A/N: Big warning for swearing here, Peeps, Jason's language is ATROCIOUS in this chapter!
Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, your comments and feedback really made me smile. :)
oOo
Pain. That was the first thing that Jason became aware of. Loud, obnoxious pain pounding through his head. The second thing was the sensation of someone touching him; he could feel fingers on his wrist.
Immediately, Jason reacted, grabbing the hand and throwing out his fist. It connected with something solid and there was a cry of pain. His eyes flew open and he moved to get up, only for the world to spin violently.
Groaning and feeling like he might puke, Jason put a hand to his head. His fingers met something wet. What the hell?
"Jason," Bruce's voice sounded somewhere nearby.
This time he was slower in opening his eyes, blinking until the spinning room slowed to a halt. Bruce's concerned face came into view just above him.
Jason groaned. Christ, his head hurt. "Bruce," he managed, his voice raspy.
"Easy, Jason," Bruce responded. "Try not to move."
"The…hell 'm I doin' on the floor?" he asked, his gaze going to the two paramedics kneeling on either side of him. The male paramedic was holding a tissue to his lip, which was bleeding. Jason wondered briefly if that was a result of his fist before attempting to sit up.
"Sir, you need to lie still," the woman said, stopping him by putting a hand on his chest. "You may have– "
"Fuckin' lemme up!" Jason growled at her, rolling onto his left side and using his elbow to prop himself up. The world started to spin again and he gritted his teeth against the pain in his head.
This time it was the male paramedic who intervened, trying to push him back down. "Sir, please! You've taken a terrible– "
"Back off or I'll puke on you!" Jason ground out. He wasn't sure what was going on but he knew he wanted to get up off this floor.
The man held up his hands in a pacifying gesture, allowing Jason to struggle to a sitting position. Something wet trickled down the side of his face and he raised a shaking hand towards it. His fingers came away red.
"Why 'm I bleedin'?" Jason demanded, his voice sounding thin, reedy. "What's goin' on? And get that thing outta my face!" he snapped at the male paramedic who was now trying to shine a light in his eyes.
The man dropped his hands and looked up at Bruce in exasperation.
"Jason, let them look at you," the billionaire ordered.
"Not until someone tells me what the fuck is going on!" Jason didn't know why he was on the damn floor, or why his head felt like it was about to burst. He squinted around the still tilting room, taking in the white tiled floor and red booths; this was Inside Scoop. But why was the place filled with cops?
He glanced back at Bruce, who was now crouched beside him, his face pinched with worry…and the memory of what happened hit Jason full force. He twisted back to look at the booth he'd been sitting in with Dick.
The boy was gone.
"Oh God, no!" he moaned, turning back to Bruce. "They took him, Bruce, they took him!" He tried to get up but flopped sideways instead.
Bruce caught him before he hit the floor. "Jason, take it easy! You're hurt."
But Jason wasn't listening. Ignoring the explosions of pain going off inside his head, he clutched frantically at Bruce's arm. "They knew we'd be here! They knew! They were here before us – those fuckers!"
Bruce winced at his language. "Jason, you need to calm down."
"Don't tell me to–" Jason's eyes landed on Mr. Ferretti, standing a few feet away talking to a police officer. Rage filled him. "YOU!" he roared at the man, pulling away from Bruce and trying to get to his feet but making the world rock around him instead. "You son of a bitch! You were in on this, you drugged us!"
Jason reached for the nearby table to pull himself up while one hand jabbed in Mr. Ferretti's direction. "How could you do this to him? He trusted you! I swear to God, I'll wring your fucking neck when I get my hands on you!"
"Jason! Enough!" Bruce's tone was sharp. "Mr. Ferretti had no choice; the men took his family hostage. They had his wife and daughter in the kitchen the whole time you were out here."
"What?" Jason stopped mid-pull, remaining only half-upright. He had just realized that his legs weren't going to support him.
"Si, it's true, Signore!" said Mr. Ferretti desperately, coming towards them with his hands held out plaintively. "They had Marie and my little Lucia!"
Jason's eyes went to where the plump Italian woman stood with her arms clamped tight around their ten-year-old daughter.
"I would never have hurt little Dickie but for those men, never!" Mr. Ferretti implored.
