Chapter Text
Slowly, Jason comes back to the land of the living.
His head is aching. He lets out a pained groan and clumsily raises one hand to the back of his head. His hair is thick and wet and… sticky? He blinks his eyes open slowly. His other hand dusting over his face just to make sure–
The mask is still there. He breathes out a small sigh of relief. His gloves are gone. As are his boots. Leaving him in just his socks. They took the cape too, it seems. He threads his fingers through his hair and finds the distinct bump that can only come from repeated head trauma. He groans. When he gets back to the manor, Alfred’s gonna fuss over him like crazy.
Jason’s head swings around the room. Eyes wide and panicked. He scrambles to his feet. He can feel the cold concrete through his socks. That’s stupid. Jason should tell Bruce to get them insulated socks. The fucking boots are insulated, but not the damn socks? Who let Bruce be in charge of anything, honestly. Jason should kick his ass for it.
He blinks. Not just the socks. There’s something else. He looks down. There’s a metal cuff around his right ankle, attached to a chain. Jason follows the chain with his eyes, and finds it anchored to the wall. Of course. No shit. They would know better than to just leave Robin loose. Dick must have taught every crook in the city that lesson at least once.
So that’s great. Jason groans and rubs his hands over his face. His fingers are stained with blood.
The room is tiny. The chain around his ankle lets him walk the whole length of the room. His head is spinning a bit. Once he’s a little clearer, he’ll map the room out and figure out the actual restraints. Not that he’ll be here for long. Bruce and Dick will come get him soon enough.
He shakes his head. Trying to clear himself up. He doesn’t feel concussed, but it’s probably safer to assume that he is. Concussions are a real pain in the fucking ass . Jason needs to fight through the pain and get himself together. Someone else was there. Someone else needed–
Right.
He squints through the darkness. There’s no windows, and the metal door on one side of the concrete room is the only source of light. The other side of the room is pitch black. He can’t even see the opposite wall. His vision is still fuzzy, too.
“Um,” Jason bites his tongue. Right. Robin isn’t supposed to know the magician’s name. Robin and the magician have never met. “Mr. Magician..?” He calls into the darkness. Even if they’re not in the same room, Edward might be able to hear him, right? If he’s close enough.
There’s no response. Jason tugs against the chain around his ankle with a frown on his face. No give at all. If he can find Edward, then the both of them can get out of here pretty easily. If all it takes is a clap of Edward’s hands to get rid of the chain, or make a giant hole in the wall–
Jason’s train of thought is interrupted by the sound of a loud groan . This one is not coming from Jason. It’s coming from the dark on the other side of the concrete room. Shuffling, followed by another groan, followed by the soft clinking of metal. The same sound that the chain around Jason’s ankle is making.
Jason squints harder. He walks as far forward as the chain around his ankle will let him, and squints his eyes almost all the way shut. His vision is starting to come back into focus, slowly but surely. That’s good. Maybe he got lucky enough to avoid a concussion.
He catches a head of golden hair, stained with crimson, and a familiar ratty hoodie, ripped nearly in two. Lines of crimson are dried over his pale skin, and his hair has been ripped out of its braid or ponytail or however he was wearing it. He takes the measured breaths of someone trying to manage their pain.
Edward is slumped against the opposite wall. His eyes are twitching – he’s waking up, thank fuck – and he’s tugging against the chains keeping his wrists suspended. Both of his arms are chained to the wall behind him. Too far away for him to be able to bring his hands together. Jason frowns.
Fuckers came prepared , he thinks, annoyed.
He can worry about that later. For now, he should be worried about–
“Mr. Magician,” Jason kneels in front of Edward’s slumped form and reaches out to tap the older boy’s cheek with his hand. Once. Twice. Three times. Bruce has given Jason enough first aid training to keep him certified for several lifetimes, but it would be hard to do much of anything in circumstances like this. The both of them have head injuries, but Jason doesn’t know what else those bastards might have done to him before Jason showed up. “You awake?”
Edward groans again. Golden eyes blink open. Once again, Jason notes that they do almost glow in the low light and thinks that it’s kind of creepy. He’s never met anyone else with golden eyes before.
