Chapter 5
“Akhi, they took him and I don’t know what to do,” and Robin tumbled through the clerestory window, babbling in League, behind where the goons were all getting ready for a raid. Of course.
“Kiddo, calm down.” Red Hood pulled his helmet off so the damn voice filtering wouldn’t get in his way. He gave the hand signal to the goons for ‘stand down’ and ‘defer to your supervisor’, which, thankfully, was Petra.
She scowled at them all and asked, “What, you never seen Hood with a kid before? Line up. Jose, your squad is coming with me. Alicia, yours is going to go with Hood, if he’s coming, and if he’s not, you’re going to take the B route, here-”
Jason pulled off his helmet and braced himself. Damian was absolutely panicked, in the way that Jason associated with fear gas, so he spoke League. “Hey babybird, deep breaths with me. Who do they have? What’s your risk assessment?”
Damian knew he needed help -- there had to have been a reason he came to get Jason. That meant that it was beyond his skill level and none of the Bats were available. It was rather likely, given the red, green, and yellow, that one of the Bats was the one in trouble and Damian had managed to escape. How much help he needed, which Bat(s), and how he had (maybe) gotten dosed with fear gas? Well, those were all questions that Damian should be able to answer.
If he couldn’t, that was its own, different, answer.
“They got Richard,” and yeah, that figured. If anyone was going to get caught in a way that would leave someone else free to get help, it would be him. Self-sacrificing idiot. “-and, and, akhi, he let them.”
Jason let Dames latch on like a human barnacle and braced himself before standing, with the kid still latched onto his upper body. “Will we need anyone else, or can we get him out on our own?” Jason asked, kicking his helmet into his hands.
“We can do it,” and Dames rubbed his snotty nose all over Jason’s kevlar. The gremlin. “But I couldn’t do it myself. Dick made me promise not to.” Jason snorted, even though he tried to hold it back.
Names were the only thing that a non-speaker could pick out of a conversation spoken in League-- it was one of the reasons Jason and Damian spoke it so often. So in order to safeguard the names of the people they spoke about most often, they had translated most of the names literally, and then come up with simple code names for the rest. Dick…had the unfortunate luck of being directly translated.
Jason signed that Petra should carry on the mission without them and yelled, in English, “Be good! Listen to Petra!” and headed for his office. Robin might have a fear antidote on him, but Jason definitely kept some in his office fridge. Well, the minifridge. The larger fridge was in the breakroom.
“Did you run into fear gas,” Jason asked, pulling the door shut behind him. “Shit happens, I just wanna get you the antidote if you did.” And it was time to be gentle-gentle with Damian, who was sensitive to his own failures during missions at the best of times. Being dosed with even a little fear toxin wasn’t ever the best of times, even if Damian had been trained to withstand its effects.
Damian nodded into his chest and Jason rolled his eyes, internally. He wasn’t going to get the kid off him at all, not until both the fear gas and the after effects wore off. At least he didn’t have to worry about the kid running off on his own because he saw an opening.
“Same formula as the Cave,” Jason murmured, thankful they had the time to do it right while he swabbed a square of Damian’s thigh with alcohol. “What’s your dosage?”
“30 mL,” Damian’s hands had twisted impossibly tight into the crevices of his armor. “Did I misjudge? Was it a test? Was it something I was supposed to solve myself?”
“Shh habibi,” and Jason quickly injected the appropriate dose into Damian’s thigh. “It’s not a test. You did well. Your judgment is sound. Dick wanted you to get help, so we’ll bring a few of these with us, just in case.”
And unlike with Damian, Jason pulled the epinephrine-type autoinjectors and loaded them. They could be a bitch, especially with Dick’s muscle mass, but Dick would hold still if Damian asked him to. Dick would hold even more still if Damian was administering the antidote.
“Where’s he being held?” and Damian wouldn’t have just left, not with such a low amount of fear toxin in him. He probably waited and watched to make sure Nightwing wasn’t being moved to a secondary or tertiary location before coming to get help. That’s what Jason would have done, and it’s what he had taught Damian to do. Getting help was all well and good (except in the League, where it was a double-edged sword at best), but if you wanted your allies to be able to actually assist and not walk into a trap? You had to show up with recent and relevant information.
“A warehouse on 8th,” Damian mumbled, still holding on. He’d gotten his feet in the straps on Jason’s cargo pants, which, although they weren’t originally for holding a smaller-than-average child, were doing their assigned duty well. Jason was glad his belt was holding. “14 guards on him, 8 on the warehouse. They used manacles that were bigger than the bolt cutters we keep in the kit.”
