– ꩜ RED HOOD: HOSTAGE . by @cinder-rxse / 〔 SERIES MASTERLIST 〕
꒰ CHAPTER FOUR ꒱ TORN APART (2.6k) – You've been caught and dragged into hell. You didn't think your father would kill you, but you knew his plan would be much, much worse
"Put her under," You heard your father say for the twentieth time. You struggled before two men shoved your head under the water again in the bathtub. Your hands flew to the sides of the tub in an attempt to help yourself back up again. When that wasn't working, you tried to hit the men's faces, arms – anything. Eventually, they let up.
You rose with a gasp, a fit of coughs followed, "Why..." you managed to rasp out, breath still frantic.
He looked at you, cigar in hand, "Because you've been a bad girl, my love." He knelt next to the tub, giving you a smile and blowing smoke into your face. "I tell you not to go near that birdy boy, and you start hanging out with the big bad bat. What made you think that was allowed?"
You licked your lips, water dripping off them. The first drops of water you'd had in so long, "...You..." breathing still wasn't coming easily, "...You don't control my life anymore..." You tried to deliver it with some form of harshness, but the water in your mouth made it sound rounder and a lot less commanding.
He huffed, "That's where you're wrong, my little dove." His hand came up to rest on your chin. "You know, just as well as most. I pull the strings in Gotham." He flung your chin back with his fingers, "Who is he? The Bat? Tell me now," his tone got serious very quickly. When you responded with silence, he gestured for the men to put you under again. And they did. You struggled as they held you down for longer, your vision going blurry before they lifted you up by your hair. You were heaving when you came up.
"...Please," You started, breathing in deeply in case they put you back under, "I don't... I never met him..."
He made an annoyed grunt and dug his cigar into your skin. You cried out through gritted teeth. He pressed it in with more force, "I never taught you to lie. Don't try it with me."
He finally let up on your arm and gave an upward hand gesture. The men lifted you out of the tub. Your clothes were completely drenched, your skin pruned.
"Boss?" You heard a voice behind you, not bothering to look.
He sighed, "Can you not see I'm in the middle of something important?" Your body went limp in the arms of the men holding you up. Hope was for the delusional.
"The chair's ready." The man spoke in a smaller voice than when he first came in. The chair? What the fuck was that?
Your father smiled, looking at you. "Oh, honey, this is going to hurt."
You screamed as the vaults coursed through your body. It'd been a few weeks since they'd started this form of torture. They'd drench you in water, then shock you, which made the electrocution so much more powerful. You thought maybe you'd eventually grow a tolerance for the pain, but you didn't. They weren't even asking questions any more, they just did it for sport. Sick people.
You were spasming as they took the restraints off of you, your head falling forward, almost lifelessly, as your limbs were completely ragdolled. They dragged you back to your cell, throwing you in with so much force that you hit your head against the floor with a strength that made you pass out.
Your eyes opened to bright, clinical lights. Someone standing over you adjusted the light above, angling it lower and allowing you to see who was standing above you. A man, with a surgical mask on, and one of those scrub caps on his head. You'd never felt dread quite like you had right now.
You looked down to see you were on – a fucking surgical table. Oh, God.
Looking around, there were other people in the room too. Some wore scrubs, some were in suits and ties.
"What the–" You slurred, drowsy from waking up. "What the fuck are you doin' to me?" You wriggled around only to find you were restrained at the wrists, ankles and hips. You also noticed Jason's accent on your voice; you hadn't done that in a while.
The man's eyes landed on yours, tears in them as you noticed his hands shaking. Great. You were about to be mutilated by a surgeon with shaky hands.
His eyes were glassy, "I'm so... so sorry." The surgeon's voice was shaking, and as you went to gaze down at where his arm was moving, "It'll be worse for both of us if you look," he said in a very quiet voice.
That's when you realised, he'd been coerced. He didn't want to do this. You let out a sob, "Please... please don't."
The sound of your father's voice addressing the men in the suits rang in the background as the surgeon spoke again, "He has my wife and daughter." A tear falls from the man's eyes.
You let out a strangled noise. He had to do this.
"Please..." You pleaded, "At least tell me... What are you going to do to me?"
You saw his jaw move to talk, but then – a muffled noise in the distance. A command to begin preparing you for the surgery.