“Robin..?” Edward’s voice is slurred, and he pulls against the chains keeping his arms apart. His head swings from side to side for a moment as he surveys his surroundings, before his gaze lands on Jason again.
“...’s you, yeah?” Edward blinks blearily up at him. “...you’re that Bat-guy’s sidekick…” he narrows his eyes. “What’re you doin’ here?”
“Same thing you’re doing here, apparently,” Jason says.
Okay. So Edward is probably concussed. That’s… great. So great. How do you help someone with a concussion when you can’t take them to a hospital?
They’ll have to take him to a hospital once they get out of here. Jason will be able to get Bruce to pay the hospital bills and everything will be fine. Yeah. Everything’s gonna be fine. Jason knows that everything’s gonna be fine. How do you help someone with a concussion, before you get them to a hospital?
Stay with them. Jason remembers that. Stay with them. The whole keeping them awake thing is a myth, but you should make sure that they wake up when you shake them, if they do fall asleep, and keep an eye on them to see if they start showing symptoms of any more serious brain issues. Yeah. Okay. Jason can do that.
Edward tugs against the chains more violently. His face twists in annoyed frustration, but he doesn’t look surprised.
“Bastards…” he grumbles, before looking up at Jason. “They… got you too, huh?”
“Mhm,” Jason hums. “How’re you feeling? I think you might have a concussion, but I don’t have a way to check right now.”
“...concussion…” Edward mumbles. “...prolly a safe bet,” he nods to himself and leans his head back against the wall, quickly wincing when the sore spot on the back of his head makes contact with the concrete. “...bastards got the drop on me. Normally woulda… wiped the floor with a buncha pricks like them…” Edward blinks and tilts his head. The movement is sloppy. Like he can barely hold his own head up.
“...how old’re you?” he asks. Jason blinks. That is not the question he was expecting.
“Uh… why?”
“...gotta know if I can swear in front’ve you,” Edward nods to himself, as though that makes any sense at all. Jason snorts. Edward never cared about swearing in front of Jason . Why does he care about doing it in front of Robin?
“I’m 12,” he says. Edward nods his head slightly.
“...’kay,” he nods. “I can say whatever I want.”
Jason chuckles. Edward cracks a smile.
“Any idea who these fuckers are?” Jason asks, once the moment has settled back into the somewhat tense silence. Edward shrugs his shoulders. The chains make soft rattling noises with every movement. That’s not unsettling at all.
“Said somethin’ about some black mask that someone was wearin’?” Edward hisses in pain again.
“Black Mask,” Jason repeats, his eyes widening slightly behind his domino. Edward blinks up at him.
“You know ‘im?”
“Yeah,” Jason nods. Fuck. If they really got caught by Black Mask of all people…
Fuck is really the only word that Jason has, to sum up this absolute shitstorm.
Jason starts a mental tally in an attempt to keep track of how much time has passed.
It won’t be long. He won’t have to keep track for very long. He can handle it for now. Bruce had once told him that he should be able to count the seconds, if he ends up trapped somewhere for any significant length of time, and Jason had laughed in his face and told him fat fucking chance . Jason finds other ways to keep track.
He counts how many times Edward wakes up, first. It doesn’t do much to keep track of time passing, but it does help to make sure that he’s still alive. Whenever Jason starts to feel antsy – like too much time has passed in the silence – he gently shakes his cellmate awake and listens to him grumble for a little while before he falls back asleep.
Jason counts how many times he himself falls asleep. It’s a bit harder to keep count of this. The room is nearly pitch-black and even when Jason’s eyes begin to adjust, he starts to forget the difference between the blackness of the room and the blackness of his eyelids.
He counts how many times he hears footsteps outside that metal door and, with it, how many times a tray of food is slid underneath it. Always the same bare bones stale bread and water. Enough to keep them alive. Edward can’t even feed himself, with his arms held back the way they are. Jason has to help him.
Jason counts how many times he has to help Edward eat, and promises Black Mask at least one ass beating for each and every time.
