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“I don’t know if you think you’re being clever, but this isn’t going to work,” Dick warned the kid.
Sure, he’d kidnapped Dick, but no harm, no foul. Dick wasn’t that mad—he was more worried about the little kid hacking up a lung in the diner booth across the aisle from them.
If he had to guess, the older kid was thirteen or fourteen, and the littler one was closer to ten or eleven. It was hard to tell seeing just the little kid’s crumpled, sleeping from, but Dick was pretty sure he recognized the older one’s face from the list of missing foster kids he and Bruce had spent the last three months investigating. Apparently at least a few had escaped the traffickers.
He couldn’t place a name to the face, but his vague recollection basically confirmed his suspicion that the kids were homeless and didn’t have parents in the picture. Across the aisle, the kids had a pile of sleeping bags and blankets the little one was half-asleep on top of.
“Your friend is sick,” Dick said, jerking his head toward the littler kid.
In fairness, they could have been brothers, the resemblance was there, but the traffickers preferred to target kids with the least amount of family possible. Only a few of the kids had had siblings, and from what he remembered, none of the sibling sets had been black-haired boys.
His captor scowled. “Don’t look at him! You’re talking to me!”
“Yeah,” Dick agreed. “I’m talking to you about the fact that that sounds like pneumonia. Let me out—” Dick wriggled his ziptied hands to emphasize the point. “—and I can take him to a doctor who can help him without getting the foster system involved.”
At least, for a while. Leslie wouldn’t just let the kids go back on the street, but she could keep them at least till the little one was better. Bruce would know what to do from there.
The kid scowled. “Do I look stupid? You get out, the next thing you know, we’re going to juvie.”
“I’m trying to help,” Dick argued.
“You’re trying to help yourself,” the boy argued, pounding his fist on the table.
Dick heaved an exasperated sigh and let his head fall back against the cushion of the booth. He was at the point where normally he would have escaped in an ingenious show of ingenuity and dexterity, but the kid had been thorough.
Dick’s wrists weren’t the only things bound together. His thumbs were zip-tied together, then his pointer fingers, and on down the line, not just once but at the first and second knuckles. The kid was a little asshole, but he was smart.
“What’s your plan, kid?” Maybe appealing to reason would work. “You’ve got me tied up, okay. How are you going to tell Batman how much money you want, hm? What’s your plan for the whole ransom demand? Is Junior going to watch me while you run off to tell Batman you kidnapped his Robin?”
The kid scowled, but Dick could see the understanding flicker in the kid’s face. Apparently, he hadn’t considered what Batman was going to do once he found out his kid was missing.
“Listen—Jason! Jason Todd!” Dick grinned. “That’s your name.”
The kid—Jason—recoiled like he’d been burned, then his hand shot for an empty saltshaker and raised it like it was some kind of weapon.
Hehehe, if he throws that at me, it would be a-salt.
“How do you know my name?” Jason demanded.
“Batman and I have been looking into missing kids. We’ve found a lot of abuse and trafficking—” Every kind, labor, sexual, organ, drug. All the trafficking. It was practically a traffic jam of crimes against humanity. “—and we’re fixing it. Let us help you, okay?”
Jason slowly lowered the saltshaker. “You can help me by giving me lots of money.”
Dick shrugged. “I’ll give you five hundred dollars if you let me go.”
“I’m not giving up Robin for—” Jason frowned. “You have five hundred dollars on you?”
“Yep, in my—” Dick realized he probably shouldn’t have said that given that the only one who would even be able to access the money was Jason. “—bra. In my bra. So you can’t get it without being really weird.”
Jason gave him a flat, disbelieving look and slid out from the booth. He reached in to grab Dick’s belt utility belt.
Seeing an opportunity, Dick sighed with exaggerated resignation and slid down the booth a little ways so Jason could get at the pockets.
“I shouldn’t have told you that. Fine, it’s in the big one on the side.” Dick shook his head like he was realizing his own stupidity, but he was actually about to pull off a pretty sick move. Bruce would be proud. Well, Bruce would be proud if Dick wasn’t going toe-to-toe with a middle schooler.
Jason opened the pocket and reached inside, frowning in confusion when all he found was batarangs.
Dick launched himself at Jason, knocking him to the floor. Jason cried out and tried to push Dick off, but Dick was a lot bigger than Jason and a lot stronger.
“You probably should’ve tied my feet up too,” Dick advised.
“Fuck you!” Jason snarled, but he looked scared.
Dick would feel bad for Jason later, once his hands were not numb and tingly from constricted circulation.
Jason had dropped the batarangs when Dick had tackled him, so they’d skittered across the floor, coming to a stop under a table. The problem was that Dick’s hands were tied, so he couldn’t grab the batarang, and he couldn’t free his hands without grabbing the batarang.
“Okay, I think you understand that you should be nice now?” Dick asked, nudging Jason lightly in the ribs with his knee.
Jason scowled, but he cut a quick glance at the other kid, then back at Dick. His rage melting to resignation, Jason nodded.
“Good. I’m going to let you up, and you’re going to go get that batarang and cut me loose, okay? And if you stab me, I’ll just sit on you again. Understood?”
Jason looked too crafty for his own good. He could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he tried to figure out just how he could screw Dick over without getting his ass handed to him on a silver platter.
“Or…” Dick shrugged as much as he could with zip ties digging into his wrists. “I could have your little friend help me out if I can’t trust you.”
Jason’s craftiness vanished. He just looked mad, but he nodded.
Dick rolled off Jason and watched the boy, waiting to see what he would do.