Jason looked away from the man's guilty expression. Fuck. Now he had no one to direct his anger at.
And he was in dire need of an outlet. Jason felt sick as rage, fear and hot white panic churned inside him. Dick was gone, taken, and he'd been pathetically unable to stop it.
"Dammit," Jason whispered, slumping to his knees. He closed his eyes, bringing one hand to his forehead.
"Jason?" Bruce put a hand on his shoulder.
Jason glanced at him, his expression wretched. "I was right there, Bruce – right there! I should have stopped them!"
"In no way was this your fault," Bruce told him firmly. "You were drugged. Not to mention that crack to the head." He paused and squeezed his shoulder before entreating in a softer voice, "Jason, please let the paramedics look at you."
Reluctantly, Jason conceded, allowing Bruce to help him to a chair. He felt worn out and ragged, like his nerves were hanging on by a thread.
It was with some trepidation that the paramedics approached him. Jason saw them exchange nervous glances. "Its fine," he told them wearily. "Let's just get this over with." His head was killing him and he still felt like he might puke.
They relaxed slightly and complied, although Jason had to force himself to remain still and not snap at them while they examined him. "What happened?" he asked Bruce, trying to ignore the paramedics. He wasn't a big fan of people touching him; Dick – and Bruce to a certain extent – was the exception.
"They took Dick out the back after knocking you out," Bruce answered, his expression dark. "That was how they entered, through the kitchen. According to Mr. Ferretti, they arrived about ten minutes before you did. They took him and his family hostage, made him switch off all the security cameras, and warned him that as soon as you and Dick came in, he was to drug you or they'd kill his wife and child…The man really had no choice, Jason." Bruce sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Jason.
"We have no pictures of them?" Jason's heart started to beat a little faster. "Bruce, I can't remember what they looked like!" Jason felt like he might lose it; he never forgot a face. So why was it that now, when it really mattered, he could only visualize three blurs?
"It's probably because of the blow to the head and whatever they drugged you with," the female paramedic pointed out gently. "Your memory might return, but don't worry if it doesn't; there were other witnesses."
Other witnesses, right. Jason gave a snort as he exchanged glances with Bruce; they both knew a traumatized family may not be the most reliable of witnesses. As for the other witness…
Mrs. Tanner was still in her corner booth, clearly in shock with her little dog clutched to her chest. A police officer was speaking quietly to her. Jason swallowed miserably. She'd been so frightened during the kidnapping that she hadn't even screamed; he doubted she'd be able to remember how many men there were, much less identify them.
"So what do we do now?" Jason asked Bruce.
"We don't do anything. I will go home and wait for them to call. You will go to the hospital."
"The hell I will! I don't need the hospital!"
"Oh yes, you do," the female paramedic told him. Jason realized her partner was gone. "Your eyes aren't focusing and your head is still bleeding."
"So?!" Jason spat.
"You need a CT scan and–"
"I don't need anything except to find Dick!" Jason told her, attempting to stand and crashing back onto the chair.
"Jason, go to the hospital," Bruce told him wearily. "This is hard enough without having to worry about you too."
"You don't need to worry about me!" Jason insisted. "I'm not– oh, hell no!" His protestations were interrupted by the reappearance of the male paramedic and a gurney. Jason scowled at the man as he approached. "You try to make me get on that thing and we have a problem!"
"Okay, let's just drop this tough guy act!" the man snapped, surprising him. "I get that you're worried but this is helping no one – least of all the kid that's just been kidnapped."
Jason glared at him. He had no response because deep down, he knew the man was right. But he didn't know what else to do. He was panicking and scared, and the only way Jason knew how to deal with fear was to lash out.
"Jason, please go to the hospital," said Bruce, his hand on his shoulder once more. "If you won't do it for me then do it for Dick. He'd be miserable if anything happened to you."
Jason gave Bruce an irritated glare. The man knew exactly what to say to make him go. "Okay, fine! But, Bruce, as soon as you know something…"
"I will keep you updated on everything that happens," Bruce promised, helping him to his feet.
"You'd better or– I'm still not getting on that thing," Jason snapped at the male paramedic who came forward with the gurney.
