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Dick swung sharply around an old building and narrowly avoided plummeting when the fucking stone grumbled under his grapple like a little bitch. Robin hadn’t been responding to his comms for hours now, which wasn’t too alarming, because he had a habit of getting irritated, especially with Red Robin, and muting himself after insulting Red for an unnecessary amount of time. Tim had never mentioned it to Dick, but he knew it stung, and Dick was trying to get Damian to soften, but it was - not very effective.
At any rate, this was one of the few times Robin was patrolling on his own, usually sticking to Batman or Nightwing, because as independent as he was, he was still young and relatively new to this. They’d made too many mistakes with the Robins to let the same happen to him all over again.
Dick had been hoping that Robin’s pride at being allowed on his own would encourage him to keep communication up, like Dick had insisted he do since he was filling in for Batman, but apparently fucking not, and Dick was overwhelmingly concerned.
“Has anyone seen Robin?” Dick said into the comms for the third time in fifteen minutes, and was met by groans from his little brothers who hadn’t muted themselves and given Dick a heart attack.
“No,” Red Robin said, sounding irritated. There was a faint thud, like someone had gotten hit especially hard by a staff. “As if he would go near me other than to cut my line.”
“Red -” Dick started, scolding, just to get cut off by Hood, who sounded even more pissed than Red.
“Just let the demon brat be. He’s probably fine; quit worrying. If I couldn’t kill him, no one else can.”
“Thanks,” he said, not reassured whatsoever, and kept going. If he could just figure out where Robin had gone, he could relieve his anxiety and scold him for going silent again and making everyone - well, mostly Dick - worried.
That was when he heard the shout.
Dick didn’t freeze, because he knew better, was made better, but he did automatically head towards it. It was faint, and something was - off about it, like it wasn’t quite right, but more than that it was familiar. A few seconds later, it came again, more drawn out and higher pitched, and Dick was dropping from a taller building to land lightly on the roof of a warehouse. It was louder here, and Dick knew with a sudden certainly the sound was coming from inside. No windows, which wasn’t unusual, but Dick always liked bursting in through them.
He leapt down, feet hitting the ground silently, and pulled out his escrimas. Always ready, as was drilled into him, as he’d failed to be for each of his brothers in turn, over and over, but he would always try,
There was another cry, and this one jolted Dick into a sprint, because that was - that was Damian. That was Robin’s shout, pained and desperate, and Dick should have known better, and he didn’t speak into the comms, just burst through the door. Dick should have been more careful, he should’ve been better, but all he heard were the cries of a child, his little brother.
Dick startled when something slammed behind him, but he was looking ahead, and - a screen. A screen that showed Robin’s face and nothing else, splattered with blood, and - making that pained sound, and - was it live? It had to be, and it had only been a few hours, and Damian was so hard to break - how?
Dick heard laughing.
Not the Joker, thank God, but he still spun around to track it down, because there was a chance he could beat Robin’s location out of them, before he saw the wire bars. They were all around him, and thick enough that he didn’t think he could break them, and - the shouting stopped. Dick immediately turned to regard the screen again, and Robin was panting, snarling, before the video cut out. Dick looked around and came to a very unwanted conclusion.
He was trapped.
Caged.
Dick whirled around, and quickly came to the realization that he’d been trapped as soon and he’d walked through the door. That crashing sound had been the entrance to the cage closing behind him, and Dick hadn’t even looked. He’d been too focused on Robin and getting him to safety, and they hadn’t even realized he’d been missing.
The cage wasn’t even large enough to really pace in four feet in either direction, and how had Dick missed it? Bruce was going to be so disappointed in him, because Dick knew better, had been doing this for years, should be better, and yet - he was - someone laughed again.
Dick straightened and lounged against the side of the cage, like he was entirely at ease - they held his weight without signs of strain. Not promising. “This is certainly one way to catch a lady’s attention,” Dick said, a smirk on his face.
It was almost too easy to fall into the persona of Nightwing more thoroughly, not just the efficiency and rationality, but the quips and the swagger, even if he wanted to know where Robin was, now.
