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The air was cold and damp as Dick was led through the cave complex by the collar chained around his neck, limping along on his messed up leg. At least, he assumed they were still in the caves dotting the seaboard. He wasn’t completely sure. Within the first few hours of being subdued, his captors had given up on trying to remove his mask and simply spray-painted over the lenses, plunging his world into endless darkness. It’s been days now.
During his time with these previously assumed smugglers who turned out to be traffickers, Dick had been stabbed, waterboarded, beaten, starved, and a whole laundry list of other torture methods. But the one Dick liked the least was the sleep deprivation. If he had to guess how long he’d been in this gang’s hands solely based on how tired he felt, he’d estimate around four, maybe five, days. You can’t feel pain if you’re asleep, and his captors were fully utilizing that fact.
When they finally reached their destination, his handler yanked the chain forward harshly, causing him to stumble and fall, his knees crashing painfully into the floor. Taking deep, measured breaths, Dick tries to ride out the waves of pain. As he regains his bearings, he hears someone approach him and barely manages to brace himself before a boot slams into his chest.
The force of the impact throws him onto his back, but the chain around his neck tightens and instantly starts choking him. Dick scrambles forward, desperate to reduce the pressure on his neck, but a hand grabs him by the hair and wrenches his face up, keeping him in the sweet spot where he can’t get enough air but won’t pass out anytime soon.
“I always wanted to see this prick on his knees,” the man gripping his hair sneers. Between the man’s words, a severe lack of sleep, and the hot, putrid breath hitting his face, Dick can’t help but flinch. An action that gets a laugh in reaction and him thrown back to the floor. Shakily, Dick crawls back onto his knees and waits for whatever happens next. He knows what happens if he doesn’t return to the ‘ready stance,’ and he’s in no hurry to reacquaint himself with the business end of his escrima. Last time, he’d passed out three times before they finally decided that he’d learned his lesson.
Dick hadn’t realized he’d started to drift when a sharp order yanked him back into the present. “String him up,” the ringleader barked, and Dick’s blood ran cold. The last time they’d ‘strung him up,’ they’d sliced and burned his skin to their heart’s desire until long after his screams went hoarse.
Harsh hands yanked him to his feet and dragged him to the center of the room. Forcing his hands above his head, they attach his bound hands to a hook and leave him dangling with his toes just barely brushing the floor.
Every muscle in his entire body is tense as Dick anxiously awaits whatever torture is in store for him this time. He hears metal clanking and shifting, so he assumes it’ll be knives again. Maybe the baseball bat if they want to recreate the living pinata they enjoyed so thoroughly the other day.
What he wouldn’t give to have his sight back. Not being able to see what was going on around him for so long was making him more and more on edge and creep closer to panic. And panic wouldn’t do him any good. In this situation, it was more likely to get him killed than anything.
Dick was so sure his tormentor would be getting up close and personal that the yelp he was hoping to suppress burst forth when a whip suddenly cut into his exposed back. The resulting line of fire down his back immediately oozed hot blood down his cool skin. Grimacing, Dick couldn’t help but think about how bad the scars from this would be when they healed.
If they healed. It’s been long enough that Dick was slowly starting to lose hope. This wouldn’t be the first time a Bat died, so the best thing he could do was wait for an opening. Pray for an opening, but accept that he very well may die here.
He just hopes it’s quick when death does come to collect him.
Another crack of the whip added another clean gash to the hero’s back. This one was harder than the last one, causing Dick to jolt and swing languidly from the hook he was dangling from. Before he’d stopped swinging, the whip came down again.
And again.
And again.
It was after at least a dozen hits that Dick had fully stopped trying to hold back his pained whimpers and agonized screams. They’d seen it before, so what was the point in hiding it anyway?
“Would someone care to explain what’s going on here?” a deep, menacingly, and horrifyingly familiar voice growled from behind him. What was the Red Hood doing here? None of the Bats’ information even hinted at Hood having any contact with these guys!
Heavy, certainly steel-toed boots circled around Dick’s limp form before stopping in front of him. “A gift,” a seedy, prideful voice sounds from somewhere beyond Hood. “A token of our goodwill and eagerness to work with you.”
This was bad. About as bad as humanly possible. Everyone knew how much Hood hated Batman and everyone who had anything to do with him. And to make a bad situation much worse, Hood was a murderer with a penchant for the sadistic when it comes to people he hates. And if Dick had to guess based on previous encounters with the man, he falls within that category.
