Chapter Text
“Get down!”
Tim’s warning comes too late and Jason finds himself with a face full of Scarecrow’s newest fear gas, right along with the mook he punches hard in the face.
Shit. Not good. Jason tries to hold his breath for as long as he can while trying to escape the noxious fumes but the maze that is the floor of this warehouse has him turned around in no time. What a night to be caught without his hood.
At least the asshat he was fighting has the luxury of being unconscious on the floor at his feet. Are there more? Jason can’t remember if there were. He should know and he doesn’t. Fuck.
A cowled figure lands almost soundlessly next to him, mouth covered in a gas-mask. It takes all of Jason’s self-control not to lash out at Tim’s freaky looking form. Someone came prepared tonight.
“Hood, you okay?”
He sucks in a deep breath and shudders as his lungs burn. A wracking cough hits him like a sledgehammer and he crashes to his knees, relearning how to breathe. His vision wavers but he tries hard to focus on Tim. Tim, who means so much to him and loves him in spite of all the shit he’s put him through.
“Jay?”
Jason coughs again. He can hear the wheeze in his breathe as he struggles for air. “Diff-rent,” he manages to choke out.
“Yeah, that’s obvious. Just concentrate on breathing. Any hallucinations yet?” Tim presses two fingers against Jason’s throat, checking his already racing pulse. “The Scarecrow’s fear formula changes often so it’s hard to come up with a multipurpose antitoxin.”
It’s a fact Jason knows all too well.
He shakes his head in response to Tim’s question. Not yet. They both know they’re coming though. The fear gas can sometimes take time to break down into a person’s psyche and draw out what they fear most. He has a feeling one of those fears has changed since the last time he was gassed. Before, he didn’t have Tim to be scared for.
“Just...get...me...outta...here,” he gasps, each word punctuated by a cough. This is different too. Normally it’s a quick inhalation, a few coughs and a sneeze and wham the shit’s in your system.
Tim is already moving, dragging one of Jason’s arms over his shoulder and trying to get him to his feet. “Got to help me out here, Hood. I’ll fireman’s carry your ass if I have to, but I don’t what to hear you bitch about the bruises because it won’t be pretty.”
Jason tries to laugh but it comes out as another harsh wheeze. “Love...you...Red.”
“I love you too, Hood. Let’s get you out of here. A’s already called the car for us.” Tim staggers a bit under Jason’s weight. Jason isn’t much help, but he manages to get his legs in the right position to walk slowly.
His breathing regulates a bit as they get further away from the center of the maze and he’s able to manage full sentences again. “What happened back there? I didn’t even see Crane.”
Tim growls, frustration evident in his voice. “He wasn’t there. There was a remote trigger on those cases closest to you. Must have had a motion sensor involved. I didn’t see it until too late. I’m so sorry, Hood.”
If there’s one thing Tim excels at, it’s self-flagellation. All the Bats do, actually, himself included. “Not your fault,” Jason says with another cough. He’s starting to feel better, which is strange. Still, he’ll take it, since this means he can take some of his weight off Tim.
They keep walking. It feels like an eternity since he was gassed but it can’t have been more than a handful of minutes. The silence between him and Tim is stifling. It’s not normally this way. Jason likes their shared silences, whether it’s at home and they’re both trying to stretch out on their overstuffed sofa and failing miserably or on patrol and they’re using hand signals to try and boss each other around or make fun of Dick.
This is a bad quiet.
Jason can feel the hair on his neck prickle as he feels unseen eyes on him. On them. Whether it’s paranoia or the fear gas kicking in, he’s unable to tell but he knows one thing for certain. It’s taking them too long to get out of this warehouse maze. They’re targets. Sitting ducks, even as Tim takes a left and Jason catches a whiff of fresh air.
It makes him cough again. Dammit.
“Red, we gotta get out of here,” Jason manages to murmur.
“I know. We’re almost there. Hang on a little bit longer.” Tim takes right and they’re suddenly in a wide open space looking out over the covered pier and the expanse of Gotham Harbor.
Jason’s confused. This isn’t the street and the safety of the Batmobile. “What did A send? The boat?”
“He sent the car. I told you that already.” Tim sounds like he’s lecturing a child, his tone taking on an infinite amount of patience as though he’s repeated himself a few times now. For all Jason knows, he has.
“Then why are we at the dock?” he asks, knowing he sounds petulant and not caring in the slightest.
Tim gives him an obvious look of concern. “We’re not at the dock.”
Jason shakes his head, trying to clear it. He knows he’s fucked up, but this is unreal. “Yes, we are. I can see the pier right there.” He even points at it.
“The gas has to be messing with your head already,” Tim says. “We’re in the alley where the car is supposed to meet us.”
Every sense Jason has is screaming at him in warning now. He rips his arm away from Tim and backs away cautiously. “We’re at the dock. I can smell the air, Red. I can feel the breeze.”