A man emerged from the shadows. Shockingly, not one of Gotham’s assorted Rogues, no gaudy costume - listen, Dick had committed some costuming sins, but still, Discowing hadn’t been that bad. Instead, he was wearing your average cargo pants and grey t-shirt, day-old stubble over his chin, and a gleam in his eyes that Dick hated. His dark brown hair was basic and boring and Dick wanted to laugh at it, almost.
“Don’t know if I’d call you a lady, Nightwing.”
“Shame on you for assuming.” Dick spun his escrimas in both hands, casual. “The real question is why’d you decide to go through all that effort to get me here? I’m flattered, don’t get me wrong, but mark me down as curious too.”
The man didn’t seem impressed, surveying him evenly. Dick hated people who didn’t even have the decency to play along, even if Dick himself didn’t feel like playing. God, if you were going to go all out and catch a vigilante, you were practically legally obligated to engage in banter.
After a long moment in which Dick was about to open his mouth again, the spoilsport who had a punchable face decided to bless Dick with his voice. “You’re not as hard to catch as you think you are, you know. It's not too difficult to catch a bird once you’ve already got one.”
Dick, for one, was tired of all these villains going all out with the bird metaphors. But he had bigger concerns - namely, Robin, and panic sparked anew in his chest. “Speaking of other birds, how did you get that video of Robin?” Dick rapped one of his escrimas against the bars of the cage, rattling it. He switched on the electricity with carefully crafted carelessness, a hint of a threat.
There was a chuckle, darkly amused, and Dick stiffened, just a little. “Nightwing, that was a live feed.”
“No!” Dick snapped, slamming both his sticks against the thick wire. Electricity crackled, but didn’t make it past his rubber gloves. “Tell me the truth. Where is Robin?”
The man - the man laughed. He didn’t even step back.
“Mouthy. We’ll fix that. Tell you what, Nightwing; you behave yourself, and we let the little bird go. You’re the one who’s caught our interest.”
“Fuck you!” Dick snapped, because even if they had him, they would be lying. They’d never let Robin go just like that. Dick tended to avoid cussing as Nightwing when he could, because he knew kids looked up to heroes, but he didn’t spot any tender ears, so -
Damian was caught. The thought hit Dick like a train, as if he hadn’t already been told it minutes ago, as if Robin hadn’t been effectively missing for hours, as if Dick himself wasn’t trapped in some stupid cage that didn’t seem to be affected at all by his weight.
“Don’t tempt me,” the man said, and Dick bared his teeth in response.
“Let Robin go!” Dick demanded, jamming his escrimas on the bars of the cage. The whole structure sparked, the electricity flooding through it. Dick wasn’t even concerned about himself - kidnappings didn’t faze him after a decade of this, and nine times out of ten he escaped on his own.
“Manners,” the man chided. “I expected more composure of you, Nightwing.”
“That’s funny,” Dick said, teeth bared in what was not a smile, “because I expected less stupidity of you.” Something that sounded suspiciously like Bruce told him that he needed to get a name out of the man, hopefully something they could use to identify him. “Do you have a name, or do you prefer to go by ‘asshole’? Either one is fine by me.”
“Mm,” the man said, grinning toothily. “Good question. You can call me Shark.”
“I asked for your name, not your fursona.”
“And I told you Shark. My, my, little bird, you really must work on your listening skills.” The man - fuck that, Dick wasn’t calling him Shark - tutted, like he was scolding a child.
“Asshole it is, then.” Dick smirked, like it would hide the anger in his eyes.
“We’ll have to work on that. Not to worry - we have plenty of time.” Asshole kept smiling that smile that Dick wanted to punch off of his face more and more, and pulled something out of his pocket. Without further adieu, he threw something right by Dick’s cage, hitting the wire.
Dick scrambled to the far side of the cage while Asshole smirked and walked out of the room, the door shutting solidly behind him. Something hissed, and a gas leaked from the object, headed Dick’s way at a rate that was far too fast. He scrambled to pull out a mask, but just as he got it from his utility belt, it was too late.
Dick’s eyes fluttered, and, man, he hated the fast-acting shit. He sat down before he collapsed, because ew, and slumped against the wire.
