Chapter Text
Coming back to life is no easy feat.
Jason can feel his body stitching itself together, rebuilding piece by piece. It’s not a painful process initially, but it’s not pleasant either. It’s an entirely novel experience that Jason doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to put into words. It’s akin to being born anew, but without the comforting presence of a womb to guide him into the world.
The majority of his rebirth is painless, up until his nervous system is restored. Then, it’s as if every pain imaginable is brought down upon his body at once. He’s sure he would be screaming if he had the capability, but that’s one faculty that has yet to be returned. The agony burns through him for what feels like an eternity yet also no time at all, and then Jason is back.
He cracks his eyes open with what feels like way more effort than it should realistically take. His body feels exhausted, yet he can feel energy vibrating under the surface of his skin.
His vision finally comes into focus and he’s greeted by a porcelain smiley face hovering inches above him. He shrieks, voice reaching into a much higher pitch than he knew it was capable of. He wants to flail wildly in hopes of getting a good hit in on whatever weirdo this is, but his body won’t move. It’s still weighed down by whatever strange thing he just went through, and doesn’t seem capable of doing much more than relearning how to breathe.
The masked figure takes a step back, seemingly caught off-guard by the noise. Jason doesn’t blame him–it caught him off-guard, too. Then, the stranger begins muttering to himself, fast and quiet and almost inaudible. Jason can only catch every fourth word, and none of what he heard makes any sense.
“What are– what are you talking about? You’re kinda freaking me out,” Jason finally says, eyes still trained on the masked man. “Who are– where am I?” Frankly, he has too many questions swimming around in his brain right now, and they’re all tripping over each other trying to exit his mouth. It doesn’t help that he just… can’t move. His body feels like it’s made of lead, limbs impossibly heavy and refusing to obey his brain. All he can do is try his best to reason with… whoever this weirdo is. He’s pretty sure he sounds somewhat incoherent, but Mask-Face McGee isn’t making a whole lot of sense either. Now that Jason’s speaking, the stranger’s attention seems to have returned to him– for better or for worse. Jason has a gut feeling that it’s not for the better.
The stranger gets way too close for comfort, and Jason’s natural response is to shove him away as hard as possible, fear response finally able to overpower the all-consuming exhaustion filling his body. Mask-Man, as Jason has decided he’ll be called, stumbles backwards, but quickly regains his footing and composure. He doesn’t even seem upset. Childlike giddiness radiates off of Masky in waves as Jason’s stomach fills with increasing dread. He’d honestly rather the guy be angry or violent; at least then he’d have a more sure read on him.
Smiley, yet another nickname Jason has decided is fitting, approaches him once more, slower this time. He crouches in front of Jason’s defensive form like he’s trying not to startle a wounded animal. Even behind the (frankly unnerving) mask fastened to the man’s face, Jason can feel the uncomfortable pinpricks of eyes boring into him, analyzing him.
“You’re– you’re here. Tommy was here and now– and now you’re here!” He pokes at Jason’s forearm as if to verify that Jason’s real. He definitely feels real, even though his mind is still in a bit of a haze. Both his body and mind feel sluggish as he tries to force the cogs in his brain to turn faster. It’s like the guy’s speaking in riddles–not a new scenario by any means, but gosh is it inconvenient.
“..Tommy?” He finally responds, voice not doing much to conceal his bewilderment. The way Mr. Mask’s body language changes at the name makes Jason’s skin crawl for a reason he can’t put his finger on. Smiley rocks back and forth on his heels as he speaks, hands fidgeting with each other. Jason’s eyes draw themselves to the stranger’s fingernails, torn and raw as if they’d been clawing at something. He files that observation away for later.
“Tommy was– Tommy’s a friend, a good friend.” Jason can hear the smile lifting the man’s voice as he speaks. “He came to visit me in here, to catch up, you know?” Jason doesn’t know, like at all, but he’s not about to say that. He’s not even sure where ‘here’ is. Until he can get his bearings, Jason figures it's probably best to just let the guy talk. Maybe it’ll help him figure things out, too.
“Yeah?” Jason ventures carefully. “And then something happened…?” He’s fishing for any kind of answer.
“Well then, he…” The man pauses, gesturing wordlessly as he seems to carefully select his next words. “We got into a bit of an… argument, you know. Over something dumb.” He waves his hands dismissively. Jason’s come to realize that this guy makes up for his lack of facial expressions by being overly expressive in every other way. “And then–and then you showed up!”
Jason’s pretty sure he’s missing at least a million details, but he elects to not point that out. Regardless of the sketchy circumstances that brought him here, he’s here. So he should probably deal with that first.
Batman always told Jason that if he was ever kidnapped, it was important to humanize yourself to your captor. Jason’s not sure if this guy can even be considered his captor–frankly they both seem equally captive right now–but he employs the method anyway.