Shit, that was good information to have. Jason did have alternatives, but fuck them for taking the easy way away from him. No one liked having to carry extra equipment out on a run but, well, needs must. It was a small enough package he could tuck it into the largest pocket -- one worked into his base layer and tight to the small of his back. It was exactly for things like this -- mission specific materials and equipment that didn’t quite require a duffel bag.
If it was one of the warehouses with electrical that didn’t work, they were going to be fucked. Or more likely, it was going to look like Red Hood was taking Nightwing and Robin prisoner and then it was going to be a whole clusterfuck from there.
Hopefully there was working electrical.
The two of them went to the ‘tool room’, which was the armory and the tools they used to fix shit.
Some of it was locked (not because his people needed keys, but because they needed a good sign to fuck off), but the dremel with its souped up external motor and the diamond blades. That was good enough to cut through whatever dumb thing they thought would keep Nightwing from kicking their asses this time. Fourteen guards. Bah.
He had to give it to them, though-- they had captured Nightwing.
It wasn’t going to last long, and boy were they going to regret it, but they had captured him.
“Let’s go get Big Bird,” and Jason kissed the top of Damian’s sweaty head. “If you ask real nicely, you can shoot him in the leg.”
“But you wanna do it,” Damian grumbled. Jason made a face. Who told Dames that it was okay to just expose his wants like that? In his own lair? “Why would I do it? I already do it in training.”
And…just cuz the kid was right didn’t mean he had to say it.
His helmet was next to him, the way it always was, and then, “Helmet on, don’t hit your head.” The helmet fit snugly, but if Dames tried to look up, he might clip his head on the chin.
Damian was almost certainly rolling his eyes, but that was good. It meant he wasn’t too wound up by the fear toxin.
“Switch?” and Dami crawled up and over Jason’s face, only hitting the helmet with his boots instead of Jason's face. Yeah. He’d learned to put the helmet on first the hard way.
The two of them were finally out the window the second Damian got settled, this time in the cross body harness that was designed for him. There were little stirrups for his feet, and Jason was going to have to make them deeper-- Damian was growing, and Robin’s boots were shaped a little differently than he’d remembered.
Damian kept his left arm under Jason’s, low and latched onto the leather, and his right holding onto the harness at Jason’s right collarbone. It was sturdy, comfortable, and gave them both room to react. Neither of them liked it, but they could roll together, and Damian wouldn’t even get squished. It took a helluva lot of momentum and a lot of on-the-fly adjustments from them both, but they could do that and anything else they needed to do like this.
Jason would never admit it, but he felt more settled with Damian’s boots on his hips and hands over his ribs and his delts. No one could get to Dames if they had to go through him, first. He could make sure they both got out so long as he knew exactly where the kid was.
Damian probably felt similarly, given how often he climbed Jason like a jungle gym. He couldn’t quite fall asleep like this (he’d outgrown Jason’s hastily jury-rigged baby sling at about four), but he could get damn close. Dames’ muscles got looser, every time his little fingers curled around the handhold Jason made for him in that motel in Canada. (Sue him. He always resewed it whenever he had to get a new jacket.)
But that wasn’t the point right now. Dick had been captured and needed help and an autoinjector full of antidote, probably in that order. Damian needed Dick to be okay and Jason could make that happen. Plus or minus a few minor injuries, but hey. He wasn’t a miracle worker.
The warehouse was a few blocks from his lair, which gave the antidote time to start kicking in for Damian. It also gave Jason the chance to decide how bloody he was going to make it.
They had already earned themselves some mild maiming for scaring the shit out of Dames, but- they hadn’t kept the kid. Which was good. They had kept Nightwing, which wasn’t a sign of good taste but. That was hardly a matter he needed to weigh in on.
If Nightwing was relatively okay and they didn’t shoot the kid, Jason would stick to slight maiming. Maybe even impermanent, if he was feeling generous.
It was a warehouse he was familiar with and pretty typical of its kind: peeling paint that had maybe been beige sometime last century, skylight so filthy no one could see through it, and the smell of propane. Right. This had been the one he’d almost set on fire for a distraction once, and decided not to. Too many opportunities for casualties because the surrounding buildings were not up to code.
There were two doors and a handful of windows that were too small for Jason to even think about crawling through. The skylight was an option, of course, even if it was an expected one.
Damian had said eight guards on the warehouse. That probably meant four on each door, or two on each door and four patrolling. Given the completely immobile shapes of the shadows he could see, he was going to go with option number one. Much easier.
There were fourteen guards on ‘Wing, though, which could make this difficult.