Dick woke abruptly, like he’d been dunked in ice water, with full awareness of where he was and what had happened once he remembered what the fuck was going on. He stayed lax, breathing slow and deep, like he was still asleep, while he listened around him. Silent. There was something soft underneath him, but beneath that was the solid line of a floor. Probably a blanket. Odd for this kind of situation, but Dick wasn’t complaining. Just suspicious. After listening for another moment, Dick opened his eyes.
There was something around his neck.
Dick would’ve stilled if he hadn’t already been motionless, eyes narrowing. He’d only noticed when he’d shifted, but something was - he reached up to touch it.
It was a collar.
Judging from what Dick could feel, a shock collar, apparently to replace the escrimas missing from their place on his hip. That wasn’t good. He sighed deeply. That would be fun to deal with. As he looked around, he toyed with the clasp on it. Locked tight, unfortunately, thought Dick wasn’t sure - he was in another fucking cage.
A bird cage too, God, that was annoying. One of the old-fashioned ones Dick saw in cartoons as a kid, a bell-shaped, and keeping him in with metal bars, each a few inches apart. It was - hanging off the ground, only a couple feet, but still. “That’s so stu -” Dick cut himself off when a second after he started to talk, electricity rippled through him. It stopped after a second, and Dick bit down and sounds of pain, but it left him feeling just a little too shaky.
Fuck anyone and everyone marginally responsible for this, including himself.
Dick grit his teeth and took a moment to appreciate that his mask was still on - always a risk, and shifted to sit up. The cage shifted a little, because it was fucking hanging in the air, as he’d mentioned previously. Oh, well. Dick could keep his balance. He stood, carefully staying upright as the cage rocked.
Ha. Dick could walk on a literal tightrope - this wasn’t hard.
But he had bigger concerns than not tumbling. Damian. While he investigated his newest trap, trying to find any weaknesses, his mind wandered. Robin, alone, so - he was just a kid, and Dick knew he’d endured terrible things before, things Dick never would’ve thought of at his age. But the thought that Dick had only been looking for a fraction of how long he’d been missing, that he hadn’t found him, that Robin had been screaming -
Dick had to escape, if only so he could take Robin home.
The room around him was - empty of people, at least, but filled with things. Broken escrimas that Dick recognized as his own, dented batarangs that had hit their mark, pictures - Dick had thought Tim was stalkerish, but he’d just been a kid with a hyperfixation. This was - a shrine. There were torn scraps of black and blue that had been lost in previous fights, and Dick didn’t think anyone would collect them, let alone - this. Hanging above the rest were his escrimas, perfectly intact, the ones he’d brought with him. The hair on the back of his neck raised. He hoped there wasn’t a place for his mask.
He barely noted the table in the corner, where a desktop computer rested, screen black and a couple cracks along the edges. Dick touched the edges of his domino again, just to reassure himself.
The door opened when Dick was investigating the lock, and he dropped his hands, looking to where Asshole entered. Yeah, Dick was dedicated to the particular name sticking. He waved, bitterly sarcastic, and debated whether to talk again. He wouldn’t stop, but he would be more careful with his words.
“Good morning, little bird,” Asshole said, and Dick bared his teeth. “I’m sure you’re interested in your own little bird.”
The implications that Dick was this guy’s - oh, yeah, fuck that. “Fuck you,” he said, wincing when a shock rippled through him, convulsing for a second. Worth it.
“Manners,” Asshole chided, mild. “That’s on you for a reason. There’s no need for you to speak. Especially because I’m about to show you something. Don’t you want to see how Robin is faring?”
Dick didn’t - this was most definitely a trap, because he would only be shaken by seeing Robin in pain, and there was nothing he could do. It wouldn’t be helpful, would be the opposite of helpful. Quite frankly, seeing Robin hurting was the last thing he needed - it would make him frantic, and being frantic would make him stupid.
Dick nodded.
Asshole grinned, that same smile that really was reminiscent of a shark, loathe as Dick would be to actually tell that to the man. “That’s what I thought. Try not to swing your cage too much when I walk by. It wouldn’t be very polite of you.”
Promptly, Dick threw his weight expertly across the cage when Asshole crossed the room, swinging and nearly hitting him. It would’ve met it’s target if Asshole hadn’t neatly stepped away, then fucking tutted at Dick like Damian.
“At least you’re being quiet,” Asshole said, almost to himself. Then he turned to look at Dick for a moment, considering, and walked to the computer. He signed in, and it was too far away to see the password or username, and pulled up - Robin.