The man rolled his eyes and sighed.
oOo
Bruce stood before the blazing fire, staring into the flames. He couldn't bring himself to turn around and face the Christmas tree. It was too painful a reminder that Dick wasn't here.
The billionaire wished he could take the damn thing down, but he knew Dick would be upset if he returned home and it wasn't there. No, not if, when. As soon as these men made their demands, they could have whatever the hell they wanted and Dick would be home safe. That was how these things worked. But that knowledge didn't make this any easier to deal with; Bruce was only too aware of the many things that could go wrong. Why was it these bastards always knew exactly who was most precious to him?
"Mr. Wayne?" said a voice behind him and he turned to find Jim Gordon standing there.
Alfred must have let him in. "Commissioner, any word?"
The officer shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne. There were no cameras to the back of the store to tell us what the men looked like, or what direction they went."
"What about fingerprints?" he asked anxiously.
"Nothing. They wore gloves, which matches what the Ferrettis told us."
Bruce turned back to the fire to hide the pain on his face. "So I have no choice but to wait until they contact me."
"I'm sorry."
Bruce swallowed and clenched his fists. Oh, how he hated this hell! He couldn't believe he had to endure it again so soon after Joker. Sometimes life really wasn't fair.
"Mr. Wayne, I wanted to talk to you about something."
The Commissioner's voice sounded serious and Bruce faced him, raising an enquiring eyebrow. "Yes?"
The officer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't know if it's occurred to you, but those men arrived at Inside Scoop before Dick and Jason. They were waiting for them – they knew Dick was going to be there."
Bruce nodded. "I know. Jason said the same thing when he regained consciousness."
"That means someone must have tipped them off. Did Jason tell anyone where he was taking Dick?"
Bruce shook his head. "No. Jason is very careful about security. He never tells anyone except me and Alfred where he's taking Dick."
"But if Jason didn't tell anyone where they were going to be, then how did the kidnappers know where they were going to be? We checked Jason's car, there were no bugs."
Bruce frowned at him. He had a feeling he knew where the Commissioner was going with this. "What are you trying to say, Jim?"
The officer looked uncomfortable. "Mr. Wayne, have you considered the possibility that Jason may be the one behind this?"
"He's not."
"How can you be so sure?" the officer persisted. "Mr. Wayne, he's only been working for you for a few months. What do you really know about him?"
"I know enough."
"Enough to trust him with Dick's safety?"
"Yes. Commissioner, I know that not knowing anything about Jason's past makes you suspicious of him, but I guarantee you, he is not behind this."
"If you say so." The officer looked unconvinced. "Where is he now?"
"The hospital. He has a concussion and they're keeping him overnight for observation. I had Alfred call to check on him."
The officer fixed him with a grim look. "You know, just because Jason was injured is no reason to believe that he isn't behind this."
Bruce sighed in frustration. He knew the other man was fond of Dick and concerned about his welfare, but he needed to make the officer understand that Jason was the last person in the world who would hurt him. "Jim, I know this is hard for you to understand, but Jason would sooner slit his own throat before letting any harm come to Dick. There is no one I trust more with his safety."
The officer sighed. "I just wish I knew why you trusted him so much."
The billionaire didn't answer; he couldn't tell Gordon why he trusted Jason so much – it involved too many secrets.
Bruce thought back to when Jason had arrived in their world as Red Hood; a damaged and violent individual who thought nothing of killing perceived criminals. And while Bruce knew that Jason would always have darkness in him – his violence was now tempered with humanity. Jason was a very different man to the one he had been, and Dick was the reason why. But if Bruce lived to be a hundred, he would never be able to explain just how Dick had wrought that change.
As one of the brightest minds of his generation, there were few things that Bruce didn't understand, but Jason's relationship with Dick was one of them. It was impossible to explain how a man who cared so little for most things could value one boy that he had only known for a short time so much. Bruce highly doubted that even Jason himself would be able to explain it. But then, Jason probably didn't even think about it. To Jason, Dick was important and that was it.
Bruce had been silently musing for several minutes before Commissioner Gordon spoke again. "Mr. Wayne?"
Bruce looked up. "I'm sorry, Commissioner, just thinking."
