#isolation chamber

[lostwhump]

@whumptober | Day #8: "Isolation Chamber" Captain America: Civil War (2016)

[aceofwhump]

Whumptober 2024 - No.8 ISOLATION CHAMBER

Hawaii Five-0 8x10 Danny is shot while the team is in quarentine after being exposed to a deadly virus

@whumptober

[small-sinclair]

Whumptober Day 8: Sleep Deprivation

Rogue, Gambit, Kurt x mute human!reader (Plotinic)

Isolation Chamber

Part 2

Gambit kept his eye on the door, blinking becoming a chore now. Rogue had her head resting on his lap, sleeping soundly and breathing slow, and his arm protectively wrapped around Kurt. His blue skin and his fluffy fur were covered in grim and matted, but Gambit still made small circles on his back. Sleeping against his chest was you, their little human they all promised to protect, with his long coat draped over your shoulder. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time when officers took them to a holding cell with no windows.

Their little human...that’s what they called you when they were thrown into this chamber with blinking collars around their necks. He couldn’t use his powers to blast the door down. Rogue couldn’t take strength from the guards to fight. Nightcrawler couldn’t teleport away for help. You didn’t need the collar, but you still weren’t trusted.

One by one, each fell asleep against Gambit’s warmth. With each closing eyes, Gambit stayed alert more and more as time passed. He felt sleep calling for him, but he didn’t give in. The moment they are all asleep, something could happen, or someone will come in and harm them. It’s not fair to you; you’re a human being, not a mutant. But what makes a human being a human? There is no such thing as normal or finding a meme about the mutant world. It’s the hand they’re dealt that changes and determines fates, not by some grace of something higher than him.

He could hear Kurt argue with him about it. The minister was good in the faith; even as he slept against Gambit, crawled like a cat, he gripped his wooden prayer beads tight. He fell asleep mid-prayer, his voice fading until the murmurs turned into soft snores. The blue fuzz ball was always right about something, so why can’t he believe him this once? Leave his faith up to any god who’s listening or paying attention to them in this silent cell.

His other hand fell on Rogue, brushing her hair out of her face. Gambit felt his heart clinch and ache. He felt her hand in his earlier, and he nearly dropped to his knees in tears. Her skin is just as he imaged: soft, smooth, and warm. He wanted to feel her hands forever, and he was almost thankful for these collars that turned off their powers. He was able to kiss her goodnight without her feeling fear of hurting him or draining his strength. It would be worth it even if she did. Just to feel her close to him, his hand in hers, holding her cheek, kissing those sweet southern bell lips...all of it would be worth it. It would be worth it for her.

But she’s suffering and scared. That’s what hurts him the most. The moment he gets his hands on a key, he’ll get her out of here.

Then there’s you, the little human sleeping against his chest under his jacket. He didn’t know what to make of you when he first met you, and he still hasn’t made an opinion on you. You’re hard to read, which didn’t worry the gambler all too much, but he needed to know what side you’re on. For the most part of you being in this chamber, you kept to yourself and stayed quiet. He didn’t understand it because he thought you would be asking question after question, but your voice was never heard. To come and think of it, you didn’t make a sound when you were caught with them. You didn’t even tell them your name! Where he’s from, not giving a name or something to call you by meant you’re hiding something and have a lot to lose.

His eye lids grew heavy as they lingered over you, but he shook his head and looked up at the door. He didn’t know what was going to come next. Whatever it was, he’ll make sure to keep everyone safe. Though he’s the black sheep of the X-Men and in this room, he cared about everyone and worried. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was scared. He was terrified! But he kept his cards close to his chest and waited for whatever thought could hurt them. Gambit felt so tired and sleepy, but he forced his blood-shot eyes to stay open. He could feel bags under his eyes grow deeper and deeper as he looked forward.

Don’t sleep now, swamp rat, he heard a voice warn, they need you. They need you. Stay awake a little while longer. They need you to watch over them.

He rested his head against the wall and looked up at the empty ceiling. He'll stay awake until one of them wakes up. He'll do that for them, for you.

He felt you shift and your eyes meeting his. He could see his black and deep red eyes reflecting back at him, reminding him how little he was to you. “Go t’sleep, petit,” his said lowly. “Ya need sleep.” He gave you reassuring smile but he even though he knew he wasn’t fooling you. “I’ll be ‘right. Ain’t nothin’ Gambit can’t handle.”

Your dull eyes didn’t waver from him as if you were trying to say something through your thoughts. You shook your head and pointed at yourself then pointed at him, folding your hands under head and acting like you were sleeping, then pointed at him once more.

He blinked twice and lifted a brow. “What’re ya goin’ on about?” He watched you repeat the motion. “Can’t ya talk?” You shook your head. “Shit, dat makes sense, petit.” Gambit bit his lower lip and shook his head. “I’ll be ‘right. Told you already, mon ami.”

Again, you shook your head. In his eyes, you could see how tired he was. The fight in front of your little store was a rough one, and knowing that he’s forcing himself to stay awake wasn’t healthy for him or for everyone in this chamber. The steel door was haunting, cold, and unforgiving to look at. You looked back at him and nodded, looking at him as if you were saying “everything’s okay now”. He was fighting to stay awake, but your warm hand slipped under his jaw and your thumb made small circles.

Gambit found himself leaning into the touch, closing his eyes as he did. The tension in his body was fading and his head resting in Kurt’s hair. It felt like a pillow—

“No,” he whispers, murmuring his words tired and slurred. Gambit forces his head back up and blinked away the sleepiness. He was fighting it, fighting to stay awake. He’s X-Men; he has to protect you. Your eyes looked at him with a mixture of hurt and disappointment, a look someone gave him when he was a boy. “S’il te plait, petit. I’ll be alright. Dors, s’il te plait.”

Defeated, you nod and laid your head back down on his chest. He watched as you drift back to sleep, envying of your dreams. Gambit shifts his eyes back at the steel door once more and took a deep breath. He'll stay awake as long as his body is willing. Even after that, he’ll burn the other end of the candle to stay awake. He’ll keep you safe along with his friends. It’s the least he can do. It’s all he can do.

[hy-whump-hei]

SLEEP DEPRIVATION: Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on."