Dick was across the cage in a second, uncaring of the way it swung, to clutch at the bars, staring at the screen. It glitched a few times, and Asshole muttered something under his breath. Then the screen cleared and Dick could see the pain in Damian’s face clearly as day.
Damian had always been good at masking his pain since Dick had known him, every weakness beaten out of him until he was stony-faced in agony. It applied here, but Dick could see the twitches of his eye, the clench of his jaw, that betrayed him. The camera zoomed out, no longer focused on just Robin’s face, and Dick clenched his fists.
Dick turned away after a moment, because - watching would only make this worse. He couldn’t stop himself from listening, but it was - a fresh wave of shock rippled through him, and Dick didn’t know if he was happy or not that his gloves prevented the electricity from going into the cage around him. “Fuck,” he said, and was met with another shock. “What was that for?”
Again, a shock, and Asshole was shaking his head at him, frowning. “I expected you to learn faster than that, little bird.”
“Don’t call me that,” he said, quick enough to get it all out before he was shocked again. Dick grit his teeth against it and refused to sit down.
It would probably be easier for his legs, and Dick wasn’t quite so big that the shocks were easy to recover from, but he wouldn’t admit to it.
“I’ll call you anything I’d like, Nightwing. Keep watching.”
Dick flipped him off and pointedly stared straight at Asshole instead of back to the screen, which had fucking volume too, and he could hear low taunts and Robin’s hitched breaths. Another burst of electricity came through the collar, and Dick was clutching at the cage to keep his legs from wobbling. This guy wasn’t playing. Fucking great. A stalker, and entirely unafraid to shock the shit out of him.
He still didn’t sit down, and turned to face the screen again.
Robin was still there, unsurprisingly, even if Dick had been momentarily distracted by the feral urge to slam Asshole to the ground and keep hitting until the twitching stopped. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option, both because of the cage and Dick’s moral code that he wasn’t willing to betray. It wouldn’t help Damian, anyway.
Dick exhaled heavily and pretended he couldn’t sense Asshole’s smugness. Robin was struck across the face, and he snarled in response. Dick’s lip twitched. That was his brother. Always defiant, always sharp, always - in pain, a knife drawn along where his Robin uniform had been torn and leaving blood in its wake.
Dick couldn’t look away, even if he could do it without being shocked. Not when - this was his fault. He should’ve been more worried, should’ve been frantic, should’ve found him before this. Dick - Dick had to watch this. To know exactly how Robin was being punished for Dick’s mistakes.
Robin’s breath caught as a knife was driven into his ribs, and Dick didn’t look away. This was - all he could do.
He could hear the man who caught him chuckling.
Dick’s breath was coming too fast, too uneven, even as he tried to steady it, to draw in air slowly. His fists were clenched so tightly it hurt, and his legs were shaking. The screen turned to black, but Dick saw - please, let it be real - a flicker of black, like a cape. Let it be Batman, getting Robin out of there. Dick would - Dick would be okay.
He grabbed at the cage, hands curling around the bars to keep himself upright, unhelped by the angle that the cage had settled at with all of his weight on the edge.
“Really, Nightwing, sit down. Your legs can’t take much more shock.” Dick turned his head to glare weakly at Asshole and pointedly remained on his feet. Asshole sighed, like Dick was the ridiculous one here. “Stubborn thing.”
Silently, Dick raised his middle finger and pushed himself entirely upright. Dick was many things, and while stubborn was admittedly one of them, he was - actually, he didn’t know where he’d been going with that. Fuck yeah, he was stubborn and unwilling to give an inch.
Something buzzed, and Asshole pulled a phone from his pocket - arrogant of him, to have a phone in the same room as Dick, who wasn’t on Babs’ level, or Tim’s even, but capable of hacking. Especially on phones. He looked at the notification and frowned, looking almost concerned, and Dick grinned.
It had been Batman, after all.
“Robin’s out?” he asked, still grinning, even as he convulsed from another round of electricity to his weary muscles.
Asshole put his phone back in his pocket. His hair was greasy, Dick noted absently, and wrinkled his nose. God, it wasn’t that hard to wash your hair. “Stop talking,” he snapped. “That’s not what you’re for.”