He counts the injuries he can find on Edward. It’s better to know what they’re working with, when they do eventually make their escape attempt (because they will get out of here. Jason is not a damsel in distress and he refuses to be one) and if Jason needs to start begging for medical supplies it would be better to start early. They, presumably, want Edward alive after all.
“...’m fine,” Edward grumbles, trying to squirm away as Jason checks him over. “...’s nothin’ serious.”
Jason does not buy that bullshit for even a second.
He keeps checking.
His arms look okay. His left one, at least. No broken bones. Instead, he finds scrapes and bruises and old scars. Jason moves to the right, and–
Pauses.
His right arm feels… wrong. The glove is torn but not removed. Edward is barely conscious – though his head seems to have been clearing up, the longer the two of them spend in the dark – and Jason tells himself that it’s necessary. He needs to know if there are any more serious injuries. He tugs off what’s left of the glove.
Edward’s hand is metal.
Jason’s curiosity gets the better of him. It looks like his wrist is metal, too. He pulls down the sleeve of Ed’s hoodie, revealing more and more metal. All the way to his shoulder, where metal finally meets flesh in a series of screws and scars that almost make Jason sick to his stomach.
What the fuck.
His heart is racing out of his chest.
What the fuck?
Those scars are old. Old. Years old. And yeah, an 18 year old living on his own in the Tricorner Docks is going to have scars. Hell, everyone living on their own in Park Row has scars of some kind. Jason has his fair share. But he’s never seen someone with shit like this.
What the fuck?
“...’s not nice to peek…” Edward mumbles, and Jason’s heart leaps into his throat. He stumbles backwards against the concrete and stares, wide-eyed, at Edward’s face. His golden eyes are narrowed and his lips are curled into a frown.
“I–” he swallows. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–”
Edward sighs heavily and shakes his head. Golden hair, stained with crimson, swishes from side to side. Unruly and violently rumpled.
“...’s fine,” he sighs. “...was only a matter’ve time.”
Jason tries to recover. Shake off the surprise. Now isn’t the time to get lost in shock.
“Any other metal limbs I should know about?” he asks, projecting the calm confidence that he knows he should be feeling right now. Edward chokes out a laugh.
“...left leg,” he mutters. “...from right above the knee.”
Jason checks that next. Sure enough, there’s a matching metal leg, starting right above Edward’s left knee. Jason would never have noticed. He’s never even seen Edward limp.
Scars and screws seem to hold this one in place, too. Just as old as the ones on his shoulder. Fucking hell , whatever happened to his limbs must have hurt . Jason doesn’t even want to picture it. His insides feel like they’re squirming.
“That’s all of them?” he asks. Edward nods his head.
“Congrats,” he mumbles. “...first one I’ve told,” he chuckles. “...don’t worry. I can fight just fine with ‘em. Bastards got the drop on me. Never would’ve caught me, normally.”
“Hmmm.” Jason hums. “I believe it,” he nods his head and pulls the leg of Edward’s pants back down to cover up the prosthetic.
“They did their fuckin’ homework…” Edward continues, sounding increasingly annoyed with every word. “...knew that I can’t use…” he shakes his head again. “...if I can’t clap my hands, I can’t use it.” He blinks and frowns deeper, before lifting his eyes up to look at Jason. “Got anything to draw with?”
“Huh?”
“You,” Edward nods at him. “Robin. Have you got anything to draw with?”
“Uhhh…” Jason quickly checks his pockets. Just in case. Anything that they might have left him to draw with. It’s a long-shot anyway, but he comes up empty. “No..?”
“Check my pockets,” Edward says, next. “I usually have some chalk on me. Dunno if they took it.”
Jason checks Edward’s pockets. There’s chalk dust at the bottom of his jean pockets, but no sticks of chalk. Edward sighs through his nose and leans his head back against the wall.
“Pain in the ass…” he mumbles.
“Let me finish…” Jason says, and swallows. “Making sure you’re not too badly hurt.”
“I’m fine, kid. Took a couple hits to the head, but other than that there’s nothin’ serious. Trust me.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Jason narrows his eyes. “But you did forget to tell me that you have two fucking metal limbs which, y’know, could impact your well-being.” Jason will have to re-callibrate the first aid training racing through his brain to account for that, now. “So forgive me for wanting to double check.”
