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It's pitch black, silent, and Jason can't move.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, not again. Please, not again, his mind kickstarts into a panic before he notices he's sitting upright with his hands shackled above his head. Not that the realization does much to soothe him. It's a different sort of dawning horror. His arms are numb, his joints aching, his thoughts racing.
Fuck, it wasn't a dream, he's still here, he didn't make it up, that maniac is still out there and he has Dick. He has Dick. He has Dick. He has—
Jason forces his eyes shut until dim lights waver across vision. He focuses on his breathing – in, hold, release; in, fucking hold, fucking release – it's a chore. His heart is galloping away and leaving him behind, it seems. He can't gasp in enough oxygen to fill his lungs. There isn't any. It's the same used air he's been recycling for days. (Has it even been days? To think he might have lost weeks locked up in here sets himself off anew.)
Only when he checks in does a fresh breeze lighten the saturated air in his cell. In his relief, Jason takes in a deep lungful every time it first hits his nose, even if it brings with it the scent of his captor, sharp like razor tacks, dark and earthy, yet also cloyingly sweet somehow, like decay.
He's had ample opportunity to smell him up close, because the dude is crazy, prancing this way and that, before rounding on Jason in the end and draping his whole body-length against him. He'd nuzzle against Jason's neck, run his claws over Jason's chest, rub his knee between Jason's thighs.
"I will make you want me," he’d purr into Jason's ear.
Jason's skin crawls every time. The worst thing is that his body reacts to him, even if Jason tries to shut it down. It only seems to encourage him more. A lot of the time Jason curses himself and thinks he should just get over his prudish pride and let the creep have what he wants. Jason knows the type. He's only interested in Jason for as long as he denies him. Once he's got Jason to play along instead of continuing to stand up to him, he'll quickly grow bored with him and will discard him like any old toy. Because that's just what Jason is to him. A fucking toy.
But still. However much Jason tells himself to just get this over with, he can't help but bite the creep's lip bloody whenever he so much as tries anything. Not that it deters him. In fact, it seems to get him off. His mouth would split into a wide, wicked grin as he wipes the blood off his chin.
"Are you this way with him, too?" he'd ask. "He misses you, you know. Asks about you constantly. How you're doing, what I'm doing to you, if you're eating your veggies and stick to your bedtime... God, he's so boring. I don't know what you see in him. I would be a much better fit for you and you know it. Just ditch him already and we can all be on our own merry way. Don't you want him to be happy? He could be. Without you. I can kill him for you, too, if you're afraid of hurting his feelings."
"Don't you fucking touch him," Jason would snarl, but inside he'd be crawling with doubts. Of course Dick would be better off without Jason. Anyone would be. At this point, he's only fighting out of principle, because you don't let the bad guys win – but he can't help but wonder if it's the right choice under the circumstances.
"Relax. I'm not going to hurt him. Although I gotta say, I'm tempted. Don't you want to see that pretty face twist up in pain, too? Well, I do. But don't worry about that. I have other plans for him. For now."
How long ago was that? Jason can't be sure. He's lost all sense of time left alone in the darkness, with only aching, artificial light as a backdrop whenever his captor decides to visit him again.
Jason is losing his goddamn mind. He can feel it slipping through his grasp, like a live eel. He hopes his mind will still be intact when he gets it back.
If he gets it back.
He will.
He must.
He has to hold out for Dickie. Dick is out there enduring the same kind of psychological torture and from the brief video chats they've been allowed – or forced, depending on how you look at it – to have, he's not breaking either.
But it's only a matter of time. For either of them. It's no longer a source of strength for him to see Dick during these chats. Instead he worries how gaunt he looks, even though Dick is telling him not to. But what is he supposed to do? Just believe him when he says he's fine? Like Dick believes the same thing coming out of Jason's mouth. Because he's not fine, but fuck it, he's gonna convince himself he is until they're fucking out of here.
Sooner or later, someone back home has got to notice the blip of their tracker going offline and set out to investigate the site for further clues. Bruce is surely gonna find them.
The thought rattles him. Fuck. It's like he's learned nothing. Not a single thing. Does he have to die a second time before the lesson sinks in? Because congratulations, that's certainly where his stupid, unfounded hope is gonna land him. Again.
What makes this time different, however – what keeps this stupid glimmer of hope alive – is that Dick is in it with him. It's not just Jason who's gone missing. If he were, he might just antagonize his captor until he gets that there's no dragging Jason over to his side. Instead of mostly biting his tongue for Dick's sake as he's doing now. There would be no point in playing along, because no one was going through the trouble of dimension travel to go look for him.
