Dramatis Personae

Jason couldn't hesitate. "Yeah," he grunted, stepping forward with the bored confidence expected of him. "C'mon."

The man holding Dick by the hair didn't let go immediately. Instead, he gave another sharp tug that forced Dick's head back one last time before shoving him forward hard enough to nearly send him sprawling again.

Jason's jaw locked.

Easy.

One more second.

The trafficker slapped Dick's cheek with mocking affection. "Don't break this one. The boss'll have your ass."

Jason snorted, forcing out something that passed for amusement. "Ain't my first day."

Another ripple of laughter.

Good.

They aren't looking too closely anymore.

Jason grabbed Dick's upper arm—not gently, because gentle would stand out. His grip was firm enough to sell the act, fingers digging into the sleeve of Dick's shirt instead of flesh wherever he could manage it. It was a tiny concession, one no one else would notice.

"C'move."

Dick obeyed with just enough sluggishness to keep up the performance.

Jason steered him toward the freight elevator while the rest of the shipment was dispersed through the warehouse. The doors groaned open with a metallic shriek, revealing another two armed men waiting inside.

Of course they weren't getting privacy.

Jason shoved Dick through the doorway first, earning an approving grunt from one of the guards.

"Pretty thing looks half dead."

"They usually do," Jason answered flatly.

The doors clanged shut.

Silence settled over the elevator, broken only by the hum of ancient machinery and the uneven breathing of the captives still being dragged elsewhere above them.

Jason kept his expression blank.

Didn't look at Dick.

Couldn't.

The mirrored steel panel opposite them reflected just enough for him to watch without appearing to. Dick was still selling the drugs perfectly. His shoulders slumped unevenly, his head dipped, and his breathing remained slow.

But Jason knew better.

He caught it the minute one of the guards had adjusted their grip on Dick earlier. He had seen the almost imperceptible hitch in Dick's breathing when a hand lingered too long at the back of his neck. The stiffness that rippled through him before he forced it away.

Most people would've missed it.

Jason didn't.

He recognized every microscopic tell because he'd spent years teaching himself to hide the exact same ones.

The memories came uninvited.

Hands that hadn't listened.

Laughter.

The certainty that fighting would only make it worse.

Jason's stomach twisted so hard he thought he might actually be sick.

Dick had those memories too.

Which made watching him endure this feel like swallowing broken glass.

One of the guards noticed Dick's lack of balance and caught him around the waist before he could slump too far. "Easy there," the man laughed, his hand spreading wider than necessary. Jason's fingers tightened around the ring of keys until the metal bit into his glove.

Dick's shoulders drew in by barely an inch, and his chin dipped another fraction.

Anyone else would've called it the drugs.

Jason saw the instinctive attempt to make himself smaller.

It lasted less than a heartbeat before Dick let his weight sag bonelessly again, disappearing back into the role.

Professional.

Convincing.

Painfully convincing.

The elevator jolted to a stop.

Its doors rattled open onto a dim concrete corridor lined with reinforced steel doors.

One of the guards jerked his head toward the hallway.

"Cell six," he ordered. "Boss wants this one cleaned up before the buyers get another look."

Jason gave a lazy nod.

"Got it."

He hauled Dick forward again, keeping the roughness carefully measured for the watching eyes, and listened as the elevator doors groaned shut behind them, leaving only the two of them and the corridor stretching ahead. He didn't dare speak yet.

That was the whole point, wasn't it?

He caught himself before he faceplanted on the cement floor, looking up in time for the man who'd shoved him to slap his cheek like he was patting a dog. Like a pet. Dick's stomach turned as he fought down the instinct to bite, as he kept his eyes down like the frightened victim he was supposed to be.

It was just a role. Just a part to play. Just a facade that he'd drop as soon as feasible, once he'd gotten what he needed. Until then, he had to endure. He would endure.

Heaven knew some of the others who'd passed through here had endured worse than this.

A hand closed around his arm, hauling him to his feet. Jason's hand, Dick knew even without looking; no one else would have been this gentle. No, not gentle; careful. The grip was firm, solid, but Jason's fingers weren't digging into him the way they could have and Jason's steering wasn't as harsh as it could have been as they headed for the elevator.

There were guards there.

Of course there were guards there.

He'd need to remember that.

The guards wasted no time in helping Jason, either, as Dick was shoved at them. One hand at his waist, another at his shoulder…it was far from the first time he'd been manhandled, but the way they were touching him, the way they were looking, grinning, the way their hands lingered on his skin when opportunity arose, it all had Dick forcing himself not to react.

Then the elevator lurched and Dick found himself with an arm fully around his waist, the guard's hand spread wide and pushing his shirt up, palm fitting around the curve of his hip. He fought the shudder down, kept his eyes on the floor, focused on keeping any hint of tension out of his body and off his face.

At least it wasn't out of character for his breathing to be unsteady.