Edward chuckles. Jason purses his lips and continues with his examination. Right leg looks good, save for some scrapes and bruises left behind by the pavement the bastards dragged him over. Stomach looks okay. There are old scars that make some amount of sense. Mostly slashes and burns that must have healed years ago.
Jason tugs Edward’s hoodie up further, and finds a scar on his chest. A scar that looks bad. Worse, somehow, than the scars around his metal limbs.
“What happened here?” Jason asks, fighting down his nausea at the sight of the old wound. It fills him with an anger that he has no outlet for. Whoever put this wound here… well, it’s definitely not the guys who grabbed them.
“Hmm..?” Edward hums.
“Your chest,” Jason clarifies. “What happened?”
“...oh,” Ed blinks and glances down. “...fucker stabbed me,” he narrows his eyes and purses his lips. “...don’t worry, kid. Looks worse than it is. Or was, I guess.”
Somehow, Jason doubts that.
“Looks like they didn’t mess you up too bad,” Jason says, and drops the hoodie, letting it fall back over Edward’s torso. “Lean your head forward.”
Edward does as he’s told. That, probably, should be the biggest cause for concern.
Jason stands up and leans over, taking a look at the back of Edward’s head. There’s a stupid fucking amount of crimson staining the golden strands of hair, making them clump and gather in a way that makes Jason a little sick. The blood is mostly dry by now, and it looks like the wound has stopped bleeding, so that’s good. Jason won’t have to beg and scream for bandages. For now, anyway.
“What’s the prognosis, doc?” Edward asks, already sounding a little more present than he did a few minutes ago.
“Looks okay,” Jason says, ignoring the jab. “Bleeding’s stopped. How many fingers am I holding up?” He asks, and holds up three fingers.
“Two plus one,” Edward sing-songs and lets out an annoyed sigh, his head dropping forward before jumping back up. Jason nods, satisfied with Edward’s ability to see. “Can’t believe these bastards of all people got the drop on me.”
“Me too,” Jason rolls his eyes. “You just seem so much tougher than them,”
“Fuck off,” Edward spits. “They caught your ass right after mine.”
“Yeah, but I at least put up a fight, y’know. Took ‘em all down until that last fucker snuck up on me.”
“I told you, they got the jump on me,” Edward rolls his eyes. “What’s a little kid like you doing jumping into fights, anyway? Let alone for my sake?”
Jason and Robin are not the same person. As much as he would like to say, I saw someone who saved my ass, someone I care about, in trouble and moved before I could think , he knows better than to blow his cover without even being prompted. Bruce would have fired him months ago, if he were that stupid.
“I’m Robin,” he says, instead. Which, of course, is true. If he weren’t Robin, he wouldn’t have jumped into that fight. He wouldn’t have been able to jump into that fight.
(He might’ve found another way, if he weren’t Robin. He might’ve done nothing at all.)
“You sure are,” Edward raises an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with it?”
“I help people,” Jason answers decisively. “You needed help, so I came to help.”
“How’s that working out for you?” Edward says through a bark of laughter. “Trust me on this one, kid. Throwing yourself into the fray for other people just ‘cause you can? It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Are you really telling Robin that he shouldn’t help people?” Jason raises an eyebrow. “You know that’s a losing battle, right? Robin’s been around for like, what? 10 years? It’s a little late for that now.”
“But you haven’t been Robin for ten years,” Edward points out like it’s some big gotcha . “Yeah? Robin’s not a person, it’s a mantle, or something,” Edward rolls his eyes. “I dunno. It’s all kinda dumb. Like you guys really have some huge guy in a Bat costume running around beating people up, and I don’t know how to feel about that.”
“I dunno what to tell you,” Jason shrugs. “Gotham’s weird like that.”
“Gotham is weird as fuck , you’re right,” Edward nods sagely. “That isn’t my point. It’s not about Gotham , it’s about you,” Edward points at him with one finger on his metal hand. “You jumped into something you shouldn’t have and ended up here. With me. Where you don’t belong.”
