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“Would you stop staring at him, it’s getting creepy.”
Exhaling slowly through my nostrils, I whip around to glare daggers at Aiden just chilling at the dining table in the kitchen. “Oh, I’m sorry, I guess I’m just a little concerned that I haven’t seen him so much as twitch in the last six hours!”
“I think he’s fine—”
“Oh, is he? After tasing him, shoving him in the trunk, and strapping him to a bed, you think he's just fine?” I challenge, storming up to him. “I don’t see why you had to drug him too! He’s just a kid!”
“What, you liked having him kicking out at you every step of the way?” Another voice says from the bathroom, its owner stepping out to join us. “Unclutch your pearls, man, I didn't even give him that much. He’s high off his ass, meaning he’s comfortable , yeah? I’m gonna dose him again later and he’ll be even more comfortable!”
“See? Luc agrees with me, just relax, Rafael,” Aiden predictably backs up his friend, handing him a beer as he takes a seat at the table.
Leaning against the door, I cross my arms and narrow my eyes at them both. Neither seem to mind, though, as they cheers their drinks and start talking and laughing about some— war bullshit, I’m sure.
Huffing out a breath, I turn back around to the kid, walking up to press two fingers to his wrist and checking for a pulse. I don’t know what drug cocktail that Luc guy’s shot the kid up with, but I trust him about as far as I can throw him. That is to say, not far, because he’s 6’2” and jacked as shit.
As soon as I feel the ba-bumps pumping underneath his clammy skin, slow, but there, I follow up by doing the only thing I can: sigh and plop my ass down in the loveseat by the window, continuing my watch, wondering why I ever agreed to this.
Richard Grayson, Bruce Wayne’s fucking kid, kidnapped and held for ransom by me, my cousin, and his army buddy; what a mastermind trio we are. They haven’t even made the call to ask for the money! ‘The longer we wait, the more desperate he gets’, Luc tells us. ‘Then we can squeeze him for more cash.’
Except with every passing minute, the more anxious I get. I have half a mind to cut and bail right now, put in an anonymous call, and forget any of this ever happened! (I can’t do that to Aiden though, especially since he thought to do all of this to help me. ) I groan, massaging at my temples with both hands, keeping an eye on Grayson.
…he doesn’t look comfortable. I guess I can’t actually tell with the blindfold; he could be fast asleep for all I know.
But how could this be, in any way, comfort— with his wrists and ankles tied down and pulled spread-eagle by rough ropes, duct tape wrapped around his eyes and over his mouth, keeping that cloth gag secured. It wasn’t a small rag they’d forced in there either, I can only hope he doesn’t choke on it before we make the call.
God, he’s still in his school uniform. It makes him look every bit the thirteen year old he is, and I can’t help but choke a little on the guilt that keeps bubbling up in my throat. Especially when my son was his age only a couple years ago. Did he look this small then too?
What the fuck am I doing? This was such a colossally stupid idea. Yeah, we all heard the stories and news reports about Bruce Wayne’s ward getting kidnapped a few times over the years and how willing the billionaire was to do anything, pay anything, to get his kid back. Not that he ever had to, the GCPD was scarily efficient in their investigative skills when it came to him. And that’s not even considering Wayne’s rumored vigilante friend, the goddamn Batman himself, whom he supposedly personally bankrolls.
But those guys were caught because they were amateurs, according to Luc. Not him, though, he’s got it all planned out. All he needed was his old Ranger brother (ok, sure, plus your down-on-his-luck younger cousin) and they were going to walk away with a cool $10 mil each, scot-free!
Yeah fucking right. I shouldn’t have done this. I should not have done this!
“Mm… Mmpph...”
My head snaps up at that, the muffled groan the first I’ve heard from Grayson since earlier this evening. Maybe he's starting to come to? But maybe not, because other than that, and a quick twitch of his fingers on his left hand, he falls silent and unmoving once more. Can you just stay that way, I silently beg him in my mind. Just sleep and you’ll be home before you know it, I promise!