Dick forced himself straight from where he’d slumped, leaning casually against the wall of the cage, like it wasn’t keeping him upright. “What am I here for -” Again, he rushed out the words before he was shocked again, baring his teeth against it.
Asshole didn’t acknowledge him, and Dick turned back to his first question. “Robin?”
“Stop talking.”
“No.” Dick waited for the shock to fade, leaning dangerously against the cage until he could use his legs again. “Tell me about Robin.” Ow.
“If it’ll fuckin’ shut you up. Gotta increase the voltage,” he said, almost to himself. Dick gave him a thumbs-down. Asshole chuckled, which had not been his intention, but it was fine. But - he probably would shut up if Asshole just fucking told him, because he didn’t think he could handle too many more shocks.
“You’ll be quiet?” Honestly, it was a little sad that he was about to give Dick information just to get him to shut up, but Dick would take it. He might actually follow through.
“Sure,” Dick said, just to be a bitch, then hunched over as electricity ran through him.
“Fine. I wouldn’t advise lying to me, little bird.”
Dick wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up, not to call him ‘little bird,’ but he was - tired. And not willing to risk his chance on finding out what was happening to Robin. He settled for an unimpressed look, arms crossed - only a little bit to hide their trembling.
“Judging from the message I just received, Robin’s location has been infiltrated.” Asshole smiled, looking startlingly unbothered by the fact that Robin was most certainly gone by now, in the few minutes it’d been since his phone went off. “I’m sure that he’s been recovered by the Bat by now.”
Dick made a mockingly overdone surprised face, hands over his gaping mouth. No shit. Just as well, Dick thought, light-headed with relief and maybe shock, that Damian had been taken home. Good. Now Dick only had to worry about himself.
“I’m not too disappointed,” Asshole continued, even though literally no one had asked, and Dick was entirely uninterested in how he felt about it, “not really. It was never about Robin.”
Dick raised his eyebrows - he could never quite manage just the one like Bruce and Slade could - at that. Robin was arguably the most targeted after all of them, except for Batman, perhaps.
“It was about you, Nightwing. While the Bats were busy looking for their lost birdie, we caught the one we wanted and got you tucked away.” Asshole grinned, and Dick was struck by the sudden, primal urge to get away. “No one will find you.”
Dick was unsure as to just what this guy was planning to do. There had been minimal torture aside from the shock collar and watching Damian be tortured which was - torture enough, really. He was just used to villains taking their pound of flesh for revenge or whatever, and while the cage was hardly a first - Gotham criminals were really into theming, which included birds - Dick was really expecting everything to hurt more.
As it was, he was left to sulk. He’d been fed, too, which was perhaps the weirdest part. And it wasn’t shitty stuff either, though it was no gourmet meal. Dick was increasingly suspicious, and didn’t touch it. He did not need drugs in his system right now, and his utility belt had been stripped of anything useful - though, oddly enough, he still wore it. It hadn’t been taken to hang on the goddamn trophy wall. With no way of testing the food, he didn’t want to drink it. He wasn’t even too hungry yet.
He did drink the water - sealed, and he needed it.
The door opened, maybe a few hours after the last time Asshole had dropped by to give him his meal. By Dick’s count, it had been a day and a half since he’d been first snagged, though, without windows, he had no way of knowing for sure.
Asshole strode in, arrogant as ever, and looked down his nose at the untouched ravioli on a paper plate. No fork. That was fair, because Dick definitely would’ve used it. “Why haven’t you eaten, little bird?”
“Morning, asshole,” Dick said, then winced as another shock ripped through him. He’d had a few hours to recover, though, so it wasn’t too bad. Asshole sighed.
“I’ll turn it off while you explain, but for nothing else. Don’t push me.”
Dick put a hand to his chest, like ‘who, me?’.
Asshole sighed again, and he kept acting like Dick was the unreasonable one here. “Fine. Why didn’t you eat your food?”
“Because I don’t want to get fucking drugged. Obviously. Hey, why the fuck am I -” Dick cut off as another round of electricity flooded through him, and that bitch had upped the voltage. His arms trembled when it was over.