“Little late for the lecture now ,” Jason rolls his eyes. “Can we at least save it for after Batman shows up?”
“And when’s that gonna be?” Edward glances around the room. “How long have we been here, anyway?”
“A day?” Jason shrugs. “Maybe two,” he adds, and turns around. He presses his back against the wall at Edward’s side. About an inch between the two of them. “He’ll be here soon.”
“You ever been kidnapped before?” Edward asks, looking over at Jason.
“Yeah,” Jason nods. “A couple times. It’ll be fine. B always tells me to just hunker down, stay safe, and wait for ‘im. He’ll come get me.”
“Okay,” Edward nods. “Whatever you say, kid.”
Maybe Jason overestimated Bruce’s tracking abilities.
That, or he underestimated their captors.
(Or both. It could be both. Jason wouldn’t be surprised if it was both.)
Based on Jason’s count, they’re coming up on three days since Jason left the manor in a huff, desperate to avoid the angry screaming of two people who should really know better. Jason helps Edward eat two more times, tests the strength of every piece of metal in the room, and entertains himself by annoying his cellmate as much as possible with as little effort as possible. Jason is very talented in this category.
Day three. Someone comes into the room for the first time. It’s not Black Mask – but Jason knows the bastard’s face. One of Black Mask’s lieutenants, or whatever – but he speaks on his behalf. He explains with a smug smirk that the walls are lined with metal, and thus no signal is getting in or out. As if either of them had a phone anyway.
He then proceeds to explain – directed at Edward – what exactly he’s doing here. Which begins and ends with ‘we heard a rumor that someone was doing cool magic shit and we want it. Do what we say and we’ll play nice.’ Jason rolls his eyes behind the domino. How original .
Edward spits on the guy’s shoe. Jason laughs. Edward earns himself a kick in the stomach, and Jason gets a backhand across the face.
(As though that makes it any less funny.)
“If it’s my magic you want,” Edward snarls, “then you don’t need the kid. Let him go.”
Jason rolls his eyes again. The thought is nice, he supposes. Edward has already demonstrated his willingness to protect Jason from Bat-shaped threats, but Edward and Robin don’t have the history that Edward and Jason do. So he really doesn’t know what the motive is here.
The bastard laughs at the suggestion and reaches out, roughly grabbing a handful of Edward’s golden hair. In fairness, Edward takes the rough treatment like a champ, and Jason is starting to get the sneaking suspicion that it isn’t the first time Ed has been in a situation like this one.
“Make yourself useful,” the bastard coos, “and maybe then you can start making demands.”
Jason would bet money on the bastard thinking that line made him sound so cool. In reality, it just made Jason want to stick his tongue out and make fun of his lack of creativity.
Day four. Edward is less scared and more antsy. Jason is also getting antsy. Another day of helping Edward eat, even as he tugs uselessly against the chains. Jason takes to annoying him with a little more effort, in the form of stupidly lame questions.
“If you have a metal arm, why can’t you just rip the chains off?” he asks, once they’ve finished the first meal for the day.
“Doesn’t work like that,” Edward answers with a roll of his eyes. Probably not the first time he’s gotten a question like this. “It’s prolly stronger than my regular arm, but not super-human strong. It’s metal. Not magic.”
“But you’re magic.”
“It’s not fucking magic. Why does everyone think it’s fucking magic!”
“Maybe because you clap your hands together and do magic.”
“If it were magic then we’d be out of here by now,” Edward groans. “For fuck’s sake, who do I have to fight to get people to listen to me?”
“If it’s not magic then what is it?”
“Science.”
Yeah. Sure. And Jason totally isn’t trapped in a tiny cell with this fucking crazy person.
Science . Jason has seen the shit his classmates do in the science lab. He’s also seen a man clap his hands and create a cage out of the ground itself. Those two are not the fucking same, and he will die on that hill.
“Can you even do the shit they want from you?” Jason asks, instead.
“Prolly,” Edward shrugs. “What, worried I’m gonna betray you?” He grins, tilting his head to the side.
“Nope,” Jason says, popping the p. “Seems like you’re a little too stubborn for that.”
Edward groans.
“Why does everyone always call me stubborn ?”
