Chapter Text
The stench of damp, musky air confirmed to Oswald he was, most definitely, not where he should be.
It was cold, very cold. The small window above him revealed that it was still daytime, but the sun was setting quickly. His breath surrounded him in a fog as he tried to control his breathing.
What the- whoever has done this will pay.
The little that he was wearing, rags that weren’t dissimilar to Arkham's uniform, did nothing to warm him.
Where are my clothes?
Looking around, it was hard to tell time nor day, as he slid himself over to the wall, using it as support as he scrambled to stand. He called out, as it became apparent upon standing that his leg was extremely painful.
I need Ed
Memories of Edward popped into his head, and how he would have, most likely, came running to him right about now to see what was wrong. The thought made his chest ache.
Don’t think about Edward right now you idiot, figure out a way out of here!
It was easy to get distracted with thoughts of Edward because, recently, they had been inseparable. Once the dust had settled in Gotham, they fell into quite a comfortable domesticated idea of bliss to Oswald. They had yet to lay out all their apologies for everything that had happened between them, but he vowed to start as soon as he got the chance. They were on new ground now and Edward seemed to have accepted Oswald for who he was.
More than brothers.
The door to the room suddenly opened. Only slightly, but it was enough for Oswald to squeeze through.
It could be a trap, be smart.
If history had taught Oswald anything, it was to be cautious of everything and everyone.
He waited.
Nothing.
Having managed to slow his breathing and trying not to think about the pain in his leg, he inched forward towards the door, sliding along the wall so that he could try to see who was on the other side of it. It took two hands to open the door back towards him; nobody was there. The dripping of water could be heard in the distance but asides from that there was silence. It was so quiet that the thoughts in his head sounded loud to him.
I will kill whoever is behind this!
Peering into the hallway, he cautiously stepped out with his back against the wall.
Where the hell am I?
He wasn’t going to wait around any longer, spying a manhole cover above him at the end of the hallway he moved towards it as fast as he could.
I’m not fast enough, they could still be here, waiting for me.
Anything was possible in Gotham, there might be any number of reasons he was being held here and now the person or persons seemed to be toying with him, goading him on to make the next move only to set him up for failure.
I hope Edward isn't mixed up in all this.
As he approached the bottom of the stairs, he could vaguely hear sounds from the street signalling freedom.
How the hell am I going to get up there...
“Oswald.”
He stopped in his tracks, frozen to the spot. That was clearly Ed’s voice, he would recognize it anywhere, but how? It was faint, conversational, coming from within the room he had just came out of. He turned around to look back but couldn’t make out anything now that daylight was fading, there was nothing and nobody here.
“Edward?” he whispered back, hoping for a reply. He had to go back.
This could be a trap, but what if he needs my help. He needs me.
This room, this place, was wrong. It takes a lot to frighten him these days but nothing about this building or location jumped out at him as somewhere he might recognize, and Oswald knew most places in Gotham.
This place gives me the creeps.
As fast as he could, he edged back toward the room,
shit,
he would have to open the door again, it had somehow shut behind him. He pushed on the door holding his breath... on the table was a tape recorder that had not been there before, now playing a recording of what Oswald instantly recognized as a conversation between himself and Edward, from sometime last week..
“What do you mean they are the best waffles you’ve ever had?” Ed had said with a smile.
“I mean it Ed; Olga is such a good cook, but you are on another level with these. Just please don’t tell Olga I said anything.” Oswald joked around.
Their smiles faded as their eyes met across the table, both reflecting on how much they had missed this, missed times like this with one another. They kept eye contact for what seemed like forever before Ed stood up, walking closer to Oswald.
“Oswald-I”
The tape cut off, which Oswald remembers the conversation to have ended there anyway, as Ed became very awkward and excused himself a moment later. He never got a chance to ask why because the next thing he remembers was waking up here.
“Will you two never learn.”
A voice behind him made Oswald’s blood run cold.
That voice.
“It’s rude not to answer Oswald.”
The emphasis was on his name, a kind of mocking Oswald knows well. He closed his eyes, willing himself to wake up from this nightmare, fists clenched tightly. This man, who he thought it was, he knew it was, scared him. Unpredictable is uncontrollable. There was nothing to manipulate here, nothing to talk his way out of, he had his own agenda and nothing Oswald could say would change that.
Play it out.
The man's breath was on his neck now, deliberately close. A strong grip on his shoulder caused him to involuntarily flinch as he was forcefully turned around.
“Cat got Pengy’s tongue?” Jerome grinned from ear to ear, clearly enjoying himself.
He was dressed head to toe in purple, hair long and tied back. His eyes were piercing Oswald’s through heavy makeup, or blood, splattered across his face. Oswald had amazing observational skills when it came to what people wanted, but him... No one seemed to know what was coming next or want to know. It wasn’t going to be good that’s all he knew for sure.
Jerome released his grip and started to circle Oswald,
“If he isn’t happy to see me then I feel a bit hurt. What should I do about this?” he said to nothing and nobody, looking at the walls.
Oswald noticed how cold he was again, shaking slightly, stood barefoot on the concrete floor did not help but Jerome was a chilling presence all on his own.
“Oswald...” The mention of his name, a whisper almost tender, made Oswald reluctantly lift his eyes for the first time to meet Jerome’s, who was so close to him now, invading his personal space without a care.
“I’m going to give you a choice.” Jerome exclaimed, smile never faltering.
How is he even alive after everything? Is this really him?
“A series of choices actually, because I’m generous.” He spoke uncharacteristically softly but a grin was permanently etched on his face, unsettling to say the least.
Oswald’s aching leg was suddenly kicked out of balance, and he fell to his knees in front of Jerome, both of his hands coming to rest atop Oswald's shoulders again, firmly holding him in place.
“Jerom-.” he spluttered out, trying to get a handle on this, before it went wherever Jerome wanted it to go.
“Yes, Oswald?” Jerome knelt next to him, waiting for a reply. Oswald grabbed Jerome’s sleeves in an effort to steady himself.
Think, say something, but his throat was dry, he couldn’t think of a thing to say to this man that would do any good, that might buy some time for thought.
“Ozzy, you disappoint me. If you won’t speak to me, I’ll have to resort to plan B.” He looked at Oswald with what could be described as a kind of friendliness before it quickly disappeared, grabbing Oswald’s hands and peeling them off him , starting to walk away.
What, no, what is he-
“You’ve picked choice number 1.” he swung back around, “You might have a few more tape conversations coming to you.”
Oswald went numb, trying to think of anything he could do to stop him going after Edward, as he could tell that's where it was ultimately going. Jerome didn’t make empty threats if he made threats at all.
“I-Jerome-” Oswald started to talk but hands were roughly fisted into his hair, wrenching his head back, the shock was so intense he couldn’t hold back from whimpering.
“Very bad things..Oswald” Jerome breathed into his ear in a low growl, scanning Oswald's face,“ can come to both of you. He can’t be the main protagonist all the time, my little birdy.”
He hadn’t the faintest idea what he was talking about but Oswald met Jerome's eyes defiantly, hoping to look and sound braver than he felt.
“No, don’t you dare touch him.”
Deafening laughter erupted from Jerome, as he dropped his grip on Oswald, throwing him forward violently to the floor.
“Your choice, remember.” he exclaimed, before leaving the room and what sounded like locking the door. It hadn't been much of a choice and the unknown consequences of saying no were already starting to make Oswald feel sick.
Ed, I won't let him harm you.