“Your food isn’t drugged,” Asshole said, like he expected Dick to have faith. Dick crossed his arms to properly get across his disbelief, and saved his strength for the big question. “Oh, come on. Why would it be?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Dick bit out without thinking, and sat through the responding shocks. They were a bitch, and Dick had taken his fair share of shocks. It was different, though, when they came over and over, because Dick fucking refused to be entirely silent.
“Eat the food.”
“No.”
Asshole watched wearily as Dick stepped back, ignoring how the cage swung, and stared him down. He was taller from the angle, suspended off the ground in the fucking bird cage. Dick didn’t really want to think about what he looked like. “I want you to keep your strength.”
That sucked for him. Dick wasn’t taking chances - he’d been taught better, and now that Robin had been found, rescue efforts would be focused on him. He wasn’t - he wasn’t afraidexcept for all the ways that he was.
Asshole sighed, again in that way that sounded like he was dealing with a stubborn child, not a fully-grown hero that he’d fucking kidnapped. “That wasn’t a suggestion, little bird.”
Dick raised his middle finger. “Leave me alone,” he said tiredly.
He jerked as another shock ran through him, and - didn’t stop. Dick made a high, strangled sound of pain before he could repress it, and dropped to his knees when his legs buckled under him. His muscles convulsed and Dick couldn’t - think, move, just hunched over and waited for the agony to end.
He could hear the man chuckling.
After what felt like hours, but couldn’t have been more than a minute, the shocks faded, leaving only violent tremors in their wake. Dick’s breathing was shaky and he abruptly realized he was curled on his side. He looked up slowly to Asshole, unable to help the vulnerability on his face. That - shit, he hadn’t been prepared - he wanted - someone to help him. Anyone.
“Eat your food, little bird.”
Dick let out a long breath and shifted upright, reaching over to draw the plate closer. Ravioli. Alfred made good ravioli. And Dick was - hungry, worn out by the electricity. He picked up the paper and sighed heavily, shoulders dropping - this was going to hurt.
Dick threw it at Asshole, hitting the cage wall.
He didn’t know how long the shocks lasted that time. All he knew was that when it ended, Dick was curled up again, shaking without stopping. He didn’t realize for a long moment that the shocks were gone, that it was over. Dick made a silent sound and curled tighter.
“I hope you learned your lesson.” The door opened, and Dick hated that he couldn’t even take advantage of that. All he did was lay there, waiting for his muscles to stop shaking. “Pity. I didn’t wanna break you quite yet.”
‘I’m not broken,’ Dick wanted to snarl, but he - didn’t. He didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, just looked up at him, suddenly grateful that the mask hid his eyes.
“And they say shock therapy isn’t effective,” Asshole said, smiling a little, like he thought he was funny. Dick missed Bruce’s rare and precious one-liners, Tim’s sharp digs, Jason’s occasional mocking tease, and the few times that Damian actually made a joke. He even missed Slade’s dry humor, because it was a little funny sometimes, and not accompanied by a shock.
Dick shuddered through the half-second of it and wondered what that was for.
“When I get back, little bird, with another meal, I’m gonna expect you to eat. Yeah?”
Dick looked at him silently and didn’t answer.
“Yeah?”
Dick nodded.
Fifteen minutes later, he ate the food. It was clean.
Dick was having a hard time keeping track of how long it had been, but his guess was a little over four days, give or take a few days. He was - not talking, not really, because after being victim to extended shock - something Dick never did with his escrimas, not even to Rogues - he was reluctant to inflict it on himself again. He’d been fed consistently, but Dick had no way of telling when the meals were given. The lights were always on.
The cage wasn’t barren like it had originally been when Dick had woken up. At some point when he’d been sleeping - deeply from his worn muscles - there had been a cushion installed, and a change of clothes provided. Dick didn’t change, even though his suit was more than uncomfortable, and so was his mask.
The t-shirt had a Nightwing emblem on it.
Dick hadn’t spoken after that. He stayed quiet and ate the food given to him as shame curled in his gut. He had to be better. He should still be fighting, be snapping back at every condescending word, be - stronger. But every time he considered opening his mouth, he remembered the drawn-out agony of - that.
Maybe the Bats weren’t looking because they knew they were better off without him.
