it's a bug. Retrieving his hand quickly, he puts it against the man's chest, but no sooner does he touch the bare skin there that an agonized moan strikes Damian's ears.

Todd's…alive? Not only is Damian shocked, but he's disgusted. That must be intolerably painful.

"Father…?" he asks, uncertain.

"Robin? Found something?" He can hear the battle raging in the background.

"I…yes. I found Red Hood. He's alive, but—"

"Get him out, if you can. I'll catch up."

Damian swallows. "Yes, Father," he whispers before closing the line and calling the Batmobile remotely to the outside of the vicinity. Carrying Jason isn't hard, he hasn't been fed in days and he's only wearing pants, but it scares Damian. He's fragile, and if there's one thing Todd is not, it's fragile. And there are more maggots than he can count squirming underneath his skin... on the left. Jesus Christ, he thinks, tough he shouldn't be surprised. Dent even has to torture people in twos. Plus, there's a setting on his grapple for such a feat. It causes great stress to the abused body, being moved does, and his breathing becomes shallow as the car pulls up. Todd gets laid in the backseat, and Damian's still himself enough to note that the ingrate's getting blood everywhere, and Damian gets into the driver's side, though the Batmobile can pretty much drive itself.

Their ETA is approximately five minutes when Damian hears the sputtering sound coming from behind him. At first he thinks that Todd's woken up into a panic. He's in the middle of telling Alfred that he's got to get his elderly rear end to the Cave right now when he cuts off and looks over his shoulder. The man's chest is heaving, but he's still unconscious.

Frowning, Damian crawls over the seat to kneel on the ground and inspect. He presses his hand to the right side of Todd's throat—despite the unsanitary, barely-clotted cuts on that half of his body—and pushes his head to the side. Blood spills out of his mouth and the choking stops.

Damian swallows, grounds out "Don't die, Todd. Father would be upset, not to mention give you back your martyr's pedestal. To do that would be to spit on everything you've done since coming back…" He's been looking over Jason's body, and as he made it to the feet he noticed the shredded flesh. It looks like someone took a hacksaw to his Achilles tendons. Todd's going to be nothing short of 'pissed off' when he awakes from this comatose state. He rips off part of the outer layer of his cape—the part that's not Kevlar—and ties a strand to each ankle. The shock's almost enough to jolt Jason awake, but he only makes an anguished groan-whimper before becoming still again.

The next hour passes in a blur for Robin. Alfred meets him as the car parks itself with a gurney. Even though Damian can't tell what the butler's thinking from his body language—one does not simply read Alfred Pennyworth's emotions—he thinks he can feel the subtle desperation and quiet distress of the Englishman. Alfred has neither the time nor the patience to banish Damian from the med bay, so he simply lets the boy watch.

Sedative is administered, blood flow is staunched, maggots are pulled free and those wounds are cleaned for eggs, peroxide is basically poured into the cuts, burns carefully treated.

When Father throws open the door and strides in with a terrified grace, it takes him a moment to notice his son in the corner with a lax stance conveyed through tensed muscles.

"Damian," he addresses the child. "Go get changed." Damian shakes his head, but Batman has already redirected his attention.

"Alfred, how is he?"

"I wouldn't use the word stable quiet yet, sir, but I'd say his prognosis has increased in the past couple hours." Bruce nods before noticing the flutter of a torn cape in the corner. Still in the corner.

"Damian, I told you to get out of the way…"

He hesitates. Damian doesn't want to disobey Father a second time. Batman's testy, and the last thing Robin needs to be doing right now is instigating fights. A small, terse nod is sent his father's way before he turns to Alfred.

"Pennyworth," he says, the first word to a conscious person since radioing Batman earlier. "Todd nearly asphyxiated on his own blood in transport; you're going to need to clean the Batmobile."

Without another word, he left.