Gee. Jason fucking wonders.
Day five. Black Mask finally makes an appearance.
“Always a pleasure to see your ugly mug,” Jason spits his way. If there’s one thing Bruce hasn’t “parented” out of him, it’s his complete lack of desire to keep his mouth shut. “Why don’t we speed up the process and you can slam your own nose into the concrete so I don’t have to do it for you?”
Jason gets his nose slammed into the concrete for his trouble. The irony would be funny, if it didn’t hurt so much.
Edward shouts something that Jason doesn’t hear over the blood rushing past his ears (and out his nose). It’s definitely broken. It hurts like a fucking bitch , and Jason’s hands shake slightly as he pushes himself up and tries to stifle the blood flow. Fuck. He can feel Sionis’ hand in his hair. Roughly gripping the black strands and holding tightly. Threateningly. Waiting, it seems, for an excuse to do it again.
“What was that, magician? ” Sionis spits in Edward’s direction. “Something about–”
Jason’s face hits the concrete again. He feels bones crunching and lets out an involuntary gasp of pain. Sionis’ hand keeps his face pinned into the ground. Edward is shouting again. Jason can’t make it out over his own agony. Blood is gushing past his nostrils, staining the concrete crimson, and breathing is going to be even more of a bitch after this one.
(No. There aren’t tears in his eyes. Fuck off.)
“–the Bat, huh?” Jason catches the end of Sionis’ next question. Then a twisted laugh that makes his stomach lurch. “Too bad he–”
Jason’s hearing fades out. Edward says something. Jason can’t make any of it out through the pounding in his head and the pain in his nose and the blood splattering across the floor. Edward starts shouting. Violently yanking against the chains. Sionis laughs. Jason’s head pounds.
“–play ball, and we won’t have to–”
“–ick fucking bastard, he’s just a–”
“–ink he counts. He jumped in on his own, you–”
Jason’s hair is let go. He shoves his arms underneath himself. Edward is saying something, but Jason can’t make it out. He hears laughing, and then the hand is in his hair again, and his head is slammed backwards, this time. The still-healing bump on his head meets the wall and Jason lets out an involuntary yelp .
“–ock it off–!” Edward’s voice shouts. “Fucking hell you sick fuck, I’ll–”
Jason’s hair is roughly yanked up , and he’s forced to go with it. Stumbling to his feet. The room is spinning around him. He can’t let himself give in. Not to this sick fuck. Not when Ed is relying on him to do something to get them out of here. He squirms and struggles and thrashes and he can hear Sionis laughing at his efforts. It just pisses Jason off more.
“–just a–”
Sionis calls for someone to come inside. Jason hears something being dragged and several sets of footsteps. Metal clinking. Ed is pulling at the chains again? Shouting. Jason refuses to stop struggling. Someone roughly grabs both his arms and someone else grabs his legs and with not an ounce of care he’s shoved to the ground. Pinned in place. One bastard in a suit is by his head, holding down his arms. The other is by his legs, pinning his feet in place.
“–ucking stop it– ”
Jason doesn’t stop thrashing. His throat is starting to hurt, and it takes a little too long for him to realize that it’s because he’s screaming. His mouth has a mind of its own, because it’s spitting just about every insult that he knows without any input from Jason himself. He would be proud, if his heart wasn’t beating out of his chest in barely contained terror.
(He isn’t scared. No he isn’t. Robin doesn’t get scared. Robin doesn’t get scared. )
“–ute kid. Would be a shame if–”
There’s something on his face. On his cheek. He jerks his face away from it, and finds a hand holding tight to his chin and jerking him back into place. He blinks and finds Sionis’ ugly fucking mug hovering right above him. Jason’s breaths are becoming increasingly erratic. Bruce taught him how to stay calm. Stay fucking calm. Stay fucking calm .
(How the fuck is he supposed to stay calm like this?)
“–doesn’t need both of those ears. Don’t you think, Magician?”
Jason’s stomach turns.
He can’t move. The sharp of the blade is pressed up against his skin. He can feel blood trailing down his cheek. Dripping off his face in that same steady rhythm. Drip. Drip. Drip. Thrashing can only make it worse. Blood is rushing past his ears. His heart is pounding harder and harder to the same beat. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.