CW: Sleep deprivation, isolation, nyctophobia (fear of the dark)

Whumper locks Whumpee inside of an isolation chamber with speakers set up in every corner of the room. Whenever Whumpee is on the verge of falling asleep, Whumper blasts loud sounds out of the speakers at top volume, jerking Whumpee awake.

"No, no, no, no, it's fine, it's okay! Just don't- you know- just leave the lights on for tonight. Please."

When Caretaker finds Whumpee, they instantly scoop them up into a hug that Whumpee feebly returns. Buried in the warmth of Caretaker's shoulder, Whumpee finally feels safe enough to let go of their weak hold on consciousness.

A detective Whumpee drinks an unhealthy amount of coffee to keep them awake and alert for cases, which ends up backfiring when they gain a sense of constant paranoia - as if somebody's watching them. Where they used to be brave and confident, they are now indecisive and self-doubting.

my neck hurts so badly 🤕 so i'm going to sleep :D good evening and see you tmrw for day 9!!

[1u11ablues]

8/ Paid Protection (Ghost x Fem character)

Prompt: Isolation chamber, forced to stay awake

Four snaps of fingers jolted Ghost out of his micro-sleep.

“You don’t get to doze off until I have her location, soldier.”

God, he would never have imagined he’d be taken in—tortured—when he’d ventured into private services. And now, isolated from every human being he ever knew, including the royal he was paid to guard and kept safe, he’d paid the price of ‘easing off’(her words, not his) with sleep-deprived hallucinations.

Still not cracking.

The buzz of the light forms his lullaby now. But every time his head dropped down, the guards standing by his side would poke him with a taser-stick just painful enough to keep his heart in a state of device-induced anxiety.

The only consolation seemed to be the absolute bore of such jobs. Hearing the guards clock in for another night or day of tasing just for them to complain every minute detail of their life to him. 

Oh, but to have a normal life. For him to be just another man, and her, just another woman.

The only door in the room creaked open. The same obsessive man strutted into the room and took his seat to the side of him, just out of his view. But Ghost knew—hoped—that keeping mum about it for just another day longer will help the others get her to where she needs to be: a continent away from his capturer.

“Are we finally eager to share today, soldier?”

A/N: I have too many Bodyguard SImon 'Ghost' Riley AU choiring in my brain

[crimsonwolf715]

Isolated

(Part 3 of Adventures of the Batfamily)

(POV Dick) 

“It’s been three weeks, I think it’s fair to give him a shot. He’s kept his promise. He’s given you guys the space you wanted and he hasn’t gone out and done anything illegal,” Tim says. 

“That we know about,” Dick replies. 

“While I don’t agree with trusting people readily, he hasn’t left the house in three weeks, Grayson. He literally can’t have done anything.” 

Dick sighs. “That’s a fair point, but how are you dealing with this so well, Tim? He’s tried to kill you like a dozen times.” 

“Considering how I came into this family and the things I dealt with when first coming here, I don’t know why you’re surprised. Lots of people have tried killing me for stupider reasons,” Tim answers. “He’s really trying, and that has to mean something.” 

Dick slings an arm around Tim’s shoulder. “I’m glad you two came.” 

“Well, how else are we supposed to talk sense into you?” Tim asks. 

“I just wanted to see you. I don’t actually care about this argument, I just want it to be over,” Damian says. 

“Aww, thanks,” Dick says, ruffling Damian’s hair. 

The three have dinner, then head back to Dick’s apartment. They go out on patrol a little later, but they don’t find any crime happening at all. 

“This is so odd. There’s always something,” Dick says. 

“Maybe they knew that the Murder Baby was coming and decided to stay home,” Tim replies. 

Damian kneecaps Tim and he falls. 

“Behave, you two. Batman will hear about it if you don’t.” 

Deathstroke drops down and before Dick has time to react, Deathstroke kicks Dick into the side of a building. Dick gets up and realizes that there have to be at least two dozen goons with him. Dick grabs a knife out of his boot and Deathstroke laughs. 

“Go to sleep, Nightwing.” 

Dick and Deathstroke get into a fight and Deathstroke stabs Dick in the arm with a dart. Dick takes a slash at him as his vision blurs. His vision blacks out and he falls unconscious. 

(Villain's POV) 

“What are we doing here?” Riddler asks. “We shouldn’t be meeting like this.” 

“Batman’s out dealing with Croc’s brilliant idea to eat people in a bank,” Scarecrow says. “While I also want to know, we shouldn’t be stressing about Batman right now.” 

“I hired some help, but I got them,” Two-Face says. 

“Got whom?” Riddler asks. 

Two-Face opens the door he’s standing next to, so the others walk in. Red Robin and Robin are tied to chairs. 

“Would you look at that,” Scarecrow says. “You really did it.” 

“Was there ever any doubt?” Two-Face replies. “It’s not like we’re talking about Batman here. We’re talking about his stupid little Bat-Brats.” 

“Yes, there was doubt,” Scarecrow answers. 

“There’s only two here. The two younger ones. Where’s the older one?” Riddler asks. 

“I’m so glad you asked. The third one is already in the isolation chamber,” Two-Face answers, walking over to the computer in the corner of the room and turning cameras on. “Nightwing is my favorite to put in there because it’s almost like he needs company to function.” 

Deathstroke walks into the room. 

“What took you so long?” Two-Face asks. 

“Nightwing nearly killed me, so I had to get patched up,” Deathstroke answers. 

“Almost killed you?” Riddler asks. “The nice one did?” 

“I don’t think you know Nightwing well enough. And anyway, he probably couldn’t see clearly. He took a wild slash at me and got my neck. If I wasn’t wearing the armor, I would have bled out.” 

“Huh, little guy’s all grown up,” Scarecrow says. 

(POV Dick) 

Dick doesn’t know how long he’s been awake. He lost track a while ago. 

Scarecrow walks in. “Look at you, the mighty son of Batman.” 

Dick glares at Scarecrow even though Scarecrow can’t tell. The rest of his facial expressions must have given it away because Scarecrow walks over and crouches in front of him. 

“What? Pissed with me? Whatcha gonna do about it?” 

Dick doesn’t even think about it before his aggression kicks in and he headbutts Scarecrow as hard as he can. Scarecrow backs up, holding his bleeding nose. 

“Get the hell outta my face, Crane,” Dick growls. 