Too much to ask for maybe because as soon as I settle back down, the bedroom door is pushed open further and in comes the two bastards I’ve chosen to associate myself with.
Luc has a flip phone to his ear, and upon flashing Aiden and I a smug smirk, continues chirping into the receiver. “Well, Brucie, that's up to you! Cute kid you got,” he taunts, leaning over the bed, brushing back Grayson’s bangs from his forehead, uncharacteristically soft. “I'd hate for anything to happen to him…”
I keep my gaze to the floor, tensing in my seat as their— our demands are made clear. $30 million in cash by 11AM tomorrow, dropped off in some lockers at the train station, to be retrieved by (who else) yours truly. Once we were an hour out of the city, then and only then, would we reveal the kid’s location. The churning in my gut comes back in full-force.
“Wake up, kiddo, daddy’s on the phone!” Luc practically sings a moment later, unraveling the tape from around his mouth and pulling the saliva soaked cloth out. He tosses it away in disgust, like it wasn’t his idea to put it there in the first place. As he gives a few not-so-gentle slaps to Grayson, shoving the phone closer and hitting speaker, the desperation seeping from the other side makes me feel like my stomach is about to drop out from under me.
“Wha—?”
“Dick?” Bruce’s tired, yet hopeful, tinny voice comes through the receiver. “Dickie, thank god, are you hurt?”
“Brsss? Whe-whrre ‘m I?” He coughs a few times and his words are coming out slurred and shaky; he sounds like he’s just been on a week-long bender! What the hell did we give him?? He tugs weakly at the restraints, and I think we wince at the same time when the rope pulls taut, digging into his skin. “Ahh, I… I can’t—”
“It’s ok, chum, it’s me. I- I don’t know where you are, but I’m coming to get you, ok, I promise! As soon as I can, I’m going to bring you home, just hang in there for me.”
“… ‘kay… Brss, ‘iss dark h’re. I don—”
“All right, you heard him, he’s alive.” Luc takes the phone back then, gesturing at Aiden to gag the kid again, both leaving to the other room.
"’M not…home. Lemme g' home," the kid's mumbling, pulling as best he can manage at the ropes, not that it serves to do anything but hurt him more. "Pleass, I– I don't feel goo-"
"I'm sorry, I can't, I–" Aiden comes back in then with a square hand towel and the roll of tape. I smack them out of his hand and he just stands there for a second, looking at me like I’m the one being outrageous.
“Raf.”
“Just-” I sigh, rubbing at my eyes with the heels of my palms. “Can we at least give him some water first?” Not waiting for his permission, I walk out to the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and dropping a straw in.
“Don’t worry about it, it’s just something to relax him,” I hear Luc say to Wayne as he sits on the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table. “I think it’s best if he just sleeps through all this, don’t want the boy to get nightmares or anything later, right? I’m looking out for him! Well, you know what to do, text you the locker number tomorrow, bye!” He flips the phone shut, barking out a laugh, then hops up to get another drink.
Upon seeing the bottle in my hand, he scowls and my eyes instinctively drift downwards as I go back into the bedroom. “What’re you doing?” he asks from behind me.
“I’m just giving him something to drink, is that cool with you? Or are we torturing little kids now too?” I bite out, sitting next to Grayson and propping him up the best I can without pulling too much on the ropes around his legs. I angle the straw to his lips and breathe out a little in relief when he drinks it. Hopefully, that’ll help him recover a bit?
“Whatever,” Luc scoffs, rolling his eyes. “But I’m not taking him if he needs to piss later. It’s your bed, you deal with it. Yo,” he calls out, picking up the tape and tossing it back to my cousin. “Just make sure he’s quiet now that he’s awake.”