The knife moves. Drawing a line in blood and flesh as it goes. Jason holds himself as still as possible. His heart hammers against his chest and it gets closer and closer. He can feel the sharp of the blade, pressing against the top of his left ear. He gasps, taking small, panicked breaths, and then–
“ STOP! ”
Sionis stops.
“I’ll do what you fucking want. I’ll do it. Fuck, I’ll do it, okay? Stop. I’ll fuckin’ listen to you.”
“Now, was that so hard?” Sionis smirks. The knife moves away from Jason’s ear. The men pinning him down don’t let up, but Jason can barely feel it. His heart won’t stop hammering, but his breathing is calming a bit. There’s blood dripping down the side of his head. A cut in the top of his ear? Probably. He needs to catch his breath.
“Aren’t you lucky?” Sionis practically coos, patting Jason’s uninjured cheek with his free hand as he pulls back. “Such a kind magician, looking out for you.”
Jason, through his panic, barely even thinks of it.
He spits at Sionis anyway. His mouth must have done it without his permission. Sionis’ face scrunches up in anger and distaste. He looks to one of his men, who seems ready to hand off a handkerchief. Sionis wipes away the spit and glares down at Jason like he’s nothing more than a stain on the concrete.
The man holding his arms down moves swiftly, striking Jason roughly across the face with the back of his hand. His cheek stings. He moves to cover his face, but the bastard has his arms pinned down again before he can move more than a couple inches.
Now that the threat of the knife isn’t looming over his every motion, he goes back to squirming and struggling. Not as violently as he was a minute ago. The terror must have tired him out. His heart still hasn’t stopped pounding.
He can hear Sionis talking to Edward. He demands something of the bastards again. A third one that Jason hadn’t even noticed holds out a pistol, and Sionis takes it. He points the barrel of the gun right into Jason’s forehead. The metal ring at the end of the muzzle is cold and irritating and Jason is sure that it’s going to leave a mark.
“Use your magic to run, and the kid’ll be eating lead,” Sionis says, tilting his head. “Understand me, magician? ”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Edward answers. Jason can hear chains unlocking and metal clinking. He doesn’t take his eyes away from the gun. The finger on the trigger. He can see it. The way Sionis’ hand stays so eerily steady. Even when he holds Jason’s life quite literally in the palm of his hand.
His heart is picking up again.
(He doesn’t want to die here.)
Edward stands up. Jason can see it in his peripheral vision. The finger on the trigger moves away. The gun pulls back slightly from Jason’s head. Sionis hands it off to one of his men.
“Keep that trained on him,” he orders, and steps across the room. The man nods and resumes Sionis’ position, pressing the gun right up to Jason’s forehead. His eyes re-focus on the trigger. The finger, lingering just above it. This one is a little less certain.
If you’re going to agree to shoot a kid, don’t be a fucking coward about it. That’s Jason’s opinion.
Sionis slaps his hand on Edward’s back and then wraps an arm around his shoulders. Ed looks about one word away from decking the fucker right in his ugly face. If it didn’t mean Jason’s certain death, he would tell him to do it. At least he would go out laughing.
Ed glances back. Jason can’t see his face, past a blurry smudge in his peripheral vision. His vision stays trained on the finger, hovering above the trigger. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t tear his gaze away.
Edward doesn’t say anything. Jason thinks it’s probably better that way. Don’t give them anything else to use.
Edward already betrayed the fact that he gives half a fuck – that he’s a decent human being. Which… yeah, Jason knew that. He probably should have pieced together that this was how Sionis was going to take advantage of that fact. Hindsight is 20/20 – but that doesn’t mean he has to give them anything else to work with.
Sionis leads Edward out of the little concrete cell.
Jason takes steady, measured breaths. Bruce’s words run through his mind on repeat.
Keep calm. Wait. Stay safe. I’ll come get you. I’ll always come get you.
Any time now, B. Jason thinks. Right now would be awesome.
Jason counts his own breaths.