The man gave an understanding nod. "Since the kidnappers haven't contacted you, I'm going to return to PD and see if I can uncover anything else. I'll leave Officer Mahoney here to man the trap and trace. But if–"
Loud voices echoed from the hall, interrupting the officer and drawing near the living room. One of the voices was definitely Alfred; Bruce could hear the smooth English accent clearly. The other one sounded suspiciously like…
Bruce groaned inwardly as Jason appeared in the doorway, leaning slightly on Alfred who was arguing furiously with him.
"– such a reckless thing to do, Sir. Why, anything could have happened!"
Jason rolled his eyes. "Alfred, I'm fine, stop fussing!"
"Oh yes, you're the very picture of health," Alfred replied sarcastically, helping Jason into the living room.
"Jason." Bruce strode towards them. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in the hospital!"
The younger man shrugged. "Checked myself out. I'm not staying in a hospital where the nurses aren't even cute."
"That's not funny!" said Bruce sharply, taking his other arm and leading him towards a chair. "And please tell me you didn't drive here!"
"I caught a cab. Credit me with some sense," Jason retorted, sitting into the chair.
"Sense?" Bruce repeated. "When you discharged yourself from the hospital after a head injury? Jason, there's a reason the doctors wanted to keep you in for observation."
"You mean so they could keep waking me every few hours to ask stupid questions! That's nothing that you or Alfred can't do here."
"We're not qualified medical professionals," Bruce pointed out. "If there are complications–"
"There won't be any complications," Jason interrupted. "They've stitched me up and I've had all the damn scans done – they were clear. I'm fine, Bruce, I've got a hard head."
"You're telling me," Bruce retorted, frowning in concern at Jason.
"Whatever." Jason waved a hand impatiently. "Have the kidnappers contacted you?"
Bruce shook his head.
Jason's shoulders slumped. "Damn." Then he spied Commissioner Gordon standing just behind Bruce and Alfred. "Commissioner, have you found anything?" he demanded anxiously.
"I'm afraid not, Jason, these guys were professionals."
"Of course they were," Jason grumbled, his face dark as he ran a frustrated hand through his blood-matted hair. "Fuckers."
Bruce knew he was paying zero attention to the Police Chief scrutinizing him closely. "Jason, stay in that chair while I walk the Commissioner out. Alfred, would you mind bringing him some tea?"
"Certainly, Sir. What about some restraints to ensure he remains in the chair?"
"Don't tempt me," Bruce muttered, giving Jason an exasperated look to which the younger man crossed his arms defensively.
"I'll stay in the damn chair!"
Somehow Bruce didn't believe that. "See that you do," he warned. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Jason, Alfred." Commissioner Gordon nodded to them both as he and Bruce left the room.
"I wish he had stayed in the hospital," Bruce sighed to the officer, walking towards the front door. "He's in no shape to have been released."
"Quite the tough guy," Gordon commented.
Bruce frowned. "He's not as tough as he thinks he is."
"Why did he check himself out?"
Bruce caught the suspicion in the other man's tone. "Not for the reasons you think. Jason is worried about Dick and waiting for news in the hospital would only drive him crazy."
The officer shrugged. "Guess I'll have to take your word for it."
They stopped at the front door. Bruce reached for the handle and started to open it. "Jim, I know it's hard for–" He stopped speaking abruptly and frowned. There was a man standing on the front steps, his hand raised as if to ring the bell. "Can I help you?" Bruce asked.
The man looked slightly startled. "Uh, yeah. I'm looking for Bruce Wayne?"
Bruce's frown deepened. "You've found him."
"Oh. Package for you, Mr. Wayne," the man told him, holding out a brown parcel.
Bruce went cold. He wasn't expecting any packages. Quickly, he grabbed the man's arm and pulled him into the well-lit hallway. "Who sent this?" he demanded.
"Hey!" cried the man indignantly. "What gives?!"
Bruce's grip tightened. "I asked you a question! Who sent this?"
"How am I supposed to know?" the man answered defensively. "Some dude."
Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce could see Commissioner Gordon patting his pockets before pulling out some latex gloves. Quickly he snapped them on and reached for the package. "Give it to me," Gordon ordered.
The man obeyed, looking at the two of them as if they were insane. "Look, I don't know what's going on here, but–"
"Be quiet!" Bruce growled and the man's jaw snapped shut. He looked utterly bewildered.