As soon as I pull away, Aiden rolls up and harshly stuffs the towel into Grayson’s mouth, who can only whine out a feeble complaint, before it's held in place there with overlapping strips of silver. “Cheer up, kid. Daddy’s just gotta pay up and then we will never have to see each other again. Be patient!”
Aiden walks out and I don’t know what to do! I should sit here and keep watch… no, the kid's not going anywhere. Well, shit, of course he isn’t and whose fault is that??
I should just let him go! No, the money— it’s too good to pass up, especially now! We’re in way too deep.
I’m a terrible person. We are terrible people, he’s just a kid who happened to get taken in by the richest guy in Gotham, it’s not like he chose that! He doesn’t deserve this!
But I… I need this, my family needs this. So though I hate myself for it, after taking one more glance at him, I close my eyes, then turn and follow my cousin out.
It’s somewhere around 3am, an ungodly hour to be awake at, that I find my bladder having to empty itself again for the third time now? I blame that stupid horchata Aiden brought with the Mexican take-out, it was way better than it had any reason to be.
As I’m finishing up standing there in the dark, a thought occurs to me, which is quickly followed up by another pang of guilt. I should probably check on the kid! Let him stretch a bit, use the bathroom; it’s been ten hours now and he has to be getting sore.
I tiptoe past the living room, expecting Luc to somehow hear me and try to tackle me or yell at me for being an idiot, but screw him; there’s no reason to be cruel. Luckily, he’s not even there on the sofa, probably out getting a smoke or something.
Stopping short in front of the other bedroom, my hand hovers over the doorknob as my thought spiral starts up again. There had to have been a better way to go about this. One that didn’t involve holding a teenager hostage or pumping him full of drugs just because he struggled and yelled like any other sane person—
Wait, I didn’t close this door.
When did- Did he get free? I shoot a glance back at my room, Aiden still snoring away, then to the front door, begging for Luc to not barge in at this exact moment. I hate how conflicted I feel right now, because if Grayson’s gone, then that’s bad. But also…good, right?
But bad because they’re gonna blame me and also my family gets no money, plus the cops will probably be raiding the house any second now and all of this was for absolutely nothing. The only one getting anything out of it is the kid, and that thing is trauma! Fantastic.
A couple seconds pass and nothing happens— which is when a different sinking feeling settles in my gut. The front door is dead bolted, which I remember engaging and no one but me even has the key to it. Luc’s not asleep, but he didn’t leave, so he has to be here.
I look back to the closed door. My brain is taking way too long to catch up, I think, because before I know it, a long creak accompanies my swinging the door open.
It takes a second for my eyes to adapt to the dark, the moonrays and streetlamps streaming through a gap in the curtains the only source of light in the room. And yeah, my brain must really be sleep deprived because I see the kid’s still tied up, I see Luc kneeling on the bed, almost pressed up against him, one hand stroking through his hair, the other slinking in between the buttons of his uniform, and the dots don’t connect right away.
And then I flip on the light, and I see the kid’s pants are pulled down below his hips and the torn boxers hanging off and Luc doesn’t even get up, just glances at me like I’ve inconvenienced him, and actually starts to drag his hand lower. How far had he gotten before—
At once, all those nerves, that unease, that guilt, it’s being replaced— by disgust… by hatred.
“Get the fuck off of him!” I shout, moving maybe the fastest I’ve ever moved, yanking Luc off the bed and slamming him against the wall. He’s not wearing a shirt, and his fly is down, and I decide to hold him there with one arm pressed up to his neck. “What are you-? Don’t fucking touch him!”
“Fucking relax, would you?!” Unsurprisingly, Luc breaks out of my hold with barely any effort, shoving me away with enough force that I’m stumbling backwards. “Jesus, what’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?” I demand, incredulous, moving to block his view of the kid. “You–! You stay the hell away from him!”
“I just gave him another dose, he’s in the goddamn clouds right now, ok? He’s not even gonna feel it or remember anything!”