“No, that’s the sewer grate you’re standing on. Smells like Killer Croc’s breath on a good day.” Tim holds up his hands and slowly approaches Jason. “The car’s ETA is three minutes. We’ll be able to hear it soon.”
No. No, this can’t be right. Jason looks down and sees the wooden planks that still make up the structure of the older piers in Gotham. If he concentrates, he can hear the water below him, the small waves lapping against the pylons. He purposefully draws in a deep breath and tastes the salty sea breeze.
Shit. Whatever this stuff is, he’s doped up good. Reality can’t get much more fucked up than this. A loud creak rises up from beneath his feet.
“Jason, don’t move,” Tim says warningly. He rushes forward and stops at the edge of the dock (alley? sewer grate?), holding out his hand. “Here, take my hand. The grate’s not holding your weight.”
The creaking sound grows louder, and Jason can feel the planking quake under his boots. But he doesn’t move, a sudden horrible thought occurring to him. “Are you Red Robin?” he asks shakily. “If I’m seeing and smelling the docks while you’re telling me we’re in the alley, the only consistent factor is you and me. I know I’m real, so who the hell are you?”
Tim brushes back his cowl. Pale blue eyes beg him to believe and his voice is heavy with poorly concealed urgency. “My name is Tim Drake. You’re Jason Todd. We’ve been dating for 14 months and just recently moved in together, mostly because you got tired of hauling your shit between safehouses and said that your Shakespeare collection deserves a good home. Your words, not mine.”
It sounds like something Jason would say. And he also remembers all of this. Who else would know their names and such a personal fact? But he still hears the sound of water beneath him, which he knows he wouldn’t hear if he were standing on a sewer grate. He’s stood on them thousands of times. He shakes his head slowly and takes another step back. The creaking sound grows more ominous.
“Jason!” Tim shouts and reaches for him. “Take my hand.”
“Who are you?” Jason asks again, and this time draws his gun. “What did you do with Red Robin?”
Tim blanches but holds his ground. “Please, Jason. Take my hand. The car just arrived. It’s behind me. Can’t you see it?” he pleads.
All Jason sees is the side of the old wooden warehouse where it opens out onto the pier. “This is a trap.”
“You’re high on fear gas, Jay. You know this.”
That’s right. He was sprayed earlier. How could he have forgotten so soon? The eyes are back on him, on them, and Jason whirls around to face them. “Come out and fight, you pieces of shit!”
The movement is too much for the weak wood beneath his feet and it finally cracks, sending Jason plummeting into the darkness below.
“Jason!” he hears Tim shout.
The sound is swallowed by the pitch-black tunnel he finds himself in. Looks like Tim was right after all and he really was standing on a sewer grate. Okay, strike one against him. At least he has the excuse of being fucked up in the head at the moment. Although Damian will argue he always is, so what else is new.
Jason waits to hit the ground, the sewer channel, something. But he just keeps falling. It’s not even very fast either. In fact, it seems slower than most falls he’s taken. Hazard of the job, although Dick is the one who will throw himself into a free fall first and then shoot out his line just for the sensation of flight. He’s strange like that, or so Jason thought when they first met. Dick was in his weird glam rock meets disco phase and his uniform reflected his tastes. It didn’t stop him from teaching Jason how to fly on the trapeze, the one thing Dick taught him rather than Bruce. No one moves through the air quite like Dick.
A case can be made for Kori though. But she’s a natural flier and just as comfortable in the air as she is on the ground. Not even Clark manages to fly like she does, simply for the sheer enjoyment of it.
Okay, why hasn’t he hit the ground yet?
Jason tries to peer into the darkness below him, but he’s still falling feet first into oblivion. Or is he? Can he even be certain he’s falling because, hello, fear gas? He doubts his boyfriend is even his boyfriend and wow, is he going to get the lecture when whatever wormhole he’s fallen into spits him out.
This is by far the strangest concoction Scarecrow has ever come up with. Jason doesn’t feel afraid. If anything, he’s a bit anxious, but who wouldn’t be when they’ve been falling for several minutes and haven’t hit the bottom? He realizes he’s still holding his gun and holsters it. Shit, he pulled a gun on Tim. Jason sighs and shakes his head. He’s got some apologizing to do, even though he knows Tim will tell he doesn’t need to. They’ve all done and said things while out of their minds from the various toxins and poisons, let alone spores from Poison Ivy, that they’ve been exposed to. Hazards of the job.
He wonders if the fear gas is making the fall seem slower than it normally would be.
Jason tries to stay alert, but the darkness is warm and kind of comforting, as long as he keeps moving. The faint rush of air flowing past him keeps it from becoming reminders of his grave. He must have dozed off briefly because when he next opens his eyes (where they even closed?), the faint outline of shelves and cupboards appear before him.