Commissioner Gordon walked over to the hall table and placed the parcel on it before opening it carefully. Something blue flashed through the wrappings.
"Jim, what is it?" Bruce asked anxiously, his heart starting to pound. He hadn't expected to be contacted this way.
Silently, the officer picked up the item and held it out: a blue blazer. Bruce felt something catch in his throat. It was Dick's school blazer. He stared at the item of clothing for several seconds before turning to the delivery man and shaking him hard. "Where did you get that? Who sent this?"
"Get your hands off me!" the man yelled, bringing his lower arms upwards and then shoving them sideways to break Bruce's hold. "Are you crazy?!"
"I'd answer him if I were you," said Commissioner Gordon, joining them once more. "Whoever sent this kidnapped his son."
The delivery man's eyes went wide with shock.
"Jim, what's that?" Bruce asked, pointing at a sheet of paper in the officer's left hand. Dick's blazer had been placed back on the brown paper.
"Ransom note," he answered, holding it out so Bruce could see.
The billionaire felt like he'd been socked in the stomach. A Polaroid photograph of Dick, blindfolded and lying on a cement floor was attached to the top of the page. Large black letters beneath it read: Ten million before nine a.m. on Wednesday morning or the kid is dead. We'll be in touch. There was an account number at the bottom of the page.
Bruce couldn't take his eyes from the photo of Dick. His heart was pounding. We'll be in touch? What the hell was that supposed to mean? And if they didn't contact him by phone, how was Bruce supposed to know Dick was even alive?
"What's going on?" Jason's voice demanded suddenly.
Bruce glanced back to where Jason and Alfred were now standing, obviously drawn by the loud voices. "The kidnappers have made contact," Bruce answered, turning to face the delivery man once more. "Who. Sent. This?" he ground out, giving the man his deadliest glare.
The man shrank back. "Just some guy! I was in the middle of a run when the depot called and sent me to do a pick up from 520 Rupert Street. I got there and some guy was standing outside with the package. He gave me this address and paid cash, that's all I know! I swear!"
Jason came towards them, his gait unsteady. Bruce saw him clench his fist when he glanced at the paper in Gordon's hand. "What did this guy look like?" Jason demanded, glaring at the delivery man.
"I don't know," the man replied. "Tall, dark hair…ordinary."
"That's not a description!" Jason snapped, stepping towards him.
"But I don't remember!" the man cried, looking scared now.
"Then you wrack that tiny little brain of yours until you do remember!" Jason jabbed a finger into the man's chest.
"Easy, Jason." Commissioner Gordon gave him a strange look. "We have forensic artists that have ways of helping him to remember.
"Can they help me?" Jason asked urgently, turning his attention to the officer. "Every time I try to remember what they look like, all I can see are fucking blurs!"
"They can try." Gordon returned to the hall table and placed the letter alongside the blazer. "Don't touch those," he warned, pulling out his cell phone. "I'm calling in a forensics team." He glanced back at the delivery man. "And you might want to call your employer; you won't be leaving here anytime soon."
oOo
The first thing that occurred to Dick was that he was really, really cold. The second was that he was lying on something hard. Slowly, the boy opened his eyes, blinking when his vision met nothing but dark. "What…?" he mumbled, reaching up. A hand seized his wrist.
"I wouldn't do that," a harsh voice warned.
Immediately, Dick reacted. He rolled to his knees and slammed the heel of his free hand in the direction of the voice. It connected with something and there was a loud crack and a cry of pain. The hand released his wrist and he lurched to his feet only to have someone slam into him from behind, tackling him to the ground. His hands were twisted up behind his back.
"You little shit!" the man pinning him in place snarled, and a hand grabbed his hair. "Has Todd been teaching you moves?! Maybe I should show you some of mine?"
"No!" Another voice cracked like a whip. "No injuries unless necessary. We don't want Wayne thinking we'll kill the kid, not until he ponies up."
Wayne? He's talking about Bruce! Dick realized. Whatever was going on here, it had nothing to do with Robin and he would have to act accordingly. Dick Grayson wasn't supposed to know moves like that.
Dick allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, stiffening when footsteps came towards him. He was blindfolded, something he hated; having to rely on sound made him feel a lot more vulnerable.