“That’s not better! That’s worse, that is so much fucking worse!” I’m screaming now and my vision’s practically swimming in red, I don’t even notice Aiden’s entered the room until he’s stepped in between us.
“Hey! You’re gonna wake up the entire neighborhood, what is going on?”
“Like there’s anyone even around, the whole block’s getting foreclosed on,” Luc chuckles, pulling his shirt back on.
I sneer at him, at the two of them, really, and break the news to Aiden bluntly. “Your buddy here is a pedophile, did you know that about him?”
“…What?”
“Yeah, I just walked in on him feeling up a thirteen year old! Guess he’s not just in this for the money, huh?”
For the first time since we started planning all of this, my cousin actually looks upset and it’s not directed at me. He pulls Luc off to one side, but I tune it out; I do not care what the harsh whispering is about, I need to check on the kid.
Grabbing a neatly folded blanket from the hall closet, I try to avert my gaze as I cover him up, then slide a finger to his wrist to check his pulse. It’s thready, more than before, and something in me shifts. I can’t do this anymore.
“Hey, kid?” I call out to him, gently jostling him. “Grayson?” No response. Uh, what was it Wayne called him… “Dickie?”
There’s not even a slight stirring or sound of acknowledgment, he just lays there, head lolled to the side. Is he high and out of it or just straight up fucking unconscious? I try to get the tape off from around his eyes, but my hands are shaking too badly and I can’t find where it starts. Forget it, I think, calling his name again as I reach instead for the knots tying him to the bed frame, picking it apart. I don’t get too far, it’s a weirdly intricate knot, when Luc yells out.
“What do you think you’re doing!?”
I ignore him, not even turning around, and keep working on the ropes. It’s finally loose, but just as I get to work on the opposite one, I hear the click of something metal, of a hammer being pulled back. I look behind me and there’s a gun being aimed at me, finger on the trigger.
“Luc, man…” Aiden says, trying to get him to lower his arm. Obviously, that’s not happening as Luc keeps the pistol up and trained on me.
“Tie him back up before I shoot you and save us all the headache.”
“No,” I stand my ground. “No, we’re not doing this anymore, I’m not doing this anymore! Especially not with you here.”
“If you think I’m gonna let you ruin this for us, think again. I’ll gladly take your share of the pot—”
“Hey, seriously, stop it!” Aiden hisses out, moving in front of the gun and forcibly aiming it away. “Why did you even bring that? No one’s supposed to get hurt!”
“Oh, tell that to the kid!” I counter at the exact same time Luc says, “Maybe you should talk some sense into your pussy cousin then!”
“Get out,” Aiden pushes Luc towards the door, still mumbling obscenities. “Cool off, dude.”
“You better get him-”
“I’m doing it, just get the fuck out first!”
As soon as he’s gone, Aiden shuts the door and whirls on me, though I get the first word out. “You can’t seriously be ok with this!”
“I’m not! I’m not, but just— eight more hours and we’re 10 mil richer. We won’t ever have to speak to him again! Come on,” he continues when I just roll my eyes at him. “Don’t you want to get out of this piece-of-shit house? Don’t you want your son to get that heart surgery? To get your life back? You need this! You need this more than any of us.”
(Wow, thanks for the reminder.)
I groan and scrub my fingers through my hair, collapsing down onto the loveseat. He’s right— I hate it and I hate this and everything is so fucked up , but he’s right! I bury my head in my hands, though I’m aware of Aiden coming closer and tightening the ropes, easily maneuvering the kid like he’s a puppet on a string.
“Hey,” he taps me on the shoulder when he’s done, gesturing to the door. “Let’s get some sleep.”
I get as far as the threshold, when the sight of Luc, casually lounging on the sofa, gun on the coffee table and channel-surfing the TV, stops me. “I’ll sleep here.” I step back into the bedroom and Aiden raises an eyebrow at me. “You know,” I say a little louder, “in case your friend tries to rape the kid again.”