Now he really knows he’s high because he’s falling so slowly he can reach out and move things from the shelves if he wants to. So much for terminal velocity and the laws of physics. What goes up, must come down. His crash, both literally and mentally, is going to be spectacular.
The light slowly grows brighter as he falls. Just because he can, Jason reaches out and grabs a book from a shelf. May as well keep himself amused if this is going to take much longer.
Of course, he grabs a recipe book. He heaves a massive sigh and forces himself to read it anyway. Alfred would be proud of him and who knows, perhaps he’ll find something new to make for him and Tim. The book is surprisingly detailed and full of recipes for different desserts Jason’s never even heard of before. He’s so engrossed in it that he doesn’t realize the ground is approaching until his ass hits it with a jarring thud.
“Motherfucker,” Jason swears, rising to his feet and rubbing his tailbone. He shoves the book into the inner pocket of his jacket and looks around.
He’s in some kind of long, tiled hallway, lined with doors on either side. Glancing behind him, he spots a stone wall. Well, at least the way forward is clear. Still, because he is the paranoid sort (it’s not paranoia when they really are out to get you he remembers Tim saying), he readies a gun as a precaution.
Something about this whole situation is tickling his memory, but try as he might, nothing comes to mind. Jason walks forward, testing each door as he comes upon it and confirms they’re all locked, at least from his side. His lockpicks will come in handy if he’s shit out of luck with the rest of them.
He’s passed over a dozen doors when he hears the slam of one opening up ahead. Jason instantly tucks himself against the closest door jamb, trying to make himself a smaller target for whatever is approaching him. The sound of heeled shoes upon the floor tiles echo strangely.
“Oh, my ears and whiskers, I’m late. Heads are gonna roll and they sure as shit better not be mine.”
The voice is feminine but that’s not what has Jason locking up in surprise. It’s the sight of Stephanie stalking towards him in a bunny costume that wouldn’t look out of place on Dinah Lance, the Black Canary. She’s got a leather jacket to go with it, even if her costume is all white rather than the black he’s used to. For that matter, Steph’s taking the whole costume thing a little too seriously as she’s even wearing a headband with bunny ears on them. Floppy bunny ears that are falling into her face as she storms down the hall.
“What the shit, Blondie?” Jason says, stepping away from his meager shelter. “How’d you get down here? For that matter, how the fuck do I leave? Tim is gonna kill me.”
The woman shrieks at him and throws a fan at his head. Her bunny ears twitch violently. “I’m already late, you dumbass! Don’t make it worse!”
With that, she takes off down the hall, running past him with surprising grace in those spiked heels of hers. He can’t help but notice there’s a poufy little cottonball of a tail on her ass.
“I think you’re taking the whole Playboy bunny thing a little too literally!” he shouts after her.
The sound of another door slamming closed is his only reply.
“Well, shit.” Jason runs a hand through his hair and looks around again. The hall doesn’t look any different than before but that niggling memory that this is all familiar is driving him up the wall. It’s like he’s fallen down the rabbit hole...
Back the fuck up.
Jason stalks back down the hall to where he first arrived after the long ass fall and sure enough, there’s a curtain hanging from what had been an empty wall before. A small glass table with a gold key sitting upon it are off to the left. He brushes the curtain aside and there’s a small door that he’d be lucky to get a foot through.
Looking back at the table, there’s a little bottle on it now, next to the key.
He knows where he is now. Or rather, he knows where he’s about to be soon if he can just get the door open. “Son of a bitch. This is either going to be the worst or best trip ever.”
Jason has seen a lot of strange shit in his life but he’s willing to bet a bottle of Bruce’s best bourbon and say this ranks right up there at the top. Wonderland. Or would that be Underland if he goes by the movie? Either way, Blondie has to be the White Rabbit. The outfit is definitely an improvement. Who else is going to appear in his hallucination?
Because seriously, what else could it be? Jason’s starting to doubt now if he ever even fell. Dosed by fear gas? Emphatic yes. Rescued by Tim? Probably. That’s a little blurry now.
“Maybe I didn’t pull a gun on him after all,” Jason mutters as he eyes the door and the bottle.
As far as he can tell, this is his only way out because he’s sure as hell not going to grow into a giant and cry like a baby before shrinking down and floating away on a sea of tears. Still, best to be prepared. He places the bottle and key in a pocket and keeps a firm hold on them both while he stalks back up the hall to where the fan White Rabbit Stephanie threw at him lies on the floor. He collects it and returns to the small door.
The key he places squarely on the floor in front of the door. None of this leaving it on the table bullshit. Jason takes the bottle out of his pocket and reads the elegant script.
Drink me
Right. He’d better keep all his clothes when he shrinks down because otherwise, he’s gonna sit his ass right here until he wakes up on his own or Bruce finds the right formula to create an antitoxin. Considering how much time he feels like has passed, Tim is probably right there with him.
Jason eyes the bottle again, pops the cork, and drinks it in one long swig.