All right, this chapter hasn't been proofread as extensively as the others… but I'm on a schedule. So… here it is! Thank you to all the wonderful reviewers for the encouragement to keep writing this story! Let me know what you think so I know if I'm doing well… or horribly… ^^ Kay, thanks!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything DC does.

ONWARD!

Chapter 7

The voices were speaking again… no wait, had there always been so many? Maybe they had switched shifts. Either way, the young man stood absolutely still; he leveled out his breathing to match natural sleep patterns, and prayed none would look close enough to notice his semi-conscious awareness.

"If he is… his family may be in the system… trying to escape. We could… Jason Todd would be the perfect bait… Once we find them… The end of Batman… send him back to… the Penitentiary…"

The voices had changed, presumably because different people were alternately speaking, but the young man found his mind couldn't keep up with them. That would explain why the sentences were so fragmented, right? Yeah. His brain was just seriously fucked up. That's not too bad.

He wasn't in as much pain as he had been, the healing process was just beginning; but his mind was still reeling and couldn't be made to focus on any one thing. The days had all blurred together and he had barely been given food or water… Just enough to keep him alive.

That's all they did here. Bring you to the edge of human endurance, then leave you to recover, then start over with a new array of torturous experiments.

A woman came to him every once in a while, patched up his wounds – less than gently – then left him alone. A few days later they would be back and he would be in agony. He knew a few of his wounds were starting to fester again; his immune system was just shot to hell… It was killing him.

Can't focus. That was the problem. Actually hearing the words wasn't difficult, but deciphering what the words meant, figuring out who had spoken… his mind couldn't handle the complex process right now.

Nonetheless, the injured man latched on to a single part of the conversation. Two words. they meant something to him, though he couldn't recall what.

Jason Todd.

Suddenly the voices were much closer, much louder. Fear and bile rose in his throat, but he could do no more than wait for more pain.

"Today's you're lucky day." The voice said.

…

The match was going well. And by 'well' Damian meant 'with little bloodshed'… yet…

The two inmates were circling each other, each with bloodied fists and even bloodier faces – again, Damian had to remind himself that this was what qualified as 'well' in a place like this.

The first inmate seemed trained in martial arts. The other was just an over-muscular streetwise fighter. The rules were simple; one inmate would come forward, challenge another, and the fight would commence. If he who was challenged refused to fight they would be killed within the week by the other prisoners. If he did not kill his opponent, both would be murdered within the week. Conclusion: a bloodbath.

Martial Man threw a few well aimed chops towards muscle's chest, both of which made a resounding impact. Muscle however, being… well, muscled, was unfazed. He shrugged off the blows as though they were nothing before landing some powerful upper cuts on Martial Man's already bruising face. The process just kept on until finally, the smaller of the two was on the ground completely immobilized by pain.

There was no counter, there was no safety bell. Muscles brought his foot down repeatedly on the other man's head until there was nothing left but mush. The other inmates went wild, screaming out their blood lust as Muscles' raised his arms in an ape-like expression of victory.

The whole scene was absolutely boring.

Damian let out a harsh sigh. This was the only action in the entire place and already the boy had become completely desensitized to it. Damian wondered if Jason had ever fought in the 'ring' here. He doubted the man would lower himself to such standards; but, nonetheless, he found himself picturing his older brother kicking ass and taking names with the best of them each time one of these farces took place.

Drake stood to his left and Grayson to his right, father was behind him accompanied closely by Barracks. All were observing the scene with nominally more interest than he. He sighed again. Dick did the same next to him. What he wouldn't give for some action… maybe he could make some of his own…

Suddenly images of the attack from months ago came to him unbidden and he could only just stop himself from moving instinctively closer to Dick. This place was wearing him down. Deep down, though he would never – ever – admit it, Damian was glad his family was close to him. Even if they were short one member thanks to Drake and his general idiocy.