“Hey, if you wanted him first, all you had to do was ask,” Luc laughs out, not even deigning to look back.
“Fuck you, asshole,” is all I think to comeback with before I’m slamming the door shut in my cousin’s face.
Going back to Grayson, I kneel down and try to rouse him once more. “Hey, kid… Dick? Can you hear me?” Silence greets me, so I try again to find the edge of the tape, finally finding it and removing the blindfold.
His eyes don’t open, and when I grab and roughly shake his shoulder, there’s no reaction, no movement beneath the eyelids— no sign of consciousness at all. I can barely even hear him breathing.
Shit.
Morning can't come soon enough.
Then the fear that he might be overdosing hits me. If he dies like this, I— I…
I'm not going to make it to morning.
Trying to slow everything down a little so I don't hyperventilate, I close my eyes and breathe. Luc wouldn't. He's a disgusting creep, but he knows what he's doing, how much he gave— Aiden said he had medical training in the field. He definitely wouldn't have done anything that endangered his meal ticket.
Yeah… yeah, the kid's fine! He has to be fine.
As I'm trying to convince myself of that, I look away and sink back into my seat, attempting to think about something else… anything else. How I'm gonna live with myself, for example, or if I'll be able to look my family in the eye at all after this.
My eyes start to wander, and after a minute of scanning the entire room a few times, something catches my attention.
Luc's burner cell is sitting on the nightstand by the other side of the bed. He must have forgotten it here. Keeping an eye on the door in case anyone enters, I pick up the phone and flip it open.
There's only one number programmed into it, of course, the burner's that we left for Bruce Wayne, and only one outgoing call.
My thumb hovers over the green call button for just a second before I'm flipping it closed again. "Fuck… Fuck!" I whisper-yell at myself, not exactly sure what I'm expecting to happen right now. I just have to wait seven and a half hours and we're home free, right? We're all home free.
I glance back at the kid, finding myself staring at the restraints, his loose tie and untucked shirt, the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest.
Seven more hours…
I flick the phone open.
I don't know how long it's been, but it's still dark out and I've mostly fallen asleep when there's clattering coming from the living room. Sitting up in the loveseat, I scramble for the phone, the light briefly blinding me before I make out that it's 4:47 AM. No new messages , the screen also reads.
"What the fuck?!"
There’s the sound of wood splintering and my head snaps up as Luc shouts from outside, followed by several loud bangs. With each one, the crack underneath the door lights up with the accompanying muzzle flash.
He’s out there shooting at something, probably someone, but who? Could someone have broken in? A burglar? The neighborhood had been getting rougher, not like it wasn’t already, but it was usually abandoned at this time of night, people generally ignoring and steering clear.
Having faith that the two army guys are perfectly able of taking care of whatever it is, I move closer to the kid, staying close in case something—
The bedroom door splinters open and I let out a pretty pitiful yelp, ducking down and covering my head with my arms. Heavy boots stride into the room and, as I look up into the darkness, I see it’s a man, tall and clearly built. My heart’s beating out of my chest as I continue my gaze upwards, catching momentarily on the weakly groaning forms of Luc and Aiden laid out behind him in a bullet-hole riddled kitchen.
Suddenly, the man is a foot away from me and I can make out the armored black outfit, the cape draped on his back, the long ears on the cowl.
The Batman. Oh, fuck.
“Wait, wait, wait!” I practically beg, staying down on my knees and refusing to lift my head up because I might just lose control of my bowels if I do. “I texted Wayne! That’s why you’re here, right? He asked you to come here?” I offer him the phone in my hand, and he doesn’t take it, so I just prattle on, gesturing to the bed. “Just take him, take the kid, I’m not stopping you! I’m sorry! It was— I shouldn’t have agreed—”
A low growl deep in his chest steamrolls over my pleading, sending me scrambling back towards the couch. He walks closer, stands over the bed, and I hear the swish of something sharp slicing through the ropes and the faint rip of tape being removed, the sodden wadded-up towel hitting the carpet below. I swear I hear something like a moan of… anguish from him then, broken off and nearly inaudible, before I’m scared shitless again when I feel Batman turn slightly towards me. “What did you do?”