/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/

Five AM. Practically the only time you can go about your own business in the Manor, as big as it is. Unless, of course, Father's got an early meeting, or someone's coming home from a particularly late bout of patrol.

Damian's footsteps sound too-loud as they echo all the way down to the Cave's med bay. Todd's pale face shines with a ghastly sheen of sweat under the fluorescent lights, parts of him bulging and swelling all colors of the rainbow.

Wordlessly, he steps forward, aware of the pain Jason would be in were he awake, though Pennyworth doubtlessly had him set up with sedatives enough for an elephant. Muttered something about 'accursed Lazarus pits…'

The figure doesn't move underneath his gaze save for the shallow rise and fall of his now-covered chest. As he knew it wouldn't. He doesn't know why he's standing here, over the 'brother' guilty of trying to murder him.

The visual of maggots swarming the sterile med bay tables, the whitewashed floors and crawling their way through once-teal eye sockets had been imprinted on his unpainted ceiling when he'd tried to sleep. Pennyworth hadn't emerged from the depths of the cave since Jason had been brought in.

Pennyworth, though normally thorough, had capacity for gaffes. All Damian needs to do is make sure larva weren't skittering around his flesh, and then he'll be alright. He observes for a while, blinking only as much as he absolutely needs to.

A hand appears on his shoulder, and although he doesn't jump—son of the goddamn Batman—he tenses considerably. He doesn't look back either, but Alfred's steady voice reaches his ears:

"Master Damian, awake already?" he inquires, and Damian can practically see him raising an eyebrow in his mind's eye.

"Yes," he replies without missing a beat. "Merely making sure you haven't missed anything."

"And…?" the man queries, proper, polite, and the slightest bit amused.

Damian nods thoughtfully. "Did you make sure," he clears his throat to rid the vision swimming in his head like a nightmare, "to get all of the maggots?"

Alfred sighs inaudibly. "I believe so, yes. Rest assured, I've also laced his IV with an atihelminthic to kill any remaining insects and their eggs."

"Very good, Pennyworth." He nods again, this time in approval, and pokes a wary finger against Jason's limp arm. "It would have been a shame to get him here just to have Todd die of something so pathetic."

Alfred smiled openly since Damian still had yet to turn around. "Understandable, young sir. He should pull through with a good deal of rest. You did a commendable job getting him here," he tacks on seamlessly, "I'm not sure he would have made it otherwise."

Damian scoffs. "Don't be rash. Of course he would've made it. You don't get rid of someone like Todd so easily, Pennyworth."

"Either way," he continues. "With as much pride as your father, he's hopeless with gratitude. Though, I wouldn't put it past the lad."

"Maybe you wouldn't, but I would."

"Though Master Bruce is nearly quite incapable of such expression, Master Jason can—and I believe he will—show it through action." His eyes twinkle a bit and he places a kindly hand on a patch of skin on Jason's leg that he knows isn't as wounded as the rest of him. "They speak louder than words you know."

Damian's halfway through rolling his eyes when Alfred speaks again. "It appears to be nearly six. What do you say I mix up some pancake batter while you get dressed?"

With one last look at Jason's face—he'll be fine for an hour, right?—he turns toward the stairs. "That would be an acceptable plan of action." And then he's off, very pointedly not looking back in their direction.

A weak grip halts Alfred on his way from the room. The butler looks down to see an involuntarily winking face squinting up at him through the fluorescent glare. His mouth forms the words Thanks, Alf. but sound doesn't quite escape his chapped lips. It's okay to say that word, thanks, to Alfred. He's always been good at keeping secrets, even before.

"You're quite welcome, Master Jason. Now, do get some rest, I wasn't joking." He squeezes his leg once more before exiting.

And Jason does, without the knowledge of a superior Damian hanging over his head. And, okay, maybe he revels in the feeling of home a bit. As far as he's concerned, there's not a single safer place in the world than the Manor, and Alfred's such a genius that even the med bay's thin, flat bed is comfortable.