“I’m, uh…” he stares down at his clothes. He’s not in his Robin outfit. He’s not really sure where these clothes came from; the red-and-white tee isn’t something he keeps stocked in his closet. “I’m Peter,” he says finally, bringing his eyes back up to meet the black dot ‘eyes’ of… whoever this guy is. He’s a civilian right now, but that doesn't mean he has to be Jason. His middle name will do just fine… It’s not like this guy can check his I.D. or anything.
The stranger nods enthusiastically, repeating the name as if it’ll help him remember it. He finally stands back up, giving Jason just a bit more breathing room. Blue eyes dart around the room, trying to assess his location. It’s definitely not anywhere in Gotham, but more than that, this place is… bizarre. The uncomfortable heat that’s been bothering him since he regained his senses can be credited to the wall of lava to his left. There doesn't seem to be any other exit; a true locked-room mystery. The junior detective in him would be excited if he wasn’t at risk of being the murder victim.
No way in, no way out. But that isn’t possible, so the only explanation is that there’s a secret exit somewhere in here. Jason just has to find it without tipping off his maybe-fellow-captive, who is too busy muttering to himself to return the introduction. As if reading Jason’s judgement, Freaky Guy turns his attention back to him.
“I’m Dream,” he finally says, and Jason’s just glad he finally has a name to put to the lack-of-face. He was running out of nicknames to call the guy. He considers, in typical Robin fashion, making a comment on the name. He elects to hold his tongue, at least for now. Quipping is for people who can move their bodies. Instead, he accepts the name like Dream is just any other guy on the street. Gothamites are no strangers to rocking weird ass outfits.
The silence had stretched on while Jason was lost in thought. He clears his throat awkwardly. He can still feel Dream’s gaze analyzing him, and it makes his skin crawl. The masked man finally breaks the silence.
“So, what was it like?” He asks, morbid fascination leaking into his words. Jason’s nose wrinkles instinctively. He has a pretty good idea of what “it” is, but he’s keen on playing dumb.
“What?” Jason asks, feigning ignorance to the best of his ability. He’s hoping that Dream’ll just drop it, but he also knows he’s definitely not that lucky.
“Coming back to life,” Dream responds, excitement evident. Jason feels his heart drop a little. He’d already pretty much figured that was what’d happened, but part of him had been holding out hope that there was another explanation.
Dream seems to have picked up on Jason’s change in demeanor, because his tone shifts to something gentler, less demanding.
“Okay, fair, that’s a tough question.” He says, turning his back to Jason as he rummages around for something. Jason considers reminding Dream that he hadn't actually responded yet, but he decides against it. The masked man turns back towards him with a notebook and quill in hand. Jason narrows his eyes. Who in the world is writing with a quill these days? The only indication Jason has that Dream’s gaze has returned to him is a slight shift in the mask. God, he really hates that thing. Somehow, it manages to be creepier than 90% of all Rogue masks.
“Anything hurt?” Dream asks, a slight tilt of the head punctuating his curiosity. The question doesn’t come across as sympathetic, but rather clinical. Jason grumbles an inaudible complaint before clearing his throat and speaking.
“I don’t feel great, that’s for sure.” That’s the understatement of the century, but Jason doesn't really want to tell this deeply suspicious guy that he’s practically immobile right now. Said suspicious guy just nods along, quill scratching against paper as he jots something down. It reminds Jason of being at the doctor’s office, or one of the many therapists Bruce tried to make him see. He starts retreating into himself, in the way he always does when someone prods too much.
Dream clearly doesn’t pick up on his change in demeanor, because the questioning continues.
“Did you see anything while you were, you know… dead?” Jason has to suppress a flinch at the word; each time Dream says it he feels like he’s been slapped with a reminder of what happened.
He frowns at the questions for reasons beyond Dream’s lack of sensitivity. Truthfully, he’s not sure what he remembers. Everything feels muddled and blurry, any specific memory he tries to grasp onto slipping through his fingers. He knows there was something there, some sort of interlude between death and undeath, but trying to recall it only serves to worsen his headache. It doesn’t help that he can still feel Dream staring at him, patient and impatient at the same time as he waits for Jason to answer.
Oh, wait, Jason was meant to answer. He’d gotten so caught up in trying to unravel everything himself that he’d sort of forgotten he was mid-interrogation.
“I guess it felt like I was dreaming,” he responds with a shrug. It’s not a lie, even if it leaves out a lot of details. He doesn’t feel like explaining the jumbled mess that is his post-resurrection psyche. Dream just continues to stare, clearly not satisfied by the non-answer. Jason flexes his fingers, acutely aware of how mobility is slowly returning to his body, even if he still feels like he’s been run over by an 18-wheeler. All he has to do is stall a little longer until he’s recovered enough to immobilize this guy and figure out how to escape. He has no idea how he’s going to do that, but he’ll cross that bridge when he’s not being stared down by the freakiest guy he’s seen in ages. He sighs dramatically, but Dream doesn’t waver despite Jason’s obvious displeasure.