"Where'd you learn that move?" a cold voice demanded from somewhere in front of him.
Dick seized on the excuse they had already given him. "Jason has been teaching me self-defense."
There was a snort of laughter. "Has he now? Well, learn this one, Kid: try another stunt like that and I'll break your arm!"
Dick nodded, then shivered. He was freezing.
"Get the phone," the cold voice ordered. "It's time to call Daddy dearest."
A ransom call. Now Dick had an idea of what was going on. His forehead crinkled as he tried to remember what had happened. After several seconds of wracking his brain, scattered images of Inside Scoop floated back to him and Dick froze. Jason had been there with him. What had happened to Jason?
"Where's Jason?" he asked aloud. "Did you hurt him?"
A bark of laughter erupted in front of him. "You hear this kid?" There was a whoosh and Dick sensed a face very close to his own. "Don't question me, Brat. I don't like kids – and I like spoilt little rich ones even less!"
A set of footsteps came towards them. "Here," a third voice spoke.
"Good," the cold voice that seemed to be in charge replied. "What's Wayne's cell phone number?"
Dick blinked. Bruce's cell number? Was he talking to him?
A hand seized his throat. "Don't try and pretend you don't know! Little math genius like you?"
Dick was confused. "But I wasn't–"
The hand squeezed tighter. "Spit it out!"
Dick hurriedly recited Bruce's number. This man was impatient with a short fuse – a bad combination.
"Good boy," the voice sneered condescendingly and the hand released his throat. It was several seconds before the voice spoke again. "Hello, Mr. Wayne. Did you get my package?"
Dick frowned. What package?
"Good. You have our instructions so if you want your little boy home on time for Christmas then follow them." There was silence for several seconds until the man laughed. "I thought you might say that."
Dick found himself being shoved forward and a phone was placed in his hands. "Say hi to Daddy, Kid."
Dick raised the phone to his ear. "Bruce?"
"Dick, oh, thank God!" the relieved voice of his guardian sounded on the line. "Are you alright? They haven't hurt you, have they?"
"No, I'm fine. Bruce, is Jason okay? He was with me…"
"Jason is fine, just a bump on the head," Bruce reassured him. "He's standing beside me right now."
Dick could hear Jason's voice in the background and relief coursed through him; he had been afraid of Jason being hurt. Before Dick could speak again, the phone was snatched from his hands and two large hands clamped down on his shoulders, yanking him backwards.
"Time's up!" the cold voice spat. "Nine a.m. tomorrow, Wayne, or I'll mail your kid back to you in pieces!"
"Think he'll do it?" the man behind Dick asked.
"Oh, he'll pay alright," said the man who had spoken to Bruce.
Dick shivered again and wrapped his arms around himself, realizing for the first time that his blazer was gone. No wonder I'm so cold, he thought, rubbing at the arms of his thin shirt.
"So what now?" asked the third kidnapper from somewhere to Dick's right.
"Bring the kid over here," ordered the man in charge and Dick found himself being pushed forwards by the massive hands on his shoulders. After a few steps, he was pulled to a halt.
Dick waited, expecting to feel ropes restraining him and was surprised to hear the clinking of glass followed by the sound of liquid being poured. Then a glass was pushed into his hand.
"Drink!" the cold voice ordered.
Dick's heart started to beat a little faster. More drugs. Why couldn't they just tie him up? They'd already dosed him once and he was nervous about a second; Dick had read stories of kidnap victims OD'ing because their captors kept subduing them with drugs.
Much as he hated to admit it, Dick knew he was small – he weighed less than ninety pounds – meaning the average dose for someone else was a lethal amount for him. But he highly doubted that these men would take that into consideration.
"Did that sound like a suggestion?" the cold voice snarled at him in low, dangerous tones when he hesitated.
Dick swallowed. "Couldn't…couldn't you just tie me up?" he ventured. He knew he was treading on thin ice but he had to try. He could smell whatever they had put in the glass.
"Drink. The fucking. Soda," the man ordered, seizing Dick's wrist and forcing the glass to his lips.
Up close, the smell made Dick gag and he turned his head away. It was an instinctive reaction, not an act of resistance, but the man took it as such and snapped.
"I've had just about enough of you!" he hissed, snatching the glass from Dick.
