Chapter Text
Jason never thought he'd be the one that Dick came to for help, but here they were. Apparently the demon bird had missed a check-in and was no longer responding to calls. Jason bit back his caustic "Sounds familiar," because Dick seemed genuinely worried about this Robin, at least.
"Hood, you're closest. Can you...?" Dick's voice over the comms was tentative. Like he thought Jason would tell him to pound sand and leave a Robin to the wolves.
And maybe, once, in the throes of the Pit, he would've. Things were different now.
"Affirmative. On my way," Jason said, and disconnected.
"Guess it's your lucky day," he remarked conversationally to the cuffed man sprawled in a puddle on the ground under his boot. He'd stepped off the guy, who whimpered in relief. That is, until Jason's pistol slammed across his face so hard he could hear the guy's teeth shatter.
Without a backwards look, Jason shot his grapple up and out - he had a bird to save.
The goon would live, he'd just need some dental work. It'd been a while since Jason had actually killed anyone. He and the bats have a comfortable thing going now, one that he had no plans to destroy by actually talking to Bruce about what happened when Damian was gone. There just....didn't seem to be a point. Made sense, though, why they were all so overprotective of Damian now, to the point of calling in Jason for help.
Finding Damian was easy. Dick had shared the coordinates from Damian's tracker; all Jason had to do was follow them deep into the Narrows, though the fog and misty rain. The blinking red dot that was Damian was up on the roof of a fairly tall apartment complex - nothing for a vigilante with a grapple. Probably Damain was sulking about something or the other up there. Jason could sympathize. Maybe this time Jason got to dispense the brotherly advice, instead of the Golden Boy.
Maybe over a chili dog - or, wait, a vegan chili dog. Whatever. Jason was hungry.
He shot the grapple, flipped up, and landed.
And froze.
Damian was here, but he wasn't sulking. Well, not alone.
He was sulking in the grasp of Deathstroke. Drenched and ruffled, he kind of looked like a small, angry, murderous kitten.
"Don't you usually have beef with a different Robin?" called Jason. Simultaneously, he activated his comm to broadcast to the entire clan - Dick would want to hear this.
"Only in my free time," Slade said casually.
"You ok, kid?" he asked. Damian looked like he had fought Deathstroke, because of course he had, but nothing looked life-threatening - he had some scrapes and bruises, and was favoring his ankle in a way that looked like a sprain.
"Fine," muttered Damian. "No major injuries."
"Do not engage unless Damian can get clear," ordered Bruce over comms. "Nightwing and I are en route. If they have a ransom, find out."
Jason could probably take Deathstroke, but not while also trying to protect Damian. Time to stall.
"My employer doesn't really want this particular bird," Slade said, giving Damian a rough shake. "But I figured, a bird in the hand, and so on."
If he didn't want Damian, who did he want? Dick? Everyone wants Dick, Jason mentally quipped.
Out loud, he said, "A trade, then. Who's your employer, and what do they want?"
"Here's the deal, Hood. You surrender to me, I let Robin go. You fight me, I kill Robin and take you out anyway. " Slade's helmet tilted, assessing Jason. "I know which one I'd choose, if I were a smart boy."
Oh. Slade wanted him? Maybe he'd been working with the League? Talia could've just called, in that case.
"Well, he's never been the smartest of the bats, has he?" came a new, familiar voice, and Jason's heart dropped all the way back into his grave. The speaker stepped out of the building and surveyed the scene, hands on his hips and that horrid grin on his face.
"Joker." he said flatly. Of course.
Of course Joker would be the only person who'd want Jason over Damian. Certainly not Bruce, or any of the bats, or even Talia.
Jason was only one person's favorite Robin.
His mind raced, going over strategies and plans at lightning speed. Almost all of them were discarded instantly, due to one glaring factor: Deathstroke. Even all Jason's training wouldn't beat Slade's healing factor in time to save Damian, and he'd never had the relationship of trading favors that Dick had with the mercenary. Slade would kill Damian and take Jason anyway.
"Stall, Hood," growled Bruce. Of course he'd heard everything. Jason seethed. If Bruce had just killed this sick fuck, none of them would even be in this position- "ETA five minutes."
OK. He could stall, if he could just get his breathing to settle down. The panic attack would have to wait for later.
"Hiring out the dirty work, Joker?" drawled Jason, grateful for the helmet filters that mechanized his shaking voice into something more menacing. Joker grinned, unbothered.
"I've got a special project I need expert help with, and Deathstroke here is the best in the biz." Joker meandered over to his associate, hand in his purple suit pockets, and looked down at Damian consideringly.
Deathstroke grunted, "Bats'll be here any second. Either you come with us, or not."
Quick, quicker than he had any right to be, Joker had a switchblade up against Damian's jaw and pushed. Blood welled up and dripped down the knife, down Joker's pale hands. Damian didn't make a sound, but the screaming in Jason's head was enough.