Scarecrow quickly leaves the room. 

This feeling is suffocating. The white noise constantly playing, the chair constantly shaking, the fact that Two-Face keeps coming in and flipping his damn coin. Damning his siblings to various types of torture. Dick’s anxiety’s been high since coming up, but this last period of time has cranked it up to an eleven. Subconsciously, Dick knows that it’s a symptom of him not sleeping, but he can’t consciously come to that conclusion. Thus, he’s been on constant high alert. 

Two-Face walks in. “Hello, Nightwing.” 

Dick waits for Two-Face to mention that he headbutted Scarecrow, but he doesn’t. 

“Ready for the coin toss?” 

“Please, just torture me instead.” 

“I am torturing you, and you’re much easier to break than the other two. Heads, they face the torture of my choice. Tails, they get a break.” Two-Face flips the coin and it lands on heads. “Alright, the coin has decided.” 

Two-Face walks out as Dick starts yelling at him to stop. 

Dick is forced to watch his siblings being repeatedly electrocuted. Once Two-Face has had his fill of Dick pleading for him to stop and the other two barely responding, he leaves the room and the glass darkens again. He looks away and he sees Jason. A bloody and battered Jason, lying there in a torn Robin costume. 

He can’t be here too. Why would he be put in here with me?  

Dick looks away. He can’t look at his dead brother, not again. When he turns back, Jason’s gone. 

Where did he go?  

(POV Jason) 

Jason has a quiet dinner with Alfred since everyone else is in Blüdhaven or Bruce has been on a mission for the Justice League since the others left. Alfred heads upstairs after dinner, so Jason heads down to the Batcave. It’s the first time Jason’s been down here since coming home a month ago. He glances at the case where Bruce had thrown his Red Hood uniform, then sits down at the computer. The last time he sat here, he was so much smaller. He looks at everything and realizes it doesn’t look larger than life like it used to. He sighs and leans his head back. 

It’s been so long.  

Something starts beeping so Jason looks up. The computer’s flashing with a blue symbol. 

Grayson’s distress signal.  

The computer lights up and Barbara’s picture pops up. “Bruce… You are not Bruce.” 

“Very perceptive of you,” Jason replies sarcastically, then bites his tongue. “Where’s Grayson’s distress signal coming from? I’m gonna get in contact with Bruce.” 

“It’s coming from a warehouse downtown. I think it’s Riddler.” 

“Riddler?” Jason asks as he tries to remember the sequence to contact the Watchtower. “Has he gotten better since I left? I only ran into him one time and he said something that made me very uncomfortable, but not threatened.” 

“What did he say?” 

“Not repeating it.” The signal says no connection. “The damn Watchtower isn’t responding.” 

“I’ll try getting in touch with him.” 

Jason turns towards the display case. “No need. I’m going.” 

“Is that wise?” Barbara asks. 

“Who the hell knows?” Jason answers. “I’m gonna do it anyway.” 

He goes over and grabs his suit and helmet. “Maybe leave this one for now. That will surely scare them if they’ve been drugged.” 

He puts the helmet down and grabs a domino mask. “Barbara, I’m gonna get a comm, so I’m gonna need you to direct me.” 

“I can do that.” 

Jason goes to change. 

(POV Dick) 

Two-Face has done everything in his power to keep Dick awake and thus far has been successful. Dick almost passed out earlier, but Two-Face managed to give him enough adrenaline to keep him awake. 

Two-Face walks back in. “You ready?” 

“Ready for what?” 

“Ready to try your luck again?” Two-Face asks. “You know the rules. Heads, they’re subjected to torture. Tails, they get their first break of the week.” 

He flips the coin and everything within Dick begs for it to land on tails. It lands on tails. Dick sighs, so relieved. 

“Aww, that’s no fun. Well, I’ll be back in two hours to try this again.” 

“What?” Dick asks. 

“In. Two. Hours. We’ll. Try. This. Again.” 

“You sick son of a bitch.” 

Two-Face backhands Dick hard enough for Dick’s teeth to cut the inside of his cheek. “Don’t talk about my mother like that, you Batman wannabe.” 

Dick spits blood on Two-Face’s suit, to which he promptly freaks. He rushes out of the room to change his suit. The sounds start back up and the chair starts shaking again. 

“Damn,” Dick mutters. 

Dick loses track of time again as he starts crashing from the adrenaline. The door bursts open and he sees… 

Red Hood?  

“Hey, you dead yet?” That voice definitely belongs to Jason. 

“No.” 

It takes almost two minutes, but Jason gets the handcuffs off of Dick’s hands. Dick types in the password on the second handcuffs and pulls them off his feet. 

“You need help walking?” Jason asks. 

“No. We need to get the other two.” 

“Do you know where they are?” 

“They’re behind the glass,” Dick answers, pointing. 

Jason smashes the glass and luckily Tim and Damian aren’t close enough to get any glass on them. Jason through and cuts the ropes that are tying both of them to their respective chairs. Dick pulls himself together and forces himself over to his brothers. 

“Can you take Da… Robin?” 

Dick nods, so Jason grabs Tim. Dick gently picks up his baby brother, then the two head out of the warehouse. Jason clicks a button as they’re walking out. 

“What was that?” Dick asks. 

“You’ll see.” 

They make it a safe distance from the warehouse before it bursts into flames. Jason’s smiling and Dick turns so less of the heat will affect Damian. 

(POV Bruce) 

Bruce comes back into the Watchtower and his comm starts beeping immediately. 

He answers. “What’s up, Oracle?” 

“Where have you been?” Barbara shouts. 

Bruce forces his expression to stay neutral because more of the League members are coming through the Zeta Tube. 

“I’ve been on a mission. We didn’t have a proper signal. Is something happening?” 

“Yeah, Nightwing sent a distress signal last night and I lost contact with Jason after he went after them.” 

Bruce feels his blood run cold. He turns and heads back toward the Zeta Tube. 

“Where are you going, Batman?” Superman asks. “We have a meeting and debrief.” 

“Something’s come up and I need to return home. I’ll write a report when I have time.” 

Batman heads back to the Batcave. 

“Where did the signal come from?” 

“One of Riddler’s old warehouses. I sent the coordinates to the Batmobile.” 

“Thanks, Oracle. I’ll keep you updated. Let me know if something changes.” 

