#creepiness

Damian, for the second time in as many days, awoke in a tank, a fact with which he was extremely displeased. The last thing he recalled was his stomach lurching, the bag he’d been stuffed into serving as an excellent package for Skulker to make off with him. Damian longed for a good blade to sink into the man’s body.

That fact was amplified by the feeling of cold metal on his scales. Damian scratched at the golden bracelets cupping his arms. He was dressed up in luxurious gold and jewels like a lecherous sultan’s slave. A ringed belt-like piece of silver wrapped around his waist and looped over his hip fins. Two more golden rings, each adorned with gleaming rubies, cupped the thinnest portion of his tail just above his tailfin. Despite his best efforts, he was unable to relieve himself of any of the filthy things. They were fitted tight as a glove, almost like they were made for his measurements. Damian shivered, and turned to more productive activities.

His new prison cell was at least more amenable than his last. In fact, it was a little too amenable. Damian found himself in a veritable miniature aquarium. If it weren’t for the reflection of his scaly face in the glass and the lavish (and frankly, tasteless) furniture beyond, he’d have thought himself in the actual ocean. The bottom was padded with beautiful white sand, populated by towering coral structures and schools upon schools of fish, jellyfish, and even a few manta rays. Stalks of kelp rose to the ceiling of the room, as the tank was that tall. Seaweed swayed in an artificial current. Damian picked up the sound of a wave machine gently pushing against the surface of the water.

Tapping the glass proved it was not some common fishbowl’s glass. The barrier between the water and air was at least two inches thick, something even a human Robin would find trouble with, let alone his current state. A golden shine caught his eye. Damian tutted. His fins rattled. It seems Skulker’s poor taste knew no bounds. Solid gold pillars lined the corners of the tank, and ran along the top and bottom.

With a closer look outside the tank, Damian clocked the numerous animal heads lining the walls of the room. Even more baffling was the inclusion of beautiful hand-crafted stone bird fountains scattered around the walls and mounted on posts in the room, populated by, of all the things, red duck candles. An old fashioned writing desk and chair sat facing away from the tank, decorated with what else but more preserved animals, and even more tacky candles, as if they were bought from the novelty shops that Richard would occasionally visit.

Outside of his already-revolting interior décor tastes, Skulker was a hunter. Went after rare and exotic creatures, Danny had told him. Damian’s eyes narrowed. Now he understood fully what the man was after. The abduction, the drowning, the pursuit, the sudden presence of the GiW in Panama, the entire reason for this trip in the first place.

The better question now was whether he was the prize, or the bait? And Damian suspected he was both. After all, Danny had made it very clear how much Skulker wanted his pelt specifically. Why go through the effort of making such a luxurious fish tank for a dead teenager?

There were so many other sirens in the sea, though. It made perfect sense that Damian would be the bait, but why also the prize?

He had caused a media sensation when he’d first arrived in Gotham. Tabloids ran for months, drooling over the gossip and rumours surrounding the mysterious biological son of Bruce Wayne. He’d been swarmed by mobs of rich snobs trying to pair their daughters with him, until his biting tone chased most of them off.

While Skulker wanted to make a coat out of Danny’s scales, he probably also wanted to allure of having such a mysterious and exotic pet. A pet that he’d had a direct hand in creating. Damian’s cheeks heated. He gritted his teeth. Of course. Here he was as much a trophy as the heads on the wall.

The door swung open. Damian bared his teeth. His fins flared wide. If he had his way, he’d be sinking them into the man’s jugular. Instead he was forced to bear Skulker’s smug smirk. He walked in, dressed in black cargo pants and a tank top instead of the customary hulking metal suit. Damian’s scales ran cold as the man looked over his body, bare except for jewelry he himself had placed.

Skulker went to the desk and retrieved a microphone from the drawer. He flipped it on, causing a brief whine in the tank.

“Good afternoon, Damian Wayne. I trust you find your new accommodation satisfactory?”

Damian hissed at him. “If you set me free I might let you live.”

“Hah!” Skulker laughed. The man reached into another drawer and pulled a can of beer. “I’m afraid the world outside is far too dangerous for a little guppy like you. You’ll be safer in here.”

“My absence has already been noted. You will not be able to get away with this!”

“Do you truly believe that, little boy?” Skulker shotgunned the beer in one. “Your little friend Danny wasn’t recognised by his own mother at gunpoint. And even if by some miracle they came here, what would you do? Squeak at them?”

Actually, he would tap out a message in Morse Code, but Skulker didn’t need to know that. And this time he would not hesitate.

Still, that brought up another concern. Skulker did not know he was Robin. As far as he believed, Damian was just some spoilt rich boy. On the one hand, it meant that there would be underestimation, and from there an opportunity. On the other hand, any overt competence he displayed would do badly for the family secret.

What a conundrum.

“So what do you intend to do with me, then? Sell my scales? Bed me?”