Before the boy could explain, a strong hand seized his jaw and forced his mouth open, then the glass was smashed against his lips and teeth.
"Mmpfh!" Dick cried out, as liquid dribbled onto his shirt. His head was pushed back and the foul tasting drink was poured into his mouth, causing him to splutter and cough. He brought his left hand up and pushed the glass away. "Stop, I'll drink it!" he gasped.
Unfortunately for Dick, he shoved at the glass too hard, spilling its contents down his sleeve and knocking the glass from the man's hand. The boy froze when he heard the glass shatter on the floor.
"You little shit!" the man roared. A hand grabbed the front of Dick's shirt and another seized his left wrist where it had frozen, suspended in midair.
"I'm sorry!" Dick said quickly. "It was an accident! I'll drink the next one, I promise!"
"Damn straight you'll–" the man stopped speaking and Dick felt his left arm being yanked upwards. Several seconds later, the hand holding the front of his shirt let go and fingers poked at his left forearm. The wet shirt felt cold where it brushed against his skin.
"Boss, what's wrong?" the kidnapper behind Dick asked.
The other man didn't answer. Without warning, the buttons on Dick's shirt sleeve were ripped open and the sleeve was shoved down his arm.
Dick swallowed hard as his arm was pulled towards the man in front of him. The grip on his wrist and just above his elbow tightened painfully.
"What's that?" asked the third man. "A tattoo?"
Dick's heart started to pound. He knew what they were looking at; the awful image of Batman that Joker had carved into his arm back in September. When his white shirt had gotten wet, it must have revealed the glaring red scars beneath.
"Where did you get this?" the cold voice demanded.
Dick's mouth went dry. "I…It…"
The man dropped his left arm and seized his right one, ripping open those buttons as well and pulling back the material. Dick started to shake a little as he sensed the men staring at the name Joker etched into his skin.
The man behind him gave a snort of disgust. "That your doing, Kid? You some freaky little Goth or something that likes to cut himself?"
Dick dropped his head and his face burned. Like he would ever do that to himself!
"I don't think so," said the cold voice and there was something dangerous in his tone. "See the way that name is done? Someone did that to him, some clown…didn't he, Dick?"
Dick's head shot up and he almost stopped breathing. He knows!
Before the boy could react, the man slammed a hard fist into his face and drove a sharp knee into his stomach. As Dick gasped and lurched forward, a brutal elbow smashed into the back of his neck sending him crashing to the floor.
Stunned, Dick moved to get onto his knees but someone jumped on him and smashed his face into the floor, then seized his wrists and pulled his hands up behind his back until his fingers brushed his shoulder blades.
"Boss?! What the hell are you doing?" one of the men cried.
"Get me some rope now!" the leader snapped in response. "And bring me a baggie from the new shipment!"
"The new shipment?" the other man repeated, sounding confused. "But, Boss–"
"Now!" the man ordered.
Dick could hear two sets of footsteps moving away. "What…are you doing?" he gasped, the man's weight crushing him.
"Todd's been teaching you self-defense, has he?" the man whispered in his ear. "Don't make me laugh! I didn't think it was possible for a spoiled rich brat to get more valuable but you've just proven me wrong…Robin."
Dick jerked, trying to either throw the man off or pull his arms out of the vice-like grip.
The man responded by twisting his arms higher and making him cry out in pain. "I will break your fucking arms if you try it," he hissed in Dick's ear. "I'm not going to underestimate you, Kid, so be smart and don't underestimate me!"
A set of footsteps returned. "Here's the rope, Boss."
Dick felt his wrists being crossed over one another.
"Bind his hands," the cold voice ordered and Dick felt rope being wound securely around his wrists.
"Tighter!" the man pinning him to the floor ordered. Dick felt rope twist as the other man complied.
"Tighter!" the leader ordered again, and Dick gritted his teeth when the twine was pulled so hard it cut into his wrists.
A second set of footsteps approached as the man finished securing Dick's hands. "I have it. Boss, are you sure about this?"
"I'm sure!" the man snapped.
Dick was rolled onto his back, wincing as his pinned arms twisted painfully beneath him and the glass scattered about the floor cut into him.
"Get behind the kid," the man still straddling him snapped. "And give me that!"