He needs to keep track of time somehow. He needs something to occupy his mind or he’s genuinely going to go insane, staring down a trigger finger holding his own life in the balance.
Jason – after hours and hours of medical training for both others and himself – knows that he breathes an average of 17 times per minute. So he counts. Up to 17, and then calls it a minute. Up to 17, another minute. He makes his breath more careful and deliberate. Easier to count. 17 breaths. Another minute.
1020 breaths. One hour.
The bastards holding down his limbs finally decide that their service is no longer needed. The man holding the gun takes a few steps back. Out of disarming range. He orders Jason to sit up, and Jason knows better than to die uselessly on the concrete floor.
Blood drips off his chin, slipping across his skin from the cut on his cheek and at the top of his ear and his still-bleeding, definitely broken nose. He sits up. He pushes himself backwards and leans against the wall. He slowly lifts his hands. He presses one against his nostrils and the other against the cuts, trying to stifle the bleeding a little bit.
The metal circle on the end of the muzzle left a mark. Jason can feel it.
He can still feel the cold metal pressed into his forehead, even when it’s across the room.
3060 breaths. Three hours.
The bleeding has stopped. Whatever blood has already spilled is drying itself across his skin. The hair around his ear is crusty and clumped with crimson, and Jason could really fucking use a shower. So many showers, actually. A shower and a change of clothes and the chance to lock himself into his bedroom. Where they have zero guns. One of his favorite things about the manor. The lack of guns.
He drops his hands away from his face. He tucks his knees up to his chest and makes himself small. His hope that the bastard will stop pointing the gun at him has dissipated, but he might as well make himself look as tiny and pathetic as possible on the off-chance that the guy has a cute kid at home and will take pity on the one sitting at the end of his barrel.
5100 breaths. Five hours.
Jason is proud of himself. He didn’t think he’d be able to count for that long without losing his place.
The man holding the gun switches out at some point. Jason makes a conscious effort to keep his breathing consistent. It’s easier to keep count, if each one is about the same length and depth. A new bastard with a new face is pointing the same gun right at his forehead. Jason’s eyes are starting to feel heavy. Counting is getting just as boring as panicking.
What the fuck are they even doing? He can hear the men talking to each other. Jason knows better than to tune them out – even if he wants to – but he also can’t stop listening to the racing of his heart and the silent terror that buzzes beneath his skin.
- Six hours.
Edward comes back.
Sionis isn’t with him. Another bastard in one of those ugly suits is. With an annoyed frown on his face, Edward sits down against the wall and lets the man put the chains back in place. Then, and only then, the gun is finally lowered and Jason can finally breathe one last sigh of relief.
Fucking. Hell.
Edward looks more than a little pissed off. Jason struggles to blink his eyes open. He orders himself to stay awake. He can’t fall asleep. Not right now.
“You okay, kid?” Edward asks. “They didn’t hurt you?”
“Not any more,” Jason shakes his head. “They make you do anythin’ too bad?”
“Mostly just fixing guns and shit,” Ed rolls his eyes. “Think he just wanted an idea of what I can do ‘fore he tries to make me do anything too crazy.”
“Hmmm,” Jason hums. He hasn’t been awake for long enough to be this exhausted. Maybe it’s the panic of nearly six hours of terror having wiped him out. He presses his back up against the concrete and inches a bit closer to Edward’s side.
“...did you pull out a sewing kit?” he mumbles, almost under his breath. “To fix the guns?”
“A sewing kit?” Ed repeats with a raised eyebrow. “What the fuck’re you–” he cuts himself off. Jason presses himself against Edward’s side. His shoulders are shaking just a bit and yeah, it’s embarrassing. He’s Robin. Robin gives him magic. Is he really this shaken after something so fucking stupid ?
(Sue him. He’s scared. Ed’s taken care of him before. He trusts Ed not to hurt him. Ed’s side is warmer than the cold wall, and–)
“Jason?” Ed’s voice is barely even a whisper.
“....shhhh.” Jason shushes him. “...’s a secret.”
(When he wakes up, Jason will realize how badly he fucked up.)
(Right now, he’s just too damn exhausted to think about it.)
He falls asleep with his face pressed against Edward’s side.