Oh sure, the Bats are going to make a show of following every possible lead as to his disappearance just to be able to say that they did, but only until something more important comes up – like another Arkham breakout, or a cat stuck in a tree – then it's good riddance, Todd, what a tragedy he had to die so young.
But since Dick is stuck here with him, it becomes a different matter. Dick is the golden child of the superhero community. They wouldn't let him rot anywhere. Jason suspects that every vigilante group worth their salt is already up in arms and searching the globe – only, he hopes they'll find out soon, the wrong one.
At any other time he might have felt resentful about the fact that Dick is worth so much more than him, that people care enough to want him back in their lives, but he's just the same. He doesn't care what happens to him as long as Dick is safe. Which he is not. And that's what kills Jason the most. Knowing that Dick is out there with their captor and that there's nothing he can do about it.
At least not until he comes back to wheedle Jason.
He hopes it's going to be soon. He can't take his own stench anymore, or his cramped posture, or indeed the despair that is slowly creeping up on him in the dark. He's swimming in a sea of black, almost anchorless, because he can no longer distinguish where his body ends and the wall begins.
As much as he hates the creep, Jason hates even more that he has to admit he's looking forward to his next visit. At least it would be a stimulus, at least Jason could feel ticked off again, instead of going over his life's choices that brought him here. Anything to break up that endless fucking monotony of blackness and worrisome thoughts.
Just then, he hears it. Keys are jangling outside the reinforced steel door barring his escape – if he ever made it out of his shackles in the first place. It sounds different than usual. Nervous. The keys are dropped and jitteringly picked up again more than once, before the right one is finally inserted into the lock.
Jason's heart is racing. Could it be—?
The door creaks open on rusty hinges and it's like nails on a chalkboard to Jason. His ears aren't used to sound anymore, but his eyes are worse. Even the little sliver of light spilling through the narrow crack in the door is like stabbing knives to them. He snaps his head to the side, attempting to bury it in his arm, but to no avail. The light burns his eyes even through his eyelids. Tears are beginning to form behind them.
"Jason," someone whispers from outside, as they're trying to wrench the door open, "are you in there?"
"Dick?" he asks, disbelieving, his voice dry and cracked.
It can't be. How did he manage to escape? Jason's breath hitches for a moment, becoming shallow and quick. He's straining to hear Dick's voice again. Please say something. It can't have been my imagination.
"My God, Jason, are you okay?" Dick asks in a quiet voice as he stumbles into the cell in his hurry to get to him.
His shadow falls over Jason's face, blocking out the direct light that's hurting his eyes, but it's still too bright to take in Dick's form. He tries, but his vision is white and painful, making his eyes leak all the more.
"I'm fine," he grunts as Dick is touching his face and his torso, to check for internal injuries. "How did you get out?"
"I'm so glad," Dick says and crushes their lips together.
Jason tenses, suddenly hyper-aware of his own rankness, but Dick doesn't seem to mind. He kisses Jason like a lost person finding his way back home and Jason responds in kind, desperate for any kind of touch Dick would give him. His nerve endings are screaming, overwhelmed by the amount of heat that crashes through him. He's not used to feeling warm anymore.
Dick sinks into his lap, hands roaming from Jason's tear-stained face to his heaving chest, and he moans as he grinds down on Jason. They both do.
"What—?" Jason asks, disoriented as fuck. He's too high-strung for this. They need to be getting out of here.
"Sorry, sorry." Dick pulls back as if burned and touches his lips.
"Hands," Jason rasps, and nods to his shackles. He's become so weak that even that much movement makes him light-headed and dark spots dance across his vision.
"Oh yeah." Dick starts, but he fumbles with the keys again, trying to find the right one. His hips don't stop moving, though. "He's been giving me something," Dick explains. "I'm like this all the time now. Needy. Craving. He said it would help me when..."
Despite Dick's body heat seeping into him, Jason feels cold. "Did he touch you?"
Dick shakes his head. "Not him."
The moment he finds the right key and the lock clicks, Jason's hands fall to the concrete floor. He hisses. His wrists are throbbing in pain, pins and needles are shooting down his arms, and an ugly, jealous ache is twisting in his chest as if he already knew what Dick is about to say next.
"He made... other people touch me. Said if I didn't get stimulated, I'd die from it. I told him I'd take my chances, but then he said he'd hurt you if I didn't comply." He kisses Jason again, desperately, as if asking for his forgiveness. Jason finds himself reacting to Dick's attentions, despite everything he just told him. "I'm so sorry, Jason."
Jason's arms are numb and he can't wrap them around Dick, can't rub his back reassuringly to make him feel that everything is going to be all right. Because Dick will need that physical reassurance.
But Dick just presses his shoulders against the wall and slots their mouths together again.
"I need you so bad right now," he breathes in between heated kisses.