“I will. Be safe.” 

Bruce drives to the warehouse, his anxiety keeping his muscles tight the entire way. When he gets there, the warehouse bursts into flames. 

“No!” Bruce jumps out and runs towards the warehouse. 

“Hey, old man! Cut that out!” 

Bruce turns and sees all of his kids, safe. Relief floods through him and he runs over. Dick’s holding Damian like a baby, who’s unconscious but breathing. Jason’s holding Tim bridal style, and Tim seems to be somewhat awake. He keeps occasionally lightly hitting Jason’s face and mumbling something that’s probably demanding to be put down. It doesn’t seem to phase Jason at all. Dick’s clearly tense and he seems to be slightly leaning on Jason. 

“What happened? Are you all alright?” Bruce asks. 

“There was some kind of jammer in the building,” Jason says. “The only reason the distress signal got through was because someone was taking Gray…Nightwing’s gear outside to dump it in the water.” 

“How long have you guys not been in Blüdhaven?” 

Dick shrugs one shoulder. “God only knows. I don’t even know what day it is.” 

Bruce helps his kids into the Batmobile and heads back to the Batcave. 

“Oracle?”

“Yes?” 

“I found them. They’re mostly alright,” Bruce says. 

“Oh thank God,” Barbara replies. “All of them? You’re sure?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

“Okay, keep me updated.” 

“I will.” 

Bruce calls Leslie and she promises to meet them there as soon as she can. When they get home, Bruce takes Damian and Jason grabs Tim. They set them up, then hear something thud on the ground. 

Jason runs over. “Grayson, are you okay?” 

Bruce walks over as Jason helps Dick to his feet. 

“I’m fine,” Dick says. “I just tripped.” 

“Getting out of a car. You’re not fine,” Jason says. 

Jason helps Dick onto one of the beds and Bruce walks over. 

“When was the last time you slept?” 

“I don’t know, that depends on how long we were there. I haven’t slept since getting there.” 

“Can you remember, even a rough estimate, of how long you were there?” Bruce asks. 

“I lost track after about thirty-eight hours,” Dick answers. “They kept me awake and then… I had to watch him torture them.” 

Dick starts crying, so Bruce hugs him. Dick puts his head on Bruce’s shoulder. 

“Hey, Tim. Probably not wise to roll off the bed, buddy,” Jason says. 

Bruce turns his attention to his other children and Tim looks asleep. Jason’s probably not actually talking to Tim. 

“Thanks, Jay,” Dick says. 

“You’re welcome,” Jason replies, awkwardly avoiding looking in Dick and Bruce’s direction. 

Leslie shows up with Alfred and the two care for Tim and Damian, who have minimal serious injuries. Leslie says that Dick’s just suffering from lack of sleep. Jason reads quietly to Dick until he falls asleep, which makes Bruce smile. Leslie gave medication to the other two before she left, so all of his kids besides Jason are sleeping soundly. 

Bruce turns to Jason. “Thank you.” 

Jason looks down at the uniform, then makes eye contact with Bruce. “I want to help. It doesn’t mean that I agree with everything that you’re saying, but I can’t just sit by while things are still so bad. While you guys risk your lives.” 

Bruce thinks about it. “You’ll have a trial period and we’ll go from there.” 

“That’s fine. I’ll make some changes to the uniform, it needs it.” 

Bruce nods. “You should go get some rest.” 

“Yeah, I will. ‘Night, Dad.” 

“Goodnight, Jason,” Bruce says, smiling. 

Jason heads upstairs and Bruce settles down to watch over his kids for the night.

[blancheludis]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Whumptober 2024 Day 8: isolation chamber

Fandom: Batman Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson Tags: Child Abuse, Dark Bruce Wayne, Running Away, Protective Dick

Summary:

The car breaks down outside of Metropolis. Bruce arrives only a few hours later.

"There's an inn a few miles down the road," he says, his face impassive. Jason knows him well enough to know he is furious. "You can walk or one of you gets the trunk."

Jason looks at the free, spacious backseats of the car. Before Tim can make a stupid, self-sacrificing decision, Jason pushes forward and in front of him. "We'll walk."

The car breaks down a few hundred kilometres out from Metropolis. It is not the smartest place to go, considering that Superman is based there, but they did not actually plan much beyond the how. When was the best and earliest opportunity. Where was just away. They got farther than Jason would have expected. He has long since given up building on hope.

"What now?" he asks as he opens the door and stretches out his legs. They are all alone out here, having stuck to smaller streets. No one to help get the car running again. No one to helpfully point them in a direction where two runaway kids could disappear to, never to be found again.

Tim is fiddling with the car's cables, fruitlessly trying to get a reaction out of it. Nothing happens. The entire car just shut down on them, leaving them to come to a slow halt by the side of the road, with no clue what, exactly, went wrong, much less how to fix it.

Finally, Tim resurfaces and mulishly packs up his little toolkit. "We should get someone to look at it," he then says, shrugging at their surroundings, void of any life. "There must be a garage around somewhere."

"We don't have that kind of money," Jason says, as if Tim needs the reminder. They have slept in the car instead of getting even a cheap motel room, and lived off junk food to stretch their meagre cash as far as they can. "Aren't you a computer genius, though? Can't you hack a bank and get us some money?"

Tim snorts, not sounding very amused at all. He leans back in his seat, closing his eyes. "I don't think life will get better in prison."

Jason is not so sure about that. It cannot really get worse. "B wouldn't send us to prison," he says anyway, turning the key in the ignition again, as if the twentieth attempt will actually change the outcome. "Too much temptation for us to talk."

"Not if they put us in solitary," Tim points out, voice too quiet for it to be ever mistaken as a joke.

"Tim." Jason reaches out and grips Tim's shoulder like a lifeline. Softer, he adds, "We'll think of something."

It is a lie and they both know it.

Still, Tim manages to smile at him. "Sure."

Bruce arrives a few hours later. That just shows they never quite got out from under his thumb in the first place. He stops the car a few feet in front of them and then gets out. He leans against the hood as he watches them silently. Perhaps they should have taken their chances and gone straight through the fields instead of sticking to the road. It would, at least, have made it harder to find them, even if that would have only delayed the inevitable further. 