It would be easier if they were keeping him in the old warehouse offices, but if they were keeping him where the product used to be…well, it might be more difficult.
“Dames, are they keeping Wing in the offices?”
“Yes, he was facing the door. The guards are facing him.” Well, that was probably a real pain in the ass for Dick, but it was going to make their lives significantly easier.
“We’re going in via skylight,” Jason explained, voice low. “I’m going to take out both sets of guards, reload, and then move in on the office. By that point, the other guards might be on their way out of the office. I want you to make sure no one holds him hostage-- otherwise, don’t engage.”
Damian nodded, even though he was clearly a little disappointed. “Wear your gas mask,” Jason ordered. “We don’t need you getting gassed again.”
*Even though he obeyed, Dames grumbled, “We got gassed earlier, this was separate.”
Jason really, really hated Gotham some days.
“Alright baby bird, climb on. Attach the rope for me?” and Jason tried to find a stud sturdy enough to set anchor. Ah well. If he fell, it probably wouldn’t kill him.
The goons were down and out of the building in no time. Jason had even allowed them to grab their wounded comrades, that’s how generous he was feeling.
Dick was wearing a truly impressive set of heavy metal cuffs, connected at neck, wrist, and feet, with no visible seams, about half an inch thick. Well, at least Jason wouldn’t have trouble keeping Dick still for the antidote.
“Hey Dickwing!” and Damian was already inspecting the chains for weaknesses. “I hear someone tried to cage the Big Bird!”
“Akhi,” Damian hissed, then added in League. “The antidote.”
*Jason tossed the autoinjector to Damian and added in English, “If you don’t think you got it, it’s okay.”
*“Robin, what d’you have there?” and it was Nightwing, not Dick, that was asking. “D’you want to tell me what’s in the autoinjector your League friend gave you?”
*“I loaded it,” Damian lied, looking up to meet Nightwing’s domino. “It's the fear gas antidote. Hood already gave me mine.” Which was true. Jason was a little surprised that Damian’s first response was to lie to Nightwing, to lie to Dick, like that.
*While the two of them had been working together (and it was criminal, that Damian had been working even at that point), Dames would have been more likely to stick the autoinjector in the leg and damn the consequences. Or maybe, if he’d thought it would work, try and talk someone into it.
Huh. He was glad Damian was learning more things, but he was going to keep an eye on it. Dames was…too good at it. Jason knew his tells, but that was for now. If they kept living separately while Dames kept practicing? That might not be the case for much longer.
Nightwing’s eyes flickered from Robin to Hood and then back to Robin. He was thinking. He’d probably caught Damian in the lie then, too.
“Just how we practiced,” Nightwing said, and Damian nodded, working the injector quickly. Nightwing winced, and yeah. That shit hurt.
“And this is a tool I don’t think you’ve seen yet,” Jason said, pulling it out of its pocket. “At least, not since you were old enough to remember it.”
“It’s a small blade,” Damian looked it over before trotting to the outlet. Thank fuck there was electricity still. “Will it be able to cut through without injury?”
“It’ll get through the chains,” Jason said, putting the correct blade onto the machine. “So he can use the fancy shit at the Cave. This is a field tool.”
“If it’s a field tool, why isn’t it part of your normal kit?” Damian asked, and Jason rolled his eyes, even though no one could see it.
“Do I look like I wanna cart more shit around to you? I have goons with bolt cutters for that.”
“Why don’t we carry something like this?” Damian asked Nightwing, who was still sweating buckets from the fear toxin.
“Same reason, baby bird! Limited space! You have more pockets than I do, but that’s not a lot,” and good god, why did Nightwing have so few pockets? It just didn’t make sense. Dick knew how useful those gadgets were, so why had he ditched them?
Was it to get away from the Bat? It was hard to be independent if you regularly needed someone to manufacture your consumables.
Well shit, if that wasn’t interesting.
“I’m gonna start on your ankle,” and Jason was going to start with the lowest stakes for his mistakes, first. “Then move up.”
“Thanks,” and Nightwing was clearly going to say more but, alas, the tool drowned him out.
Jason really didn’t want to answer whatever questions were about to be asked.
The shackles were impressively thick, and it took some time to work his way through them. Maybe he should have just kidnapped Nightwing and used a saw. It would’ve been much faster.
The on-edge-ness in Dick’s muscles eased. He was tense, sure, and ready for a fight, but not end-of-the-world-is-nigh tense. Some of that was the antidote working, and some of it was Damian watching curiously. Ah, the kid was going to pick up a new skill.