Skulker gasped in genuine shock, not the fake politeness that he’d seen Father’s parasites give off. “Did you not know? I am Skulker, the greatest hunter in the seven seas! I am not some kind of sicko. All the pleasure I need comes from the thrill of the hunt! And you have been an admirable quarry, and may now live out the rest of your days in comfort as my greatest trophy.”

Despite his ‘reassurance,’ Damian distinctly thought this made him even more of a sicko. “And what of Phantom’s pelt?”

“Danny will be my greatest coat, or a handbag. I’m open to options. Probably won’t even die the first skinning, what with his regeneration.”

Definitely a sicko. This man would fit right in on Gotham’s rogue’s gallery. Damian had disdain for hunters, especially trophy hunters, but to chase after someone whom you know is human? He recalled the fiery siren girl’s words back at the cave near Amity. To go after your own kind indeed. And Danny had the confidence to casually banter with this man like it was Tuesday?! Not to mention while being shot at by his parents, and the government.

Robin always had Batman, and the family, and the Justice League beyond those people. There were times he craved independence, to strike out on his own and prove himself, only to sorely regret it when it inevitably went pear-shaped. And yet Danny did all that and more, and the only adults in his life wanted to kill him.

“Phantom is thrice the man you will ever be. To covet his skin will only bring you ruin.”

Skulker pressed his face right up against the glass, grinning sadistically. Damian hissed back. “What does a baby sea monster know about manhood? Or ruin, for that matter. Let me spell it out for you. You. Have. No. Rights. Nobody who has those rights is coming for you. I could parade you around animal conservation centres for all the world to see and as far as the law is concerned I’d be as innocent as a newborn babe.”

Rage boiled over. Damian snarled. He lashed out against the glass, clawing uselessly at the barrier. Skulker only laughed harder. Damian slammed at the glass with his tail. His tail rings clanged against it uselessly.

“You’re an adorable trophy. I ought to put a little bell on you, like a kitten.”

The man left soon after, cackling like a TV supervillain (or just a regular real life supervillain, honestly), leaving Damian to stew in his rage.

He was not one to stew for long. With rage, there was never inaction.

Danny stuffed as much seaweed into his mouth as he could fit in his arms. He shoveled shellfish in like a waterslide. His belly bulged with how much food it was taking, and yet kept shrinking rapidly. Danny slashed open a fat fish. He sank his teeth into his flesh, ripped out the guts, then threw the rest out in seconds. It would take too much time to pick the flesh between bones, so he just killed another. Then another, and another.

He’d exhausted himself, and got Damian caught by fucking Skulker. That mistake couldn’t happen again. He couldn’t fail Damian again.

He tried to ignore the way his skin crawled just from how close his mother was. How close Damian’s dad was. If Bruce Wayne learned how badly he’d fucked up, Danny would be a dead fish and he wouldn’t even complain. He deserved it.

Danny ate, and ate, and ate.

He sniffed the water. It was Skulker’s dolphins. The trail was heading away from the shore. Danny swam faster than he had ever swum before.

It seemed Skulker had anticipated many of his first ideas. Damian found the water filter practically welded to its spot. His new ornaments proved useless at breaking or dislodging anything. He’d even found the larger rocks of the aquarium affixed to the bottom and immovable. The pebbles gathered up in bunches at the bottom proved ineffective as well. At the top, Damian found a hatch, probably for maintenance and cleaners to enter, but it was sealed shut. The tank featured no other entrances or exists. What he saw was what he got.

Even if he could break the glass, he didn’t even want to. He was not the only unwilling resident of this tank, but he was the only one with lungs. That left the top hatch as his current best option.

Damian swam into a nook, and began to plan.

This was not ideal. No weapons, no tools, a body for which measures had already been taken. Of course, Danny might come for him. He might. He’d heard an explosion moments after he was snatched right off Danny’s back, then there was the issue of Dr Fenton and his father. To expect Danny to be swift was unreasonable. 

In fact, it might be Damian who needed to save Danny. 

Which was to say he could not afford to lounge around. Simultaneously, it was possible he’s be forced to play the long game in his escape attempt, and the longer he had to endure Skulker’s lecherous gaze, the more chance he might pop a vein or two. 

Time to work on it then. Damian swam up to the top. He knocked against the hatch, testing its durability. To his surprise, there was just the slightest amount of give. Perhaps with a pebble, he could pry it open. A crowbar would’ve been preferable, but beggars could not be choosers. 

Seizing stress overwhelmed his tiny body. His subconscious recognised it first. Then his conscious mind registered the rattling of everything in the room. The boat shook, as if rocked by an attack. Damian dashed back behind a rock. He waited for a moment. 

Skulker did not come. Perhaps Damian had underestimated Danny’s tenacity yet again. This represented a prime opportunity. While Skulker was busy fighting Danny, Damian could escape and then assist. 