"There's an inn a few miles down the road," Bruce finally says. His face is impassive, but Jason knows him well enough to know he is furious. The kind of icy anger that burns everything it touches. "You can walk or one of you gets the trunk."

Before Tim can make a stupid, self-sacrificing decision, Jason pushes forward and in front of him. "We'll walk."

Because there is no question who would be allowed to ride in front and who would get locked up in the dark, cramped space behind. It is one of Bruce's favoured punishments for Tim. And it looks like he chose the car accordingly. Things will be bad, but Jason has not yet learned not to fight.

Bruce nods as if it is all the same to him. "If you make it until sundown, you'll get dinner."

They do not get dinner.

Jason is the one who ruins a perfectly good vigilante and pushes him over a line they did not know was drawn in the sand. He wants to go to the new production of Macbeth. He is the reason they are on the road that night, right in the path of a man driving drunk. He gets Alfred killed. It is all downhill from there.

Tim is also Jason's fault. He saw the kid first, following after them at night with his camera and absolutely no sense of self-preservation. He should have been subtler, should have taken the kid aside and told him to stay away in a way that worked.

Instead, Tim kept following them and, one night, hit with a dose of fear toxin, revealed he knows who Batman is. Tim's parents got served a lawsuit for criminal neglect two days later and Tim officially became part of the Wayne household a week after that.

For days, Jason did not sleep, waiting for the inevitable, wanting to apologize for ruining another life but not knowing how. The first time a bruise darkened Tim's cheek, he knew it would not do any good.

He is still trying to protect Tim as much as he can.

Bruce is waiting for them in front of the inn, drinking from a half-empty water bottle. 

"What exactly was your plan?" he asks calmly. He is his most dangerous when he is calm.

Tim is eyeing the water, his eyes lingering too long before he turns towards Bruce. "We wouldn't tell anyone." He does not clarify what he means. He does not need to, of course. There are a hundred damning things to pick from.

It is still the wrong answer, Jason knows, and winces. Strike one.

Bruce shows no outward sign of what he thinks. "Jason?" he prompts instead.

But Jason is tired, too. Tired and thirsty and on the verge of lying on the dusty ground and just giving up. "What the fuck do you think?" he snaps. 

It is usually not a good idea to make Bruce angry. The thing is, he already is. Now it is all about damage control. About not drawing things out. The longer Bruce has to think about things, the worse it will get. He already had two weeks to simmer. Two weeks of running and they are back to square one.

"Language," Bruce says without inflection. Strike two.

He gets to his feet and picks up the bottle, only to casually empty it out on the ground between them. For a moment, he watches the water sink into the dirt like a declaration of what is to follow.

"Come," he orders. And, like beaten down fools, they do.

Turns out, Bruce does not need a trunk. The closet in the inn is lockable and small enough to be uncomfortable. It is not, however, soundproof like the one in the manor.

Jason tries to keep quiet, but Bruce has both experience and patience. He knows how long he has to hit Jason and where, to make it really count. To make him bite his lip bloody and then cry out anyway.

Tim still does not have a lick of self-preservation, because he hammers against the closet door, drawing attention in a way that is dangerous. Jason does not want him to be locked in, but he wants him to be dragged out and beaten right alongside Jason even less. They all have their roles to fill, and Jason is not as fragile as Tim. He has taken beatings long before Bruce ever took him in. 

Just like Tim knew isolation before Bruce ever built a sensory deprivation chamber just for him.

"Next time, I should send Superman after you," Bruce says the next morning when they are in the car, driving back towards Gotham. "I'm sure he could make the lesson stick."

Jason shudders. He sits primly, careful not to let his bruised skin touch the back of the seat. Of course, Bruce knows to accelerate fast enough to push them all back far enough to count.

He can only imagine the damage Superman could do if he puts his heart in it. The few times they have met, Superman was always genial, careful when handling normal things and people. Bruce is good at keeping up facades, too, though. Jason does not want to find out how Superman gets rid of his frustration.

Tim is friends with Conner and he never let anything slip. Then again, neither do Jason or Tim.

For a man his size, Bruce knows how to move quietly. It only adds to the quiet threat of omnipresence he likes to wield. There is nowhere they can hide without him finding them, nothing they can say without him hearing it. Privacy is nothing more than a pipe dream in the manor, and Jason has learnt to expect that everything he does will be used against him.

Bruce appears in the door to the dining room, where Jason is trying to get caught up with school work. When they arrived back, Jason's work was laid out for him on the table and he was ordered to get started on it immediately. He could only watch helplessly, as Bruce led Tim further into the manor to lock him up for who knows how long.

"Dick will come for dinner. He wants to hear all about your vacation to Metropolis," he says, his tone mocking but not hiding the threat behind the words.

They will have to conjure up stories about a happy trip that never happened. Not that Jason particularly wants to talk about the truth, about failing to run away, about all the reasons why they even felt they needed to in the first place.

Jason has never found out whether Dick knows what is happening in Wayne Manor behind closed doors. He does not think that Bruce ever touched Dick. The first time Bruce hit Jason was after Alfred died, long after Dick had moved out. Also, Jason could never imagine yelling at Bruce the way Dick does. Jason snaps and curses and shows his teeth, but only when he knows punishment is inevitable. The waiting is always the worst thing for him. Dick, on the other hand, often seems to argue just for the sake of arguing. Jason could never. He does not have a death wish.

Jason straightens his shoulders. "Is there anything specific you want us to prepare?"

Sometimes, Bruce gets out Alfred's cookbooks and gives them impossible tasks in some attempt to relive the old days. Or to set them up for failure. He does not need a reason to punish them, but he still likes to make some up.

Bruce shakes his head and says, "Tim can cook. You and I will train."

Jason swallows. They have been back for barely a day and every movement is hell, pulling on the welts littering his back. He merely nods, though. If Tim is to cook, then Bruce will have to let him out of the chamber. That is good. He will gladly take a few more bruises for that.

Dick comes in bright and smiling. He engulfs Jason in a hug that Jason is sure reopens some of the cuts on his back. He does not make a sound.

"Jaybird. I was so jealous when B told me about your vacation." He pouts as he turns to greet Tim, too. "Why didn't you invite me? We could have made a proper outing of it. All us brothers on the road."