Dick chased that thought away the moment it first appeared, because it wasn’t true, it couldn’t be, but it kept returning, niggling at Dick’s mind. Maybe he really was useless. He’d been caught for a few days, and he hadn’t escaped. A few days, and he’d already given in.
Dick was a failure. He’d let Robin get captured, and then failed to get himself out of captivity, and he was distracting his family from helping Damian, who was hurt, unlike Dick, who was uninjured and silent despite it. Dick hunched in on himself, but he straightened when he heard footsteps.
He wasn’t that weak. Not yet.
“Good morning, little bird.” Dick hated being called that name by that voice. “Did you sleep well?”
Dick raised his middle finger again, the only way to get his intent across without talking, which rather defeated the point. Asshole just smiled. “I’m taking that as a yeah, then. I see you ate. Good. Didn’t wanna waste all that food.”
Dick crossed his arms, and summoned the will to speak up. “Why am I here?” No need to waste time and pain tolerance with beating around the bush. Dick winced as the predicted shock rippled through him, but it was - tolerable. Had to be tolerable.
“Shut the fuck up,” Asshole snapped, and, really, why would he kidnap a notoriously mouthy hero and expect silence? He did seem to consider the question for a moment, before a smug smile crept across his face. “Look at everything on these walls, little bird. Everything I’ve gotten, mementos. What do you think this is?”
A slow, horrible realization dawned on Dick, and he did his best to hide the disgust. “A trophy room,” he whispered, looking around at everything displayed with pride, and - himself, hanging in the center, entirely in view.
“That’s right,” Asshole said, still smiling. “And what does that make you?”
A trophy, Dick thought, and didn’t answer.
For once, Asshole - Shark, he’d called himself, and that was still such a stupid name - didn’t push it. He just smiled and walked out. Right before he left, Dick crumpled to his knees when he was shocked for a solid five seconds, electrical current running through his body. He was panting when it was over, throat aching, and why?
“That was for talking.” The door shut solidly.
Dick curled in a ball and determinedly didn’t shake.
Dick woke up to gunshots. He sat bolt upright, ignoring how the cage rocked with the movements, and stayed utterly silent, listening. There was silence for a few seconds, where Dick hardly dared to breathe. Then, muffled shouting, and all sound ceased again, leaving Dick more than a little scared. He was near-helpless like this, stripped of anything useful and trapped. Even with his - training, he was shaking too much and he wanted to go home. He wanted Bruce, he wanted his brothers, he wanted to be safe.
Dick didn’t think he was going to get that lucky.
He strained his ears as he shifted uncomfortably into a crouch. He was stiff after being held in a small space for days, without being able to run or do any real routines. Still, stiff for him was flexible for most people, but Dick - Dick didn’t want to have to - defend himself. Not now.
Asshole had come back a few hours before and Dick had snapped something at him - he didn’t even remember what it had been - and he’d convulsed for what had seemed like hours. Dick hadn’t been able to stop his useless trembling since. He was pathetic.
Dick had been a hero for more than half his life, and this was what broke him? Some shocks? It was stupid. It was another reason his family deserved better.
Dick dragged his hands over his face and prepared himself. He was Nightwing. He could - he had to do this. This could be the opportunity he’d been waiting for. If Asshole was otherwise occupied, then there was nothing stopping him but the cage. That, and the way every time he moved it hurt.
And to think, the man hadn’t even - touched him. And Dick was wrecked anyway. Pathetic.
Dick kept his eyes trained on the door, focused enough that the moment the knob started to move, he saw it, eyes widening fractionally. This was it, this was the moment, this was -
“Slade,” he choked out, and paid for it dearly, but - he couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d tried.
The orange and black mask was trained on him, and Dick could see his unbothered stance. Slade - Deathstroke - only stood there for a moment before he was stepping closer, and Dick knew him well enough to know how smug he was, and Dick - didn’t even care.
“Well, little bird.” Dick flinched. Deathstroke’s eye narrowed. “It seems you’ve gotten yourself into a mess here.” Deathstroke glanced around the room once before settling on Dick again.
Dick swallowed. He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t. Sure, Slade fucked around with him on occasion, but he never really hurt Dick unless Dick was in the way of a contract - or having a different kind of fight - and even then not badly. Not by Dick’s standards, at least. The fear was irrational, Dick knew it was, but that didn’t make it better.