So he got to work immediately. He picked up the largest pebble he could get his scaly hands on. Then he went to the bottom of the tank. Steeling his nerves, Damian kicked his fins in sync. He undulated his body in one fluid motion, and surged with blinding speed. The metal clanged loudly and echoed in the water as he slammed as hard as he could against the hatch. 

It budged a quarter of a millimetre. Damian could hardly believe it. Then he did it again. And again. What he lacked in body mass he made up for with supernatural speed, pebbles in hand bashing against the hatch. He could not hear any more fighting or gather information on the situation outside the ship. The drive to get back to his friend fuelled his resolve, let him ignore his bruising knuckles and aching elbows. Damian surged up and attacked the opening once more.

His heart sank. The door was pushed open enough to reveal a padlock and chains covering the outside. Curse that Skulker! Damian yelled Todd-esque obscenities as he clawed uselessly at the chains. The lock was too far in the air for the water bound boy to reach, the opening too narrow to fit his hands through. He was Robin! He had no intention of letting a demented two-bit hunter with an ego the size of Lake Michigan get the better of him. 

So Damian coiled his tail like a spring again. He imagined all sorts of hateful and unpleasant things plastered over the hatch. The Fenton parents. The Joker. Grandfather. 

Nerves fired up, Damian snarled a barely-human battle cry. He launched himself faster than ever before. One second he was at the bottom. The next he was-

The next second, Damian found himself above the surface. Barely registering his surroundings, he let his gills open up immediately. Did he break the hatch? Was this super strength?

He was on some kind of platform over the tank, like the kind at aquariums for trainers or feeders. There was a tight constrictive feeling around his waist. Damian looked back, and his eyes widened.

The doors had budged, but only by a few inches. The lock and chain remained, albeit stretched out. And Damian? His waist compressed through the tiny gap like an octopus. He made out the gleam of the silver belt and necklace on the other side, wrapped around his tail, which should have been too big for them to fit, and yet Damian barely felt inconvenienced. 

Well. This changed things. 

Damian gripped the metal platform and pulled. He distinctly felt his organs squelch. His stomach had been pushed into his chest cavity, finally returning to its normal spot as his waist came through. His hip fins folded in on themselves. Then each of his bones in his tail bent like rubber bands, his scales sliding through with the help of his copious mucus secretions. At last Damian’s tailfin went through the gap, thin enough to not require any nauseating body modification. Unfortunately, the rings above it were also small enough. If he had the time, he’d have forced them off. 

He didn’t have time, though. Danny was out there and he needed his help. With the help of his mucus, Damian slithered snake-like over the metal platform, then down the stairs at the side. 

Skulker’s trophy room looked even more garish when there wasn’t glass covering his view. Damian spat on the carpet in disgust. Indeed, he was already intending on slathering a generous trail of mucus over the expensive decor, but it was not just about the raw damage. It was about sending a message. 

Damian began to roll across the room. However, just as he went underneath one of the fiendishly ugly bird fountains, another explosion shook the room. Out of water, it was able to ring at his ear fins. Damian was startled out of his wheel position, splaying himself on the floor. 

The shockwaves rattled everything in the room. The water rippled. Mounted animal heads jerked up an inch before returning to their hooks. The post holding up the bird fountain just above Damian jerked to one side. Before Damian knew it, a small waxy weight fell on his side. 

Everything in his body burned.

The jet ski’s radar pinged bright. Their drone in the air confirmed it. Turns out Brucie Wayne had some nifty contacts. Managed to figure out this ‘Skulker’ fellow was the proud owner of a yacht, and had connections in the human trafficking business. Jack felt sick to his stomach.

Brucie should’ve come with them, should’ve been there to rescue their sons by his and Maddie’s side, but he was still injured from Jazz’s mind-controlled swing, which meant it was just the classic Fenton pair once again. He felt another tinge of pride for his daughter’s arm. But mostly, he felt ready to tear this Skulker apart molecule by molecule.

He just couldn’t believe it. Maddie’d seen him. She’d seen Danny. He was right there and she was just that close and then-

He relaxed his body and took in a deep breath, just like Jazzy said. Whatever was going to happen, he and Maddie were going to give it their all, and get the boys back. Then this would all be over.

Five kilometres north. He glanced to his side, where Maddie, the love of his life, revved her craft. Now or never.

Their presence did not go unnoticed. Jack’s goggles picked up dozens of rockets in the air. His scanners detected torpedoes in the water. Without a word, Maddie was firing at will, and Jack manned the jet skis’ systems. Counter-torpedoes launched from tubes underneath their seats. Mini-guns sprang from their concealments and opened fire.

“Jack, there’s one flanking you!”

“Go high!” He yelled back. Jack spotted the lone torpedo moments away from hitting his ski. On cue, Maddie’s jet ski shot ten feet into the air off the back of its thrusters. Jack waited until it was within striking distance. He pushed the handle bars to full throttle as his ski’s backup thrusters went into overdrive. He shot off away from the torpedo at a sharp right angle. Once he had enough distance, Jack directed the blasters to intercept.