Brothers, Jason thinks and almost scoffs. Tim is his brother, cemented in misery and blood and the doomed need to protect each other. Every minute Tim is out of his sights just allows anxiety to grind down Jason's insides further.

Dick, on the other hand, is just the kid Bruce took in before them, who once did not like Jason for taking his place while not bothering to check whether Jason actually still wants to be here. He is an infrequent guest, who puts Bruce in either a worryingly happy mood or a terrible one. Neither of which is actually good for Tim and Jason. A happy Bruce gets creative. An angry Bruce is just cruel.

"We thought summer is a busy time for you. It was rather spontaneous," Tim answers diplomatically. He is wearing a sweater long enough to hide the burns on his arms. Of course, Bruce was not content with just letting him cook. "You know how it is. The lack of homework and exams paired with summer heat? We just wanted to get out for a bit." Or out for good.

Neither Jason nor Tim had to learn how to lie. True, they used to do it under drastically different circumstances, but at least Bruce deemed them both reasonably capable of keeping their mouths shut without doing it for them or locking them up indefinitely.

Dick sits down at Bruce's right hand, leaning into his space like there is nothing to it, like Bruce's hands are not just there, within easy punching distance.

"It's been ages since I took a vacation, though." He is making puppy dog eyes at them, including Bruce, who smiles in return, broad and honest. The sight just makes Jason's stomach churn.

"Next time, we'll take you," Tim says easily.

Next time. Bruce had said that, too. As if there truly would be a next time. They had their chance and blew it.

Tim moves to serve the soup. His hands are not as stable as Alfred's were, once upon a time. Might be that he has not yet shaken off the hours of being locked up. Might be the burns pressing against the hot china.

"Deal," Dick agrees with all the enthusiasm of someone missing any and all signs of the tension around him. "I hope you didn't get into too much trouble."

Tim and Jason share a quick look, brief enough that Dick does not notice. Bruce, of course, does. He always does.

"Trouble?" Jason takes over to allow Tim enough respite to try to serve the soup without spilling any. "You know Timbers. We were going from one museum to the next. No time for fun when there's things to learn."

No time for fun when they were fearing for their lives, either, but that is just another secret tucked away behind high walls and new scars. Trouble, however, they know intimately.

Picking up Tim was a stroke of luck for Bruce. There is no better way to control someone than by threatening someone they care about. Tim and Jason took to that lesson like ducks to water.

Jason would have either given up or done something drastic ages ago if it were just him and the vengeful bat in the manor. Now, if he goes two hours without seeing Tim, he gets nervous. And pliant.

And Tim, well, Tim will never not try to spare Jason, no matter what that means for himself. He has never learned to think of himself as someone worthy of protection, of love. Jason does his best to rectify that, but life is making that very hard, indeed.

The first time Bruce put a gun in Jason's hand, he thought it was a joke. Batman has rules, principles. Not taking lives is one of them. Probably the most important of them. Batman has gotten a lot laxer about his rules, however. And sending others to do his dirty work does not, apparently, count as breaking the rules at all.

He saw potential in Jason and now bleeds him dry using it.

"I can help," Tim insists one night, a secret whispered only once they are sure Bruce is out of the house. They have taken to sleeping in the same room, as if that would actually make them any safer. If he wants to, Bruce comes for them no matter whether the other watches.

"No," Jason denies him immediately. "I will not let you kill someone." Things are bad enough without loading that on Tim's conscience.

"I wouldn't do it myself," Tim argues stubbornly. "But I can arrange it. If you need a break."

And he could do it. Easily.

But Jason says, "No." And that is that. It is enough that his own hands are bloodied.

Tim's talents lie elsewhere, anyway. He is trained to fight like all of them, but the true magic happens when he is put behind a screen. Recon, research, finding patterns, writing up ridiculous complex formulas to predict all kinds of things, hacking anything and anyone he sets his eyes on.

Jason is strong and Tim is smart. Bruce uses them accordingly.

Bruce is restless. They have been back for a few weeks, but he does not seem willing to let it go, watching everything they do, just waiting for the smallest mistake. It is almost as bad as during those weeks after Alfred had just died. It had broken a dam when Bruce had struck Jason for the first time, when he realized how he could lessen his own pain by putting it on another.

"Perhaps we need to switch it up a bit, since you've been feeling so adventurous lately," Bruce says in the middle of dinner. He pushes away his plate, making Tim and Jason scramble to put their cutlery down. It is a principal rule that nobody eats once Bruce is finished. "Tim, go to the gym and wait for me there."

Tim stands up immediately, even though he looks wide-eyed at Jason before he moves to the door. It is not the prospect of a beating that scares him, Jason knows.

As if Bruce read their minds, he continues, "Jason, you know the way to Tim's chamber."

Chamber, of course, is an entirely cruel name for the cramped, dark box Bruce likes to lock Tim into, taking away his senses and freedom in one go.

"No." That is Tim, standing straight, one hand on the doorknob, not moving. He is pale and trembling, but he looks straight at Bruce, refusing to back down.

"What was that?" Bruce smiles and Jason feels a trap snap close around him.

Tim swallows, his knuckles going white around the doorknob. "I said no," he says, anyway, his voice the only thing that does not waver. And then he makes it worse by adding, "Running was my idea."

Jason is on his feet in an instance. "That's not true," he exclaims, almost stumbling over the words. "I stole the car keys. I convinced him to go."

They are left to glare at each other, unwilling to let the other take the fall, even though they know better, even though they know it is never about whose fault it is. They both ran. They both broke the rules.

"It seems we have a bit of a conundrum." Bruce waves Tim back in. "Sit."

He waits just long enough to watch them both do as they are told. Then he gets up himself and leaves the room, knowing they will not move. Not so soon after having been dragged back here.

When he returns, he has a switch in hand, well-used, familiar. He puts it down on the table between Jason and Tim. He has the gall to be still smiling.

"I think twenty strikes each sound fair. Tim will start." It is the calm in his voice that always, always gets Jason's blood boiling. The way he can sit there and just casually order them hurt. The way they always comply.

Tim remains where he is for a long moment, drawing deep breaths. Then he stands and, with entirely too steady hands, begins to pull his shirt off.

"Oh, no," Bruce interrupts, his smile turning into something sharper. "You will do the honours."

Shirt halfway up his torso, Tim freezes, expression filling with horror as realization dawns. Jason knows his face must mirror Tim's. This is not - Bruce hurts them. They do not hurt each other.