It was during that brief moment of distracted panic that the whip bites into his back again, pulling an agonized scream from him. Trying to claw his way out of the ocean of pain he was briefly submerged in, he can hear Hood demanding something about supply lines. What Dick really wanted to hear about was what the man planned to do with him. Preferably while he wasn’t whiting out from pain and could actually process what was being said. Maybe if Hood took Dick with him, there’d be a chance to escape.
But he could barely hear more than a couple of words before the whip fell again and again, the pace picking up dramatically. Blood gushed from the long stripes littering his back, sliding down until it dripped from his toes onto the uneven floor. He might not even have to worry about Hood. At this rate, he’d die long before the crime lord got his bloodstained hands on him.
He wasn’t so sure if that was reassuring or not. Ideally, he didn’t want to die. But while the whipping was definitely horrendous and beyond miserable, he knew what Hood was capable of. He didn’t want to experience his cruelty firsthand.
A particularly heavy strike curls over his shoulder and rips clear down his entire back, wrenching an agonized scream from him as the pain causes him to spasm excruciatingly. That was when it happened.
Gunshots rang out, surprised shouts echoed, and heavy thumps methodically reached Dick’s ears. Once again, Dick cursed his lack of sight and waited for whatever fate held in store for him. After less than a minute, everything became silent except for Dick’s labored breathing.
Those same heavy boots from before rapidly approached Dick, and he braced for a hit. The tension in his body pulled miserably at his wounds, but it’d help reduce the damage he’d take. And heaven knows his body doesn’t need anymore.
“Dickie?” a tentative voice calls out from directly before him.
How did Hood know his name?! And how dare he call him by his nickname! Too exhausted to speak, Dick settled for growling at the man before him.
There was a sharp clatter as something hit the floor, and he was gingerly released from the hook and lowered into the growing pool of his own blood. Then, there were suddenly hands touching his face. Dick tried to pull his head back, but he was too weak to do much more than jerk pathetically.
The hands were feeling along the edge of the domino, but where others failed to remove it, it easily released beneath Hood’s hands. Bright light flooded Dick’s vision as he blinked rapidly to clear his vision. It was strange seeing for the first time in days, but it was stranger to realize that he was hallucinating. Standing before him looking like a kicked puppy in full Red Hood gear was Jason Todd. His baby brother.
He must be dying. There was no other explanation for this. Okay, so maybe the sleep depreciation was catching up to him, but honestly it was more likely that his time was drawing near.
As Dick stared at his dead baby brother who was oddly bigger than him, not-Jason carefully removed the cuffs around his hands before eyeing the collar around his throat. After taking a steadying inhale, the crime lord gently says, “I’m going to remove the collar, okay? Don’t freak out.”
The large hands slowly approach his neck, but instead of wrapping around it and wringing it like Dick thought (despite the man’s reassurances), they simply picked the lock and pulled the warm metal away. Not-Jason grimaces at the sight of his bruised and bloody neck but doesn’t say anything.
Eventually, Dick can’t take it anymore. “If you’re going to kill me, get it over with. I don’t want to play your games, Hood.” While his words are sharp, his tone lacks conviction and sounds exhausted and resigned even to his own ears.
Horror, disgust, and hurt flicker across Hood’s face before he sputters, “Dick, I’m not going to murder you! Yeah, you sucked when I was Robin and I kinda hated you for it, but you’re still my brother!”
Blinking at the larger man in confusion, Dick’s sluggish brain finally started to piece things together. Maybe this wasn’t a hallucination? Maybe this really is Jason?”
“Jason?” he asked, traitorous hope coloring his tone.
Smiling as he patches up the ragged wounds around Dick’s wrists, Jason says, “In the flesh.”
One moment, Dick is barely sitting upright in front of the Red Hood. The next, he is launching himself forward and wrapping his arms around his not-so-dead baby brother. Tears slide through the blood and dirt caking his face as he holds his Little Wing again after so many years.
“Woah, calm down Dickie,” Jason said as he gingerly pushed them apart. You’re going to injure your back even worse if you aren’t careful.”
“You saved me?” Dick choked out, ignoring Jason’s warning. “You just said you hated me? Why would you do that?”
Looking aside somewhat sheepishly, his brother said, “Why would I kill the only guy willing to take an annoying fourteen-year-old brat to the midnight showing of Star Wars? Clearly, you aren’t completely irredeemable.”
That startled a laugh out of Dick, and suddenly, his exhaustion caught up with him now that he realized that he was safe. He slumped forward into Jason’s waiting arms as the world started to fade out. “Sleep,” a deep, comforting voice crooned. “I’ve gotcha.”
And Dick believed him.