Fuck he hated this.

Stay focused.

Block it out.

It's for the mission.

Bruce taught him how to do that years ago, before he'd ever even dreamed about Nightwing; how to block out the discomfort, distance himself from it. It wasn't a skill he'd used very often - it had never come easy to him - but it was something he was relying on now to get through this.

Finally the elevator jolted to a halt, the doors clattering open to reveal a dingy hallway lined with doors. Steel, reinforced. Impossible to break through, difficult to pick. He'd known this was a serious operation, but actually seeing it firsthand had Dick's determination flaring. This had to work, this mission; it had to succeed, no matter what he had to do.

No matter what he had to endure.

What was so special about cell six? Shower cell, maybe? If he was supposed to get cleaned up, they'd almost certainly at least hose him down somehow; they'd have to. Hose him down, and fresh clothes at the very least.

Or maybe they wouldn't bother with the clothes.

His stomach churned again.

Unconsciously he leaned into Jason's grip, hiding it behind the excuse of drugged unsteadiness. If Jason was left in charge, he'd get clothes; that much was possible without blowing Jason's cover.

What do you need?

Jason wasn't sure anyone had ever asked him that without expecting an answer that suited them. He'd spent so many years convincing himself he would never be able to have this that the truth felt foreign now. He drew a slow breath, his gaze dropping briefly between them before finding Dick's again.

"I don't know," he admitted quietly. "I've spent a long time trying not to think about—"

This.

His thumb idly traced the fabric over Dick's shoulder, careful even now of the bruise beneath it. "But I know this wasn't..." Jason hesitated, searching for the right words. "It wasn't because of today."

The admission left him feeling more exposed than the kiss had.

"I wanted to." His voice stayed soft but steady. "I've wanted to for a long time."

A faint, almost embarrassed smile touched the corner of his mouth.

"I just never thought I'd get the chance."

And he wouldn't have to. Jason made it clear with the very next sentence, with the gentle caress to his shoulder that had Dick absently leaning into it.

It wasn't because of today.

I've wanted to for a long time.

That had butterflies starting up in Dick's stomach, equal parts excitement and instinctive caution. A long time…? How long? Why? On the one hand it was honestly a little relieving that the kiss hadn't been due just to stress and gratitude, but on the other-

No.

No, Jason wasn't like that. It wouldn't be something superficial, not with him. Not with how long they'd known each other. And that wasn't even getting into the sheer depth of feeling Dick held for Jason in return. The trust he felt.

He hesitated for a heartbeat or two as Jason leaned forward again, their lips barely brushing. It wasn't a kiss, not yet; he had a choice.

He had a choice.

Even as much as Jason might want this - even as much as he wanted it - Jason was still leaving the choice to him.

And then he saw the shadow-Bat still. He watched those luminous eyes grow wide with recognition. He took a step back as blue fire erupted from the shadow's feet, engulfing it and watched in shock as the flames began to die away to reveal a mask. Not his mask.

Nightwing's.

The shadow--no--the Persona flew across the space, blending seamlessly into Nightwing's mask, and the blue flames coated the man for a split second. When the flame died away completely, he was left in clothes that Ren knew from experience Nightwing had no idea he was wearing.

Eventually, Ren was going to have to stop being surprised at meeting people who could summon their own Personae. But this was far from normal. A shadow not a part of the self wasn't supposed to be able to do that unless you were a trickster, a wild card. The only other person he'd ever met who could do that was--

No. Focus. This person needed help. "The noose!" Ren grit his teeth, reaching into his mind for someone who could help. If Nightwing didn't trust what was in there, then Ren would help him handle it. "Cu Cuchlainn!"

Arsene was replaced in front of him by Cu, and Ren gave the Persona a nod of gratitude. "Support him. The work is delicate, and we don't have a lot of time."

The Persona nodded, turning to jump inside the building after Nightwing. Once his presence was felt, Ren was sure Nightwing would appreciate the strength, speed, and defense boost. Plus, as long as Cu was around, no one here was dying.

Failure.

Worthless.

Useless.

Dick's jaw tightens. Definitely a good thing he'd stopped Phantom from diving in here.

It's a shame Crane isn't actually present, but Dick can deal with him later. Right now he needs to get that noose off this poor sod's neck before they die of fright.

Darting forward he grabs for the rope, claws biting into the fibers. Distantly he notes how much faster he's moving, how much easier it was for him to jerk the knot back than he was expecting, but he can worry about that later. Right now he can feel the rope straining against his grip as he yanks it over the victim's head. This new toxin must be strong if it's this resistant; that doesn't bode well.

With the rope all but shredded by his gauntlets - when did he get those claws, anyway? - Dick turns his attention to the victim, grabbing them and hauling them back out of the window into the comparatively fresh air outside. The initial panic, at least, is over, but they're still clearly frightened, lost in their own world.