"No," Tim says for the third time this night. No one could ever say he is not brave. Bravery is the surest way to get himself hurt here.

"It's twenty if you do it. Of course, you'll have to repeat strikes if I don't think you're taking things seriously," Bruce says easily, looking at both of them in turn, making it clear what Jason will have to do, too. "If you make me do it, we double it."

Double. Forty. Jason swallows.

They look at each other, Jason and Tim, brothers in misery but also something far more precious. Jason loves Tim. Whatever else happens in this house, Tim is family and there are lines he will not cross. From the determination settling over Tim's features, Jason thinks - hopes - he feels the same.

Forty strikes from Bruce will be brutal. Even if they were to do it themselves, though, there is no telling whether Bruce would not have them repeat strikes to reach the same number, because there is no way Jason could hit Tim in a way that could ever satisfy Bruce. And that is not counting the psychological element of it. It is hard enough to be helpless, to watch when Bruce hurts Tim. He will not be complicit. Not any more than he already is.

"No," Jason says, his throat dry. It does not come out as strong as he hoped, but strength has never helped them anyway. "I will not hurt him."

"Is that so?" Bruce cocks his head to the side, sounding curious. "Tim?"

Wordlessly, Tim shakes his head and then finishes to pull his shirt off. He folds it, showing a calm Jason is certain he does not feel. Then he pulls a chair out of the way, braces his arms against the tabletop, and waits, staring unseeingly at the remains of their dinner.

"So obedient, all of a sudden." Bruce hums and just looks for a long minute. "Stay where you are. Jason, we'll begin with you."

That is the obvious choice, of course. The pain is just half the punishment. The rest is having to watch. Tim might not be fully present by the end. Why give him an easy out?

Jason swallows a curse as he gets to his unsteady feet. He does not bother to fold his shirt but simply throws it on the table.

"Count for me, Tim. And do take care. I'd hate to begin again if you miss one."

Every time, Jason thinks the anticipation is worse than the actual hits. Every time, Bruce proves him wrong.

"One."

"We have to do something," Jason says, two nights later. Bruce is out on patrol and Jason has taken a jammer out of the cave. He is not going to let Bruce overhear this.

Tim sits up in bed. "What can we do?" he asks, sounding utterly exhausted, which has little to do with neither of them being unable to sleep. "Do you think the car broke down out of the blue? You know Bruce. He's weird about his cars."

Which means he let them run for two weeks, just waiting for the right time to bring them low. Like a cat playing with its prey.

"It's only going to get worse."

Tim nods in agreement but still scoffs. "And who'd believe us?"

"Look at us," Jason says, pointing at where bandages peek out from under Tim's sleep shirt. "Who wouldn't believe us?"

"Let me rephrase that." Tim rolls his eyes, Jason knows despite the darkness. "Who would believe us that we could actually contact without Bruce knowing and who would do something about it?"

Jason knows exactly what Tim means, of course. They have been adopted by Bruce Wayne. They should count themselves lucky for that privilege. Surely, being slapped around a bit is an adequate payment for a life otherwise lacking nothing. Nothing that Bruce does not withhold from them.

"You're the computer whiz," Jason says, aiming for a lighter tone and falling painfully short. "Don't tell me it's impossible to get a message out. Hell, one picture should be enough." At least until Bruce's money and lawyers make it like no evidence ever existed. That is the oldest story in the book. Money dictates the world.

"It's not impossible." Tim shrugs. He likely has played through all possible scenarios already. "I just don't know how quickly he'll notice. We can't be around when he finds out."

An involuntary shudder runs through Jason. Getting caught at trying to run away again, after the first time went so terribly wrong just a few weeks ago, could just be the thing that tips Bruce entirely off the edge. And he is barely clinging on as it is.

"He hasn't killed us yet. He likes it too much to have his own personal punching bags," Jason says, although it does not come out as convinced as he would hope.

What if Bruce does tire of them? Worse, what if he wants to exchange them for a younger, less troublesome model and Jason has to die knowing he has condemned another person to this hell?

Tim looks at him, too young and too serious. "He also hasn't had us hurt each other before. Things like this always get worse."

The words settle between them, making the air taste bitter. Although that might just be the bile at the back of Jason's throat.

"So what?" he finally asks. What can they do, if staying is not an option but running is hardly feasible either?

"Superman isn't an option. The way Bruce talks about him, he might already know," Tim says, falling into the familiar rhythm of presenting research. "I can try Conner, though. I mean, I can call for him without technology."

Their civilian identities are still a secret, of course, so they cannot know that Conner will answer if it is not Robin calling.

"And then?" Jason asks anyway. "Wonder Woman loves children."

She pretends to, at least. Then again, Bruce likes to get photographs with the babies at orphanages, too, whenever he has to visit for the Maria Wayne Foundation.

Tim smiles bitterly. "I'm not sure the Justice League will forsake their bankrolling member just because of us." There it is again, the problem with the money.

"Gordon?"

But Tim shakes his head before Jason has fully finished saying the name. "He has taken Batman beginning to kill without protest."

True. So much for the only upstanding commissioner of Gotham.

"Dick?"

They look at each other, full of the same gnawing hesitation. This might be their last chance. They cannot botch it up.

"Assuming he doesn't know," Tim picks up the idea as if it is not a giant, uncertain if. "What could Dick do against Batman?"

The mere thought is laughable, so Jason points out, "Nothing. But against Bruce? He could get us out of the house. He will never reveal Batman's identity and he wouldn't let us do it either, Bruce knows that." Allowing himself a moment of weakness, Jason says, "We could just go living with our older brother."

He expects Tim to shoot down such a stupid pipe dream immediately. Instead, Tim studies him, his features somehow sharper than before.

Then, without the slightest trace of hesitation, he says, "We could also kill him."

"Tim," Jason exclaims, immediately looking at the door, half expecting Bruce to appear as if summoned.

"What?" Tim asks dryly. "He must know we'd think of that eventually. We're trained. He's paranoid but he can't be on alert all the time."

It is true and Jason will not lie and say he never thought about it before. Taking a life, now that he has had practice, is not hard at all. They would have to carefully prepare, but it should be doable. It would, however, just get them into a whole new world of trouble.