"Shouldn't we get out of here first?" Jason asks, but gives as good as he gets.
His head is swirling. The tension drawing him tight like a string is screaming at him to bolt. The sooner they get out of there, the better. They don't want to miss their window of opportunity. At the same time, having Dick in his arms again, alive and mostly well, thrills him beyond measure. The reckless part of his brain is convinced that together, they're invincible.
"Get the fuck away from him," a figure in the doorway rasps, and there goes Jason's flighty feeling. His stomach drops.
The figure staggers inside, dragging one foot after the other, and suddenly he doesn't look so scary anymore. Jason thinks that he could take him, even in his current state.
Above him, Dick snarls. "Why couldn't you just stay dead?"
Dick lunges at the figure.
No, it's not Dick, Jason realizes with sudden, gnawing horror. It's been Talon all along and he hadn't noticed. Talon's performance had been so convincing that Jason simply fell for it. What the fuck is wrong with him? He should have been able to tell a homicidal psychopath apart from his boyfriend. Except, he didn't. He let himself be fooled.
But.. his voice... his scent. He should have been able to notice...
It dawns on him that Talon had been whispering all the time, so Jason wouldn't hear the rasp in his voice that Dick doesn't have. And he's wearing Dick's clothes. Jason's subconscious must have been lulled into a false sense of security.
The horror doesn't end there.
Now that Dick and Talon are wrestling on the floor, Jason can see the knife sticking out of Dick's chest. The knife that Talon extracts and plunges between Dick's ribs again. Dick flinches and that moment is enough for Talon to grab a fistful of Dick's hair, swing around, and pin him down.
His weight is concentrated on Dick's lower back and he's yanking so hard on Dick's hair, he's pulling him into a bow-shape, neck and chest stretched taut, stab wounds on display and bleeding.
"I'm disappointed," Talon says, pressing the knife's edge against Dick's throat. "In the end, you weren't even a match for me. I kind of expected more from you. Any last words?"
Jason notices too late that it's a rhetorical question. The angle is not conducive to letting Dick speak.
"No? Too bad then, I really would have loved to drag this out more."
Jason tries to stop him, tries to jump forward and somehow tackle Talon. But his body is sluggish from disuse and malnutrition. All he manages is to scramble close enough for Dick's blood to spray him as Talon slits his throat.
"No!"
It's not the first time he's been hit by a shower of blood, but he's shocked to feel how warm it is, all the same. That's Dick's life, draining out of him. Soon he'll be as cold as this cell.
Talon lets go of Dick's hair and Dick collapses with a little bounce. Jason pushes Talon off of Dick and kneels by his side, closing his hands around the wound as if that would miraculously staunch the blood flow and seal the wound.
Below him, Dick is gaping, bloody mouth opening and closing, and with the last strength he has, he's grasping Jason's elbow. 'Love you,' he mouths, and Jason feels like he's fucking breaking.
No matter how prepared you are for death, it always hits you unexpectedly. There is no preparing for it.
There is also no preparing Jason for the desperation and devastation he feels as Dick's life is slipping out from under him and there's nothing he can do about it.
"He was only in the way, anyway," Talon says with an amused smile, sitting off to the side with his legs crossed in front of him as if he were enjoying the sunshine in a park and not witnessing his doppelgänger die in front of his eyes.
Dick jerks and Jason wishes so much he could make this easier on Dick. Talon is not going to help them. So Jason does the only thing that's left to him. He gathers Dick into his arms and kisses him one last time. The blood gushing from the neck wound soaks his front.
"I love you, too," he whispers, voice thick with unshed tears.
Then he snaps Dick's neck.
For as long as Jason lives – and Jason doubts it's going to be very long – he won't ever forget the sickening crack of bones or the instant that Dick goes limp against him, pliable like a cloth doll. It will haunt him for the rest of his days.
"Great!" Talon chirps and ruffles Jason's hair. A shudder rips through Jason. "Now you don't have to worry about hurting his feelings anymore. Isn't that a relief?"
Jason no longer cares if he's rescued. Or even if he lives.
He throws himself at Talon, intending to grab the knife from him and plunge it into Talon's cold, dead heart. If he even has one. Before, he wasn't sure if he could have killed Talon because he looked so much like Dick, in a twisted, nightmarish kind of way. Now that Dick is dead, Jason has no such scruples anymore.
But Talon has more reserves than Jason does. He easily subdues him with a barrage of punches and a well-placed kick to the stomach. Jason curls up on his side on the hard concrete floor.
"I'll leave you two to say your goodbyes for now," Talon sniggers, picks up the keyring he dropped earlier, and leaves Jason in his cell together with Dick's lifeless body.
The heavy reinforced steel door falls shut, and Jason's world is darkness again.