In the months since Jason's capture Damian had made a list in his head of all the questions he wanted to ask the wayward Robin. Ranging from things like 'favorite ways to take out enemies and favorite pranks' to 'were you ever afraid and do you blame me for what happened to you', the list was extensive. In his mind he knew these childish inquiries were simply to help keep up hope and honestly, he didn't really care.

By now the little group had heard the stories of the antics their brother had pulled off while in here and frankly, most of it made even Father crack a smile. These pranks ranged from luring roaches into the bed of the most hated men in prison to hunting down rats to stick in the grub for the day. All in all Damian found each story quite amusing. With each one that crossed his ears, the little boy found himself liking the black sheep more and more.

Father and Grayson barely spoke about him. Once in a while they would mention something that the young man had managed to pull off, or a botched mission that he had survived when all evidence said he shouldn't have… yet with each of these memories that crossed their lips they seemed more and more forlorn. It was… disconcerting. Drake had mentioned something here and there, but Damian had refused to listen or take in a single word. It was Red Robin's fault that Jason was gone in the first place.

Barracks had not been the same since the loss of his friend, one could see it in the large man's dark eyes. He seemed absent most of the time. He would keep his ear to the ground for any and all news, convey whatever he found, and then go right back to listening. He was waiting for their brother to return just as eagerly as they. Damian would have to ask Jason about their connection as well. He added it to his list. Though perhaps he may just ask Barracks himself…

The ape of muscle in the ring was still screaming, as the other inmates cleared the floor (they were on cleaning duty after all). The Bat family watched all this from the cells upstairs, waiting patiently for it to be over.

Suddenly, the ape pointed at Damian.

"I challenge you, Bird Boy!" He laughed maniacally, producing a scoff from Damian.

The boy punched his open hand and cracked his knuckles. He was so beyond ready for this. He needed to take his anger out. After all, like his big brother Jason, he definitely had anger management issues.

Although he could feel his family tense up around him, Damian, heedless of the danger, cast himself over the railing and landed squarely in the ring behind Muscles. The other inmates cheered diabolically, chanting and throwing out lustful comments. Damian didn't catch any of it, his ears were pounding with blood and adrenaline was flooding his system. He was ready for this.

Muscles smacked his meaty fists together (again, like a giant ape). "goin' down, Little man."

"-Tt-"

And then the battle began.

…

Tim followed his family as they ran towards the gathered men, fear for their youngest member building. The muscled man, known only as "Rage" had never before lost a fight, but that was more because he never challenged those equal in skill to him. always those marginally weaker or smaller. It was a pathetic tactic, but it nonetheless invigorated the populous of the prison.

The haphazard 'ring' of inmates surrounding the fighters began to count down from five.

"…Four"

"…Three…"

"…two"

Just before the counter hit one, Rage was in movement, charging at the boy and letting out an earsplitting caterwaul. Damian, completely at ease and in perfect form dodged the untrained battering ram of a creature. The boy smirks, then sidesteps the next attack. It's almost painful to watch. But something happens that hasn't ever happened before – the prisoners forming the 'ring' trip Damian.

He fell to the ground with a harsh slap that probably jarred every bone in his body. Rage doesn't miss a beat, he's kicking the boy with enough force to splinter a few ribs. The 'ring' is going crazy, they want this, the blood to run through the prison. Damian's blood. Bruce was already making his way to the center; a murderous expression was clear on his face. The brothers and Barracks are soon following suit, each knocking, punching, and head-butting anyone in their way. They may not be able to stop the fight entirely, but they can certainly stop the other inmates from interfering.

And that was the plan.

…

At first Damian thought he would play with the Ape; he would show the creep how much of a fool he was, outsmart the man at every turn. That's why he didn't see the arms and legs cast out to trip him. He fell hard. Before he could react, the Ape was above him. Muscles delivered a few punishing blows to the boy's fragile ribs. The ape spews curses and mocking jests at the boy. In this moment, Damian feels the transition; he is Robin.