“Nothing! Nothing, I— well, no, Luc, big guy out there, he drugged him. I don’t know what it was, a mix of things I guess, he just said he didn’t use a lot!” My eyes are still glued only to the spot right in front of me as I continue to cower on the floor. I then realize the blanket is off the kid now and it’s not like he would’ve had the chance to cover himself back up. “Oh, uhh, I know how it— Luc, he tried… but he didn’t get fa— he didn’t do anything, I swear! I pulled him off… he didn’t have a chance to— I pulled him off. It never should’ve— I’m sorry, I- I’m sorry.”
There’s no reply, so I finally build up the nerve to force my gaze to travel up again, trying to focus in despite the dimness.
Before I can say anything more, he’s moving towards me and there’s something about feeling the clear anger rolling off of him in waves, and getting an overwhelming sense of I’m not making it out of here alive, that just immediately has me running my mouth again.
“I’m sorry! Please don’t hurt me!” I force out in between choking sobs, standing up and keeping my back against the wall, hands out in defense. “I’m sorry, this was so fucking dumb! I just needed the money and my cousin got me mixed up in all this and I know that’s a shit excuse, but I… I was desperate! I’m going to lose the house if I don’t—”
That line of begging is cut off as well as he rushes me, pulling something out from his belt. Shit, this is it! “Oh, god, don’t kill me, please, my son is sick-!”
But the blow I expected never came. Instead, I hear the ratcheting of a handcuff on my wrist. In the blink of an eye, I’m being spun, my arms twisted behind me, with the other cuff getting slapped on as I’m forced to the ground. “Wha-?”
Suddenly, there’s sirens coming from outside. Distant, and I can’t quite see any red and blue flashing lights yet, but they’re definitely getting closer. I wonder if those had been going off for long and I was just too freaked to notice.
I’m on my stomach now, but as I hear those boots walk away from me, with some effort, I manage to flip over. That’s it? I mean, I should count myself lucky to have all my bones in working order, but… then I see it; I'm not the priority right now.
The Dark Knight is on one knee beside the bed, crouched over Grayson, gently undoing the remainder of the knots from around thin, bruised wrists. He does the same for the ones around his ankles, then fixes the kid’s clothes, before cradling him in his arms. It’s a striking image: the big, bad Batman being so cautious in lifting him up, cape cascading down around them, like it’s meant to serve as a protective shield.
Then he’s walking out of the room, holding onto Wayne’s kid like he’s the most precious cargo he’s ever had the fortune of returning. He stops in the kitchen as he goes, pauses in front of Luc, and for a second I think he’s going to kick his head in or stab him or something, because he adjusts his carrying grip and doesn’t move for a solid half minute.
But then the sirens get really near, the colorful lights streaming in every window, and Batman’s moving again, officers rushing in the front door to replace him.
As we’re arrested and ushered to the back of a cop car, in a way, I’m glad. Not just because Luc completely deserves it— well, Aiden and I do too, but if I had stood back and let this happen, I wouldn’t have been able to sleep at night anyway. And the kid, he… at least he’s safe.
Speaking of, I’m able to catch one final glimpse of him through the back window.
He’s laying limp in the vigilante’s arms, the back of an ambulance rushing to open its doors for them, and I’m kinda surprised Wayne’s not already in there waiting. Probably running Gotham General ragged in preparation. Still though, he’s letting the guy dressed as a bat deal with all this for him?
But when I watch Batman carefully lowering the kid onto the stretcher, staying right by his side as the paramedics pull on an oxygen mask and load him up, it’s clear why the billionaire trusts him.
That’s the last thing I see before I’m pitched forward as the cops peel out of the neighborhood.