Dick's heart thudded in fear as strong hands grabbed his upper arms and pulled him up until he was sitting upright, while the man pinning him shuffled downwards until he was straddling Dick's legs. A large body positioned itself behind him and muscular arms wrapped around his chest.
"Boss, I'm not so sure about this," the deep voice of the man behind him spoke and Dick felt the hum of his voice reverberate through him. "He's just a kid."
"A kid who pissed me off!" the man snapped. "Do it!"
Without warning, the arms around Dick's chest moved upwards; one hand clamped tightly across his mouth, pulling his head firmly against the man's chest, while the other hand pinched his nostrils closed.
Dick's eyes widened behind the blindfold; he couldn't breathe! Were they trying to kill him?! Desperately, he struggled, trying to move his head from side to side in an effort to break away from the hands across his face, but the man kept a viciously tight hold on him.
The seconds ticked past and Dick could hear the frantic, muffled sounds he was making behind the hand while his chest pitched and heaved as his lungs strained to breathe.
What are you doing? Let me go! he pleaded silently with the men. I can't breathe!
Were they really going to kill him like this? Dick could feel his head start to pound and his heart hammered against his chest. This wasn't fair! After everything that had happened with Joker, why was he being made to suffer like this again? It just wasn't fair!
He was on the verge of passing out when the hand pinching his nostrils together was removed. Frantically, Dick sucked in air…but instead of the oxygen he expected, a burning sensation filled his nasal cavity and an awful, metallic taste swelled in his throat. He choked and his eyes started to water.
Oh God, what did they give me?
"Again," the man in charge ordered and Dick found himself once more the victim of rough hands clamping down on his mouth and nose. But this time, the lack of air was accompanied by a terrible pain within his head and nose; it felt like they were burning from the inside out.
"Boss, I think this is too much," the third man commented from somewhere to the left. "That stuff is strong."
"Exactly," retorted the man straddling Dick's legs. "He's going to be so out of it for the next few hours that he won't be able to even think about giving us trouble!"
Dick gave a choked, frantic sound behind the hands preventing him from breathing. He was already starting to feel the effects of whatever that stuff was, he didn't want to take anymore!
Somewhere in his panicked thoughts it occurred to him that only the leader had worked out that he was Robin, but he didn't seem to be sharing that information with the other two. Dick wondered what that meant for him.
His head started to pound again and the hand was pulled away from his nostrils. Dick tried not to breathe in, but it was a reflexive action and his body was begging for air; he couldn't stop himself from inhaling and the painful sensation of burning filled his nose once more.
The hand dropped from his mouth as he choked, and his eyes watered when the distressing burning in his head and nose increased. His body began to tingle and his head felt big. And even though he couldn't see the room around him, Dick knew it was starting to shrink. "What…what did you give…me?" he gasped, as shivers crawled up his spine.
One of the men said something to him but Dick didn't catch it; the man's voice sounded all wrong – like a voice recording that the batteries were dying on.
"What?" Dick asked, turning towards the voice only to discover that the men had disappeared. Where did they go? he wondered. His head really hurt.
Multi-coloured lights started to flash and the room began to rotate. Dick wondered if this was some kind of club, although there didn't seem to be any music. Instead, there was laughter, cackling, evil laughter that bounced off the walls and echoed all around him. It sent cold shivers down his back. Dick wanted to press his hands to his ears to block the horrible laughter out but they seemed to have disappeared. He was just looking for his hands when a white cat strolled past and asked him for a cigarette, before vanishing into a hole in the ground at the root of a purple tree. Dick stared after it in befuddlement; he was certain cats weren't supposed to talk…right?
The eerie laughter sounded again; the hooting and chuckling making his blood run cold.
"Who's there?" he yelled. "Why are you laughing? Stop laughing!" There was something familiar about the laugh that sent cold spikes of terror to Dick's heart.
The room stopped rotating and started to vibrate, making the flashing lights sing. Dick gritted his teeth; he didn't like this, it made him feel sick. Voices started to talk to him, calling something that he didn't quite understand in mocking sing-song tones.
And then the floor became an ocean, pitching sideways and throwing him against something hard, before the ground opened up and swallowed him, dropping Dick into a cavernous, laughing black.