He could not do this. Unequivocally, Jason could not fucking do this. He knew exactly what would happen to Damian if he left - he'd lived it. He'd died from it. No fucking way was Damian going to go through it.
Meaning that the question wasn't even between Jason or Damian. No, the question was how long Jason could last with his killer with both of them staying alive.
He hoped it was long enough for Batman to save him, but he wouldn't hold his breath.
"Ok. Ok, fine." Jason said. Slowly, he raised his hands in surrender.
"No," protested Damian. "This is unnecessary. Batman will come."
"It's ok, babybird," Jason said. Comms were open. He knew everyone could hear, and they'd know to come get Damian if the kid couldn't get himself away in time. "It'll be fine. The Bat can't lose you again."
"Can't lose you either, Hood." Damain snarled through Slade's headlock.
Jason scoffed. "That's debatable. Ask him about Magdala Valley, huh?" There was a quick intake of breath over the comm, stirring a quick rush of guilt to his gut. Jason kept his eyes on Damian, his expression softening. "It's the only way one of us gets out."
"Hood, don't-" said Tim, and then, from Bruce: "There's got to be another way."
"Quick, before I change my mind!" cackled Joker, and pressed deeper. This time Damian did make a sound of pain, and instantly, a blush of shame washed over his face. The sight clenched Jason's gut, strengthening his resolve.
With a nod to Slade, Jason tossed his guns behind the mercenary, then his knives and utility belt.
"Helmet off," Slade ordered. Jason hesitated - should he set off the hidden explosive, take the clown out with him? But Damian might still be in range... no. He tossed the helmet away with a hollow-sounding clang.
"No jacket and get on your knees, zombie boy." Joker's screeching rasp had Jason flinching as he undressed and went down on one knee, then the other, as ordered. The rain drenched his body armor, flattening his hair down and wetting his face. That was good, he thought. Maybe he'd die of hypothermia before the Joker could really get going.
Over the comms, there was only the sound of heavy breathing and rushed footsteps. At least this time they were trying, and he wouldn't have to spend too much quality time with Joker.
"Hands on your head," ordered Slade. Jason lifted his arms to obey and tried to glare a hole through the mercenary's head. It didn't work, and he switched his gaze to the small figure in Slade's arms.
Damian had grown silent and still in Slade's hold, just watching Jason. He knew he was shaking, and not from the cold, but he held out hope that Damian didn't notice.
"Alrighty!" the clown said cheerfully, brandishing a pair of bat-proof cuffs, the ones Bruce had designed specifically for Jason, when he'd been sent to Blackgate. Slade must've procured them, but it was just another example of Bruce, fucking him over again.
Gravel bit into his knees and crunched under the Joker's feet. He was so close now; Jason could surge up and get the clown in a headlock, snap his neck and-
But then Slade would kill Damian. Jason would be alive, but he'd never be forgiven. Least of all by himself.
Joker moved to Jason's back and yanked one arm down, twisting it behind Jason's back and into the cuffs. Jason shuddered, once, when those bleach-white hands touched him, prompting a hard slap that set his ears ringing. "Now Hoodsie, don't fight or bird boy over there won't have a jugular anymore." he muttered from behind Jason's head.
There was a scent, now, of sweat and gunpowder and grease makeup, a scent Jason distinctly remembered from the warehouse. From when Joker had taken Jason's face in his hands and sweetly, softly, told him how he would die.
Someone was talking in his ear, but it was like they were underwater - just a low, incomprensible hum adding to the buzzing white noise in his head. The cuffs required multiple connection points, so he weathered the touch of the man who'd killed him, until Jason's entire forearms pressed against each other behind his back and linked to his upper arms.
With a final click and a too-rough mussing of Jason's hair, the Joker was done. "Alright, lemme have 'im,'' he cackled, skipping over to Slade and holding his arms out for a struggling and kicking Damian.
"No!" Jason snarled, and tried to struggle to his feet. Deathstroke shifted to him, and hands came down heavy on his shoulders, pushed him back to his knees.
"NO! We had a deal, you fuck!"
The Joker rolled his eyes theatrically.
"Oh calm down, Hoodsie, I won't hurt him. I just wanna see how the littlest birdie flies!"
And with that, the Joker tossed Damian off the building.
Jason screamed and fought wildly against Slade's grip. One hand left his shoulder, and then there was a stinging prick in his neck.
Tranquilizers. A favorite of Slade's, for bounties that had to be taken in alive.Jason could feel them move through his bloodstream, weighing down his muscles and blurring his vision. The wet rooftop became a sideways smear of color, black and sodium yellow and then horrible pasty white and red and green, as the Joker moved in close and whispered,
"Night night, kiddo."