“I can’t… It’s like I just woke up, y’know? The more you try and remember a dream,” he chuckles despite himself, “the more you forget. It’s like that.” He doubts that his answer is what Dream wanted to hear, but the man seems to accept it regardless. He scribbles into his weird little book. Jason has the sudden urge to grab it from the man. Whether he wants to read Dream’s notes or just tear it to shreds, he’s not sure.
His maybe-violent fantasies are interrupted by a clicking sound to his left, and he turns to face it. He can see Dream tense out of the corner of his eye, and dread begins to pool in his stomach. How evil do you have to be to scare the creepiest bozo in the world?
The wall of lava begins to lower, so slowly that it only helps Jason catastrophize more about who (or what) may be waiting behind it. He gets his first glimpse way earlier than he anticipated, because holy hell this guy is tall. Where Dream had something inhuman about his demeanor, this new guy clearly isn’t human at all. He’s huge, for one thing. His upper body is already jacked, but his lower body is… well, it’s strange. That’s seriously underselling it. He’s built like a buff alien-horse with radioactive green fur. Did he mention this guy was green? Even behind what looks like a gas mask, Jason’s pretty sure his skin is green, too.
When Jason locks eyes with the stranger, he doesn't expect to see fear. So is everyone freaked out here? The insanely-tall centaur man opens his mouth to speak, before thinking better of it. He steps onto a platform, mechanical whirring filling the air as it carries him across more lava. Just how high-budget is this place?
“Sam,” Dream hisses, voice barely above a whisper. Jason hears the sound of shuffling as Dream hurries to hide away his notebook. There go his chances of grabbing it.
Time stretches on painfully as they wait for the new guy (Sam, apparently) to reach the other side of the lava lake. Jason isn’t particularly confident in his ability to stand right now, and even less so in his ability to fight.
Dream speaks the moment Sam steps foot (hoof?) onto the platform just outside the cell.
“Sam, this isn’t my fault,” he begins immediately, as if hoping to get ahead of an accusation. “He just– he just kind of showed up here!”
Sam’s gaze shifts to the mystery kid himself, and Jason just shrugs. He’s getting the impression that they’re all in the dark here.
The first thing Sam says catches Jason off guard. Despite how strange and intimidating and definitely-not-human he looks, his voice is surprisingly kind, even behind the distortion of the gas mask.
“Are you okay?”
Jason shrugs once again.
“I feel like I got run over by an eighteen-wheeler,” he says bluntly. He nods his head in Dream’s direction, “but it’s not his fault. I don’t think.” Sometimes honesty is the best policy.
Sam nods tersely. He steps closer until he’s right in front of the barrier keeping Dream (and Jason) in the cell. He shoots Dream a look that forces the begrudging prisoner to back up towards the far wall. Once he’s confident that Dream will be staying put, Sam presses a button and the barrier lowers. He seems hesitant to approach Jason, who makes the executive decision to finally try to stand on thoroughly shaky legs. He has to use the wall for support, but he manages.
“Are you getting me out of here?” he asks, wobbling in Sam’s direction. As soon as he’s over the threshold, the barrier goes back up. Sam says nothing as he ushers Jason onto the platform, nor does he speak as they crawl across the lava. Jason can’t help but stare as they slowly inch towards the other side. He cranes his neck to analyze Sam, who is pointedly not looking at him. Something’s definitely off, but a small platform surrounded by lava surely isn’t the place for a confrontation. He glances back at Dream, who’s just… watching. He’s moved closer to the barrier, now that Sam’s gone, but he’s otherwise static. The shiver down Jason’s spine lets him know that he’s definitely being stared down. Thoroughly unnerved, he turns his back even as eyes continue to bore into him.
All Jason wants to do as Sam leads him through what he’s now deduced is a high-security prison is to bombard the guy with questions. But he refrains. He can figure things out once he’s back with Bruce.
They make a turn and Jason stops in his tracks. Sam has led him to another cell. Not one with quite as intense of a security system, but a cell nonetheless. He looks back at the towering man, confused. He’s offered an apologetic look.
“This is just a precaution. We don’t know where you came from, or how you got here, or…” Sam trails off. Jason hears the end of the statement anyway. We don’t know if you’re a threat.
Oh hell no. Jason’s heart starts pounding against his ribcage, erratic and panicked. If he goes into another cell, who knows when he’ll be able to get back home? He’s sure Bruce is looking for him, but who knows how long that’ll take.
Jason shakes his head profusely. He takes a step back, only to bump into Sam’s (suddenly very imposing) form.
He’s fought off some big dudes before, but something tells him he wouldn't be able to win this fight. Not only is Sam at least three feet taller than him, Jason can see a plethora of weapons sheathed at his side. Including… is that a trident?
His brain is running a million miles a minute, trying to figure out the best course of action. Maybe if he can get on this guy’s good side…
Jason sighs, extra loudly for dramatic effect, and allows himself to be shepherded into the cell.
“You’ll let me go soon, right..?” Jason asks innocently as Sam locks the cell’s door. The man gives him a sad look.
“We’ll see.”
And then Jason is alone once more.