"We're not killing Batman," Jason decides, sounding more convinced than he feels. "We're not killers. Not when he does not force us to be."

Tim nods and some of the tension bleeds out of him. "All right."

A small part of Jason is disappointed at Tim's quick acquiescence. "Just like that?"

"I just wanted you to know that's an option." Tim reaches out in the dark, finds Jason's hand and squeezes it. "I would - you know. For you."

Jason turns his hand so they are holding each other. "If it ever comes to that, I would, too. For you."

They do not let go of each other until the sun rises outside.

They needle Dick long enough that he agrees to take them to some kind of event in the zoo. Jason has already forgotten what it is about, but it coincides with an important board meeting at Wayne Enterprises, so they are reasonably sure to be free of Bruce for at least a few hours.

On the way to the zoo, Tim, admirably, keeps up with Dick's excited chatter, pretending for all the world to see that nothing is wrong. Nothing at all. Jason grunts out responses when needed and otherwise tries to keep his heartrate under control. He hopes his lack of excitement can be put down as him being a moody teenager and feeling himself too old to go to the zoo with his brothers. He has never had a talent for acting, and he will not start to try with so many things hinging on this going right.

Once at their destination, they make sure to pass at least four security cameras and then dive into a crowd where it is loud enough that their phones will have trouble picking up their conversation if Bruce decides to listen in. They still ditch their bags there for the moment - and Dick's, too - just to be sure. Bruce is not the only one who can be paranoid. Then they drag Dick off into a corner of the zoo with fewer people and, more importantly, no security cameras.

"What's going on?" Dick asks, because he, too, was trained by the greatest detective and, of course, knows that something strange is happening. He does not resist them, however, which has to count for something.

"We need to talk to you," Tim says simply, sounding like he is chewing glass. "Only you."

Dick raises an eyebrow at the implication but nods, tersely.

When they are suitably out of the way, Jason looks at Tim, suddenly breathless. Are they really doing this? Well, it is now or never and Jason has never liked waiting. 

"We noticed you are yelling a lot at Bruce."

That is not exactly how they were going to start the conversation, but Jason needs to know. All of their plan hinges on Dick being clueless as to what is going on in the manor. After how their last plan ended, Jason is not willing to take any chances.

Dick's shoulders slump. "Boys, it's -" He trails off, looking miserable. His face is so open, guileless. "I'm sorry if it's making you uncomfortable. It has nothing -"

Jason cuts him off, not able to stand the uncertainty any longer. "Has Bruce ever hit you?"

Out of the corner of Jason's eye, he sees Tim wince. He shrugs at him. They are on a strict schedule. They cannot be out of sight of cameras and out of the range of their phones for long.

Dick is staring, opening and closing his mouth several times, before he manages to ask, "What are you talking about?"

Jason crosses his arms in front of himself and shifts slightly, just so that he can slip fully in front of Tim if it becomes necessary. "Has he?" he then demands. Before he does not have a satisfying answer, they cannot push further.

"No, of course not," Dick exclaims, entirely too loud before remembering where they are. Much quieter, he continues, "I know it's not good that we keep arguing so much but -" Dick cuts himself off as he takes a closer look at them, at their sombre expressions, at the way Jason's hands are digging into his arms and Tim is standing entirely too straight. "Did something happen?"

In a measured tone, Tim asks, "Would you believe us if we said that Bruce hit us?"

Dick flinches back and stares at Tim, stares like he can open up their heads and find out exactly what is going on. He clears his throat, but his voice still comes out rough. "Us as in both of you?"

Tim turns abruptly and, after a quick glance around, lifts the back of his shirt. Their backs are looking better, the bruising already more green and yellow than angry blue. The places where Bruce drew blood, however, are unmistakable. Fine, parallel lines like a confession.

"Forty strikes," Tim says, voice sharp, clinical. He has no intention of pulling his punches, so to speak. This might be their only chance. "Well, forty-four, because he did Jason first and then had to start over several times with me because Jason was fighting to stay conscious and did not start counting quickly enough."

Jason wants to close his eyes at the memory, but he keeps watching Dick. This is the moment of truth.

Pure horror takes over Dick's face and Jason cannot help his relieved sigh. Dick did not know. Dick does not approve.

Jason reaches out blindly, finds Tim's arm and squeezes. He is not sure he can keep standing on his own. Tim shrugs his shirt back on properly and then moves against Jason's side. They have practice keeping each other up.

"Is this - are you -" Dick takes a deep breath, then tries again. "Was this the first time?"

"No," Tim says and smiles, no trace of humour on his face. "Far from it."

Dick leans back, pressing his hand against his mouth. He does not look away, however, does not hide his terror. "And you both - you - your trip?"

He is smart, quickly connects the dots. Jason tries not to feel bitter about the fact that they might have gotten help earlier, if only Dick had deigned to see them.

"We were running away," Jason admits, shaking off his misgivings. He learned early on in life not to cry over what ifs. "Unsuccessfully, of course."

To give him credit, Dick does not ask why they did not come to him sooner, why he seems to be their last resort. He knows Bruce, perhaps not as well as they do, but well enough.

"We can't get him arrested."

They know that. Bruce has too much money, too many lawyers just waiting to do his bidding. He has the Justice League and Gotham's police. They are just two kids with nowhere else to go.

Jason and Tim stay silent. They both agreed on the importance of this. Dick must want to help them, must offer to help on his own. Otherwise, he will never stare down Bruce for them to tell him he will lose them both. Well, all three of them, at best.

They watch as Dick thinks, fighting to correlate the Bruce he knows with what he has just learned. Then, he sets his jaw. "What can I do?"

Jason feels like he is taking his first real breath since their stolen car broke down. Tim finds his hand and holds on for dear life. They are not alone anymore.

[lettersfromaplatypus]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Day 8! Kinda proud of this one considering I'm just as sleep-deprived as Tim here.

Rating: Teen and up (ok it's probably more like general but whatever)

Archive warnings: none apply

Category: gen

Fandom: Batman (DC)

Relationships: Tim Drake & Duke Thomas

Summary: After being held captive in an isolation chamber, Tim’s developed a fear of the dark. Which is dumb, as he literally works with Mr. “I-am-the-night” himself and dozens of people who called themselves “bats”, but… so does Duke.