All right. Play time is over now; let's try violence. Robin waited for Muscles to pull back for another blow before Damian kicked out with all the force he could muster – which was quite a bit for a ten-year-old – directly into the man's kneecap. He smiled with satisfaction as he felt the bone shatter with the attack.

The man fell to the floor, clutching at the injury. Robin is not done yet. Wincing at the pain in his sides, but still refusing to be beaten, he rose. The man is still crying on the floor, so the Boy Wonder takes his time, he maneuvers himself over to the man's sides and thrusts his foot into Muscles.

The man seems to come to life at this, he messily tries to aim heavy blows to Damian's chest. At this point he's probably getting desperate, and the Ape has definitely lost his earlier innuendo. He's all rage and adrenaline now. Robin knew from experience that such foes were the easiest to take down.

The boy blocks an incoming attack; then puts his weight into the counter attack. He lines up his elbow just right, and then brings it down into the Ape's ribs. The satisfying wet snap implies he's broken a few.

The man lets out an angry snarl of pain. But he knows it's almost over. He sits up regardless; even though he's still flat on his butt, the man comes to just over Damian's height. Muscles roars and tries another swing of his fist. What is this Strike of the Third Grade Bully? Robin thinks as he lands a blow that easily cracks the man's cheek bone and orbital socket. It is sufficient.

"-Tt-" Robin said. The adrenaline was quickly fading as the man lay writhing on the floor, no longer a threat. Only then did he realize that the rest of the room was chanting a single mantra that made his blood turn cold.

"Fin-ish Him! Fin-ish Him!" They spoke together in a singular monstrous voice. Only his family was silent. Father looking at him with sadness. Grayson only an expression of weariness. Drake – no, Damian didn't care about what he thought.

Damian took another look at the man lying before him. He would have no choice. He will have to kill the man. The boy swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. Killing the man would be easy. After all, he had been raised as an assassin. That wasn't the problem. He had promised Father not to – to kill anymore… He didn't know if he could handle the weight of his father's disappointment again…

The chanting got louder, more excited, more angry. They wanted to see this man – one they hardly knew – dead. The wanted his blood to soak into the floor and watch as his eyes went glassy and devoid of life.

The boy had no idea what to do. He turned to Father. Though no emotion showed in Damian's expression, panic was clear in his eyes. His father nodded gravely, showing he understood.

Turning back to the man, Damian gulped. Then he made his move. He used his forearm to cut off the circulation of oxygen; effectively strangling him. The boy would not give the prisoners the satisfaction of seeing this man's blood. He just wouldn't. Despite the struggle, He was alive for only about nine minutes before Damian felt the man's heart stop. The struggle was over. The crowd let out a collective cry of disappointment, but soon began to file away. The guards would be back soon.

The boy's breathing was uneven and he wasn't sure what to do. He felt someone lift him off the ground and noted that they were going up stairs, but nothing else seemed to come to focus. He just let whoever it was carry him away.

…

Tim had been the closest one. It had only been logical that he be the one to carry Damian out of there. So he had.

He placed the young Robin gingerly on the cot in their cell. The boy was still staring unfocused upwards, he was definitely in shock.

"Damian?" Tim asked warily.

"I killed him."

"It wasn't your fault – you had no choice. We understand. Bruce understands."

"I killed him, and they all just… cheered." Tim understood now; the boy wasn't shocked by the act, only the reaction of the prisoners.

"I know, Dami."

"How?"

Tim sighed, "It's how they work here. It's how the world works now."

The boy's blue-eyed gaze slid to Tim's. Something passed between them, Damian would later call it a fluke; Tim would say it was grudging respect.

"I've decided I don't like the world." Damian said, his voice too close to the ten-year-old he was. A delicate pout was apparent on his face.

Tim let a smile grace his lips. "Me neither, Baby Bat."

Damian let his eyes slip to the floor. He took a deep breath and then rolled over in his bed. "I wish to be left alone. Leave." The arrogance had slipped back into his tone, but there was still an edge of vulnerability. Tim's grin widened.