“You try the other ankle,” Jason urged, standing up from his squat. “You were watching.”
Damian snatched the tool and got to work, glaring whenever something didn’t go exactly as he wanted it to. Good. Jason tried not to hover too much, but they’d done a lot of work with tools and restraints before. He had no reason to hover.
Dick relaxed as much as he ever did when restrained in the field, which was interesting. Being relaxed around the Red Hood sure was a choice. It wasn’t that Dick could do anything without another limb free, and certainly not if Hood decided to use Damian as a meat shield, but still. It was deeply interesting.
“I dislike this method,” Damian informed him, to his delight. “It’s useful and miserable. Can you not just break it?”
Jason thought about that for a moment. He had broken a rather impressive set of restraints two years ago, which was probably what Damian remembered. But the metal hadn’t been quite this thick, and-
“Not while he’s still in it,” Jason grimaced and was glad his helmet hid it.
Damian scowled and went back to using the dremel. It was too loud for any of them to talk unless they were shouting, and Jason didn’t feel the need.
Dick was using that time to observe the interactions between Red Hood and Robin, far too closely for Jason’s comfort. Not only was he watching their interactions, but his eyes lingered at the bulkiest areas of Jason’s clothes and old wounds. It was a little disconcerting.
The Red Hood was probably going to have to deal with a visit from Nightwing, soon. He should warn Petra.
When Damian moved on to Nightwing’s wrist, Jason asked, “Still have circulation?”
“Yeah. Don’t need to risk cutting them off here.” That was a weirdly well fitted set of cuffs, but Jason wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Dick said they didn’t have to try to cut them off in a weird warehouse, then that was that.
It looked like Damian’s hands were starting to cramp from their position on the tool (because the tool was designed for adult hands, of course), and Jason was about to suggest he do the last one before, “Robin? Let me do the last one, ‘kay?”
Damian scowled but allowed it, coming back over to lean into Jason’s legs. It figured. Jason was a little surprised the kid had been willing to dremel without touching either of them. Little gremlin.
Was Damian crashing? From the adrenaline high of the fear toxin and then the high of the fight, he wouldn’t be surprised if Damian was absolutely exhausted. That was a little more than a normal patrol, even for him. He wouldn’t admit to being tired, not without being asked a direct question, but--
Jason slipped Damian a partially melted Snickers from one of his cargo pockets. Damian made it disappear. Good. At least Damian’s blood sugar wouldn’t drop too much.
Dick finished cutting himself free and stretched. His hair was damp with sweat and he had shackles hanging from his wrists, ankles, and neck. That was going to end up the subject of a raunchy meme by tomorrow if someone got a picture of it.
“Ready to go home, baby bird?” Dick asked, then asked with all the faux-casualness that Jason had learned to fear. “What’re you eating?”
“Nothing,” Damian said, swallowing before Dick’s well-meaning finger could sweep it out of his mouth. “Why did you do that?”
*“What did you give him.” Nightwing was quiet and deadly as he took a step closer, then two. He was holding the trailing chains like brass knuckles and Jason didn’t particularly want to be on the receiving end of those.
“Snickers,” and he offered one up. “Want one?”
Dick snatched it from his hand and didn’t try to be gentle. Jason didn’t take it personally. Hell, he even appreciated it. What he didn’t appreciate was Dick leaving Damian alone after scaring the shit out of him like that.
“You gonna just square up on me like that instead of checking on the kid?” Jason asked, hands up to his shoulders in surrender. It was actually just the easiest position to defend himself from that also gave him the chance to talk Dick down from this fight. Damian needed his attention, goddammit. “You did just send him clean across the city.”
*“Babybird, are you okay?” And Dick didn’t take his eyes off Jason for even a moment. “Any symptoms?”
“It’s Hood,” Damian said blankly, like that explained everything.
Dick’s eyes flickered over to Damian, like the lack of explanation might be a sign that something was wrong with a chocolate. “Robin?”
*“I cooked for you for half a week and suddenly it’s a Snickers that’s the problem?” Jason decided that he’d rather take the brunt of the attention. Damian was still off-center and upset. The last thing he needed was Dick being this intense at him, and for no reason. “I’ve had plenty of opportunities, and I haven’t taken them.”
That last was a warning to Dick specifically, who was still standing like he wanted a fight, and part of Jason desperately wanted to give it to him. But Damian was here and needed to get home, fed, and into bed, and fighting would just delay that and further upset him.
“Hn.” and Dick’s measuring gaze finally turned back to Damian, where it belonged. “Ready to fly home, baby bird?”