He didn’t answer.
Deathstroke whistled long and low when he took in the array of trophies - not Dick, not Dick, he wasn’t a trophy - decorating the walls. “You’ve got quite the admirer, don’t you? One might even say a fan.”
Dick didn’t think most fans of Nightwing would cage and collar him, torture him every time he opened his mouth, but that was one word for it.
“Now - are you going to say please?”
Please - what? What would Dick ask for? What would Slade even give him? And saying anything would hurt, and Dick was - so tired of hurting. He just wanted it to be over. Maybe it would be soon.
Dick wet his lips. Deathstroke stayed silent and didn’t move.
The - the fresh wave of pain might be - worth it. Worth getting out. God, let Deathstroke be willing to help. Just - get him out of the cage and let him go without a fight. That was all Dick was aking for.
“Please,” he whispered, and shuddered as the consequences hit him.
For a moment, Deathstroke didn’t move, and Dick was afraid that it hadn’t been enough, that Slade wanted more, that - the bars keeping him in broke under the force of Deathstroke’s enhanced strength, sending the cage rocking violently before Deathstroke caught it and steadied it. Dick shuddered and stayed on the far side of the cage before forcing himself to his feet. His legs shook as he walked carefully to the new opening.
“There we are, little bird. Come here.” Deathstroke - Slade, now, Dick thought, and wondered when the distinction had become clear - sounded as soft as Dick ever heard him, like he did when Dick pulled himself back together in his arms.
Dick hesitated, not sure how well he would - handle that short jump to the ground, and it was pitiful, really. But he didn’t think he could manage -
Don’t touch me, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t force the words from his throat, not when he knew it would hurt like it did. He didn’t know if he could tolerate touch, hovering on the edge of indecision. Would it be worth it?
Slade didn’t give him a choice, though, just pulling him out so he was laying against Slade’s chest, supported by his arms. Dick shuddered helplessly and pressed closer.
“First thing’s first,” Slade said, almost to himself, and Dick stilled instinctively at the press of sticky - Dick didn’t want to know - gloves against his throat. “Hush. I’m just taking this off of you. I know how much you like to mouth off.” He shifted Dick’s weight entirely to one arm, and Dick was used to the easy strength, but still.
Dick waited patiently and carefully didn’t flinch as the blunt edge of a knife dug into his skin - clearly, Slade had had the same luck that he had trying to get the collar off with merely his hands. The collar pulled as Slade worked the knife, biting into his skin, but a moment later, Dick heard a thud as it hit the ground.
The shock collar was off.
“There we go.” Slade stowed the knife back in his suit as Dick swallowed to feel the lack of restriction. It hurt. He turned and started walking towards the door without letting go of Dick.
“Thank you,” Dick said, voice raspy. Nothing happened. He’d flinched anyways.
“Don’t.” Slade looked down at him, intense even through the mask, and ran his thumb delicately over Dick’s bottom lip. Dick’s jaw went slack on reflex, and Slade smirked. “I’m the only one who gets to silence you, little bird.”
Dick didn’t agree with him, but he didn’t deny it either. He just exhaled heavily and settled against Slade’s chest.
“Alright, here’s what I’m going to do with you.” Slade kicked the door open without looking and strode through the hall. Dick saw blood splattering the walls, and - a body. The man who had - captured him. Lying dead with a clean wound across his throat.
Slade cleared his throat and Dick’s attention jerked back to him. “Sorry, what?”
“What I’m going to do with you,” Slade said, and Dick could hear a hint of a smirk in his voice. He couldn’t bring himself to care. “The wreck of a team you call your family is frantic trying to find you, so I’ll probably drop you off at one of your safehouses and they can get you from there. You are not to go off by yourself after I leave you. Am I clear?” Slade’s voice hardened a little into that voice, and Dick nodded before he could think.
“Yeah, I understand.”
“Good boy.” Slade rested a heavy hand in Dick’s hair and pressed his face into him. “I have you, little bird.”
Dick shouldn’t have felt this safe with the mercenary. He shouldn’t have felt safe at all. Dick should be wary, on alert, on his own feet. He should be doing so many things differently.
But he closed his eyes and relaxed. He was safe now.