"As you wish, your Majesty." Tim did a mock bow before ducking out of the cell and standing guard outside. Bruce and Dick soon joined him. Barracks was nowhere to be seen.

"How's he doing?" Dick asked. His voice sounded suspiciously like a mother hen fretting over her chicks.

Tim answered seriously, nonetheless. "He'll be all right… He's a strong kid."

Bruce nodded curtly. His fists were periodically clenching and releasing; his muscles grew taut and at once were released. The rage was boiling beneath the surface. "No two of my sons have been damaged by this place." He spoke as though to himself.

"We can make it through this. We can –"

"No." Bruce cut Dick off, "If Jason isn't back within the week we are leaving," He said in a hushed tone. "I will not lose anymore – anyone more.

The brothers exchanged a glance, but then turned back to Bruce. They had made up their minds. They nodded to him.

They would leave within the week.

Just then Barracks broke into their circle, huffing and puffing loudly, excitedly. "There's been a transport!"

All eyes were on the man. Damian had appeared in the 'doorway' and was staring wide-eyed at the older man. Their faces mirrored disbelief and… hope.

…

When they entered the mess hall, they saw him. Dick could almost cry out at the sight. At their usual table was a discernible black head with a white tuft of hair. He was lying face down into his arms, eyes closed. The family took a moment to just look at him. They could see the purple standing out on his face, a bruise slowly fading. He was probably badly injured.

One of the other prisoners had spotted Jason as well. It was Leon, the man that had orchestrated Jason's transfer (as the family had learned afterwards). He approached the prone form of Jason Todd with an air of arrogance. The man had learned how to stay his transfer through bribery of the corrupt guards. Now he was approaching their brother.

The family moved swiftly to intercept the dealer, but Leon was already halfway there.

"Well, well. Look who it is." The man smirked deviously, "How you doing, Jake?"

Jason was completely unresponsive. He did not even lift his head. His eyes were closed. This infuriated Leon. No one ignored Leon.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Jason seemed to start at the raised voice, but he did not move besides that. The dealer growled in rage and moved to tap Jason's shoulder. He didn't get the chance.

With almost imperceptible speed Jason's hand shot out and with a sickening crack Leon's middle and forefinger were twisted to the side and broken, but that didn't make the gunslinger let go of the other man. Their brother was emanating power, anger, and a force of menace the family had never seen in him before; but, Dick could also sense something else: fear. And that was more out of place on Jason's features than any of the others.

"Don't. Touch. Me." Jason spoke each word with malice. He let Leon fall to the floor, gasping in pain.

"You're crazy! You son-of-a-bitch!" Leon was lifted up by two of his 'friends' and he beat a hasty retreat.

Only once the other man was gone, did Jason sit back down. He flinched slightly and grasped his side, blood staining the cloth of his uniform quickly. He was hurt. The family moved towards him as a single unit.

Bruce spoke first. He seemed strained, concerned with his son's condition. "Jason."

The man looked up at Bruce for a moment. There was no glimmer of recognition in his eyes, no real reaction to his father's words. "Thought my name was Jake?" He said strangely phrased as a question, "Not that it matters. Beat it."

Bruce looked at his son incredulously, lost for words. Dick spoke for him. "You honestly don't remember us?"

There words only seemed to enrage the young man, "If you're lookin' for a lay, Pretty Boy, look somewhere else. Preferably far away."

When Dick and Bruce displayed a horrified expression Jason's faltered. He gazed with genuine confusion at each member of the family, but still there was no recognition in his eyes.

Tim stepped forward, "It's us, Jason. Your family?" He phrased it as a statement, but the words came out as more of a question. Damian stood beside him in disbelief.

"I'm sorry. I don't know who you people are. Please, just leave me alone." Jason stood to leave, flinching only slightly from obvious pain. Then he stumbled his way through them to the cells.

"Well." Dick said. Then he laid down his perfect summation of the events in a single word; "Shit."