Jason paused for a moment, glancing to the door like he was calculating whether he could get out before Dick could catch him. He glanced back at the little kid and seemingly decided against running off. That kid wasn’t going anywhere fast.
Jason crawled under the table and retrieved one of the batarangs, holding it inexpertly. He glanced at Dick for further instruction.
After a moment of hesitation, Dick turned his back and wriggled his bound fingers.
“Just cut me loose. No funny business,” Dick warned.
Jason shuffled up behind him and put the tip of the blade to the first zip tie. Dick heard Jason inhale deeply before pulling the batarang down.
Dick hissed in pain as the knife slipped and nicked his pinky. Blood welled up, and Jason gasped in horror.
“That was an accident!” Jason cried. “I swear, I—”
Dick gritted his teeth and nodded. “Yep, I believe you. Just keep going. Try to keep better control of the batarang, okay?”
“Just—just hold still, okay?” Jason placed the batarang to the next zip tie, then he tentatively grabbed Dick’s hand to hold him steady.
The next zip tie came off more easily, then Jason got into a rhythm. After a couple fingers were freed, he could’ve snatched the batarang and gotten the rest himself, but Jason was doing a fine job and hadn’t taken the opportunity to stab Dick in the ribs, so he didn’t interfere.
Dick groaned and rolled his shoulders once the last tie was severed. His fingers and joints were stiff from so long restrained, and he was leaking blood all over his costume.
Dick grabbed a bandage from his bag and wrapped it around his bleeding pinky so his finger would stop leaking damning DNA evidence all over the place.
Jason scurried back when Dick stood, his back hitting the booth where the little kid was somehow still sleeping.
Little-r kid, Dick amended in his head. Huddled on the floor, keeping himself between his friend and the perceived threat, Jason looked very, very small.
Dick reached into the small pocket on the front and pulled out five crisp hundred dollar bills. He extended the money toward Jason, who looked about the same as he would’ve if Dick had been trying to hand him a live scorpion.
“Take it.” Dick shook the bills. “I promised.”
Jason shook his head and tried to push himself further away, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere at all to run from Dick and his very benevolent revenge plan.
Dick dropped the money on Jason’s lap and stepped around him, slipping into the booth behind the one where the kid was sleeping. Jason scrambled to his feet, not even looking at the money.
“Leave him alone,” Jason breathed almost silently, like he thought any loud noise or sudden movement might send Dick into some murderous rage. “He had nothing to do with this.”
True and not true. True in the sense that the kid had been asleep or unconscious for the whole ordeal, but not true in the sense that Dick was reasonably willing to bet that Jason wouldn’t have jumped him—after Dick had knocked out four men twice his side, mind you, so it was really cheating—if it wasn’t for the how sick his friend was.
“He’s really sick,” Dick said seriously. “He needs a doctor.”
“That’s why I need the money,” Jason hissed.
“Dr. Thompkins is—”
“A mandatory reporter!” Jason snapped, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “She’ll send us to foster care. I barely survived the first time, and now you want to throw Tim in too? It’s not happening!”
So the kid’s name is Tim, Dick thought. He couldn’t remember a missing Tim in their list. Had Tim not been reported missing by anyone?
Luckily, Dick had a plan. “So, what you’re saying is you’re a material witness to the trafficking problem?”
Jason frowned, his brow knit in confusion. “I—yes? I guess so?”
Dick nodded. “How about we make a deal, Jay?”
“What kind of deal?” Jason shifted his weight uncomfortably. He obviously wanted to get closer to Tim, but since Dick was hovering over Tim, Jason didn’t want to get near. Probably wanted to avoid getting tackled again, since Jason seemed like a pretty smart kid.
Dick should definitely be asking Bruce before his mouth started writing checks he couldn’t cash, but Bruce was a billionaire, so he could cash basically any check.
“Okay, how about this: you tell us what’s what, maybe testify in court if you have to—” Dick held up a hand to squash the protests building. “—and we protect you. You come back home with me, both of you, and we’ll get Tim the medical care he needs. Okay?”
“If I testify, they’ll kill me.” Jason’s eyes were filled with terror, and Dick had the worrying sense Jason had seen that happen before.
“They won’t be able to reach you,” Dick promised. “We’ve got world-class security. We can protect you from anything, I swear.”
Dick held Jason’s gaze, not looking away. All the blood had drained from Jason’s face, leaving him as pale as Tim.
A coughing fit broke the hush. The coughs wracked Tim’s frame, hoarse and unceasing. It only took a few seconds before Tim was gasping for air that he wasn’t able to choke down because he couldn’t stop coughing long enough to breathe. Tears streaked down Tim’s cheeks, cutting clean tracks through the grime.
For a second, Dick genuinely thought Tim was just going to die right there.
Jason rushed to Tim’s side and helped him sit, holding Tim’s hand till the coughing fit stopped. Dick stepped back as Jason brushed the tears from Tim’s face and whispered sweet nothings under his breath.
Tim practically melted into Jason’s hug. Dick wished he thought Tim was just being affectionate, but Tim looked incredibly weak.
Jason looked up from the hug, wearily meeting Dick’s gaze. He nodded, just once.
Dick nodded back and stepped away to give them some space while he called the Batmobile.
He should probably also call Bruce, but Bruce would probably say no. No wasn’t an option, not for Bruce and not for Jason. They couldn’t go back to normal foster care, Jason was right, but Bruce was a foster parent.
Dick smiled to himself despite the grim circumstances.
He’d always wanted siblings.