He nodded once, and you felt a cold sensation on your stomach. A wet cloth of some sort. You could tell the surgeon was overwhelmed. His entire body was shaking at this point, breathing shallow. Survival instincts kick in, and you'd quickly decided that if this was going to happen, which it definitely was, you'd rather a steady-handed surgeon than a panicked one.
"What are their names?" You asked quietly in an attempt to calm him down, and he shook his head. Tears kept pooling in your eyes as you tried as hard as you could to keep your own composure. "Tell me their names."
"Louise and..." he hesitated, "Charlotte,"
"Is Charlotte you're daughter?" You asked, and he nodded. "How old is she?" You choked out. Fuck.
"Five." He let out as he stifled a sob of his own.
"What's your name?" You muttered.
He hesitated before speaking, "Thomas."
"Thomas," You started, tears falling freely now as you felt him drying off your lower stomach, "Thomas. When you start, I need you to talk about Charlotte. Anything, everything. Just keep going and don't stop until it's over, okay?" He looked at you, pausing his action, and nodded. "It's okay, Thomas, this isn't your fault. Just think about them." You're full crying now, he picks up something thin and metallic. You see it gleam under the lights.
A restraint is put over your head, which makes the panic rise even further. This was happening. This was really happening. And it wasn't some nightmare; it was your father.
"She began ballet last year..."
That was the last thing you heard before everything began ringing in your ears. You felt the metal against your skin, a blistering pain flying throughout you. It was unreal how easily your skin was being separated. Your hearing was fading in and out now.
"She loves to draw birds and..."
Bile rose in your throat when you felt the clamps on your thick flesh. The hot, warm liquid that you'd figured was your blood was falling out of you at an alarming rate. Then Thomas reached in. This is when you had no idea what he was doing because the pain was so intense it felt like they'd lit your entire body alight.
"... so she kicked him in the balls. Fiesty little girl..."
You felt emptier as he brought something large to the side of the bed onto a metal tray table.
"But that's our Charlotte – our no-nonsense, beautiful girl.."
Then you felt something cold inside you, something solid. What the fuck was that? You cried out again, "PLEASE! PLEASE ― OH GOD–"
"And my wife..."
You felt the clamps come off your skin, then the sewing began. Then someone undoes the restraints on your head. You were stupid to think it was an act of mercy, as a gag of some sort was shoved into your mouth, which was followed by the leather straps being locked around your head once more.
"... then she turned around and proposed to me, telling me any other way had patriarchal undertones..."
Your jaw bit down ferociously on the piece of dirty fabric as he continued to sew. You'd think, in comparison to everything else, this part would be a walk in the park. But the needle was so deep in your skin, it was one of the worst parts.
"I swear, I'd never been so completely in awe of a woman in my life..."
As you felt the pull of the surgical string tying it off, your body went into shock. Vision going white, before going dark again.
You were sure you looked like a zombie, roaming the Gotham streets in a dirtied, bloodied hospital gown. You weren't sure where to go. The hospital would fuck around and find out, and the chances of you exploding were far too high to put an entire building of sick people at risk. But you weren't even sure about that. Your father had given a very ominous warning.
"You've got a device inside you. If you go near anyone in Batman's inner circle, it'll activate. Don't test it."
You'd thrown up multiple times on the sidewalk. It was a quiet night, so there were no judgey eyes. But there was a figure in front of you that made your blood run cold.
Red Hood.
He looked stunned in the way he stood. Frozen. He took a few robotic steps towards you.
"No– don't come any closer– JASON STOP..." You spluttered, stepping backwards as he came to a halt.
"What the fuck–" You heard him say quietly, "What the fuck happened to you?"
You winced, the stitches still fresh, "There's this fucking– I don't even know what it is – device?" The words spilled out, "This device is on me that might do something really bad if you get too close."
He shook his head, "Then take it the fuck off,"
The air left you, "I can't, Jason."
"What do you mean you can't?" He yelled now, getting fed up and confused.
Your vision blurred, and you couldn't tell whether it was because of the blood loss or because of the tears. You lifted up your hospital gown with a wince, showing the rough, aggravated stitching.
He took off his helmet. You'd never seen him do that in the streets before. Too risky. The look on his face was confronting. Any trace of resentment or anger had completely diminished, replaced by a quiet horror you'd never seen on him.
"What..." He murmured to himself.
You sobbed, "It's... It's my father..." You really tried to hold it together, but it wasn't working very well. "All he's told me is that this'll – this thing will activate if I'm around anyone in Batman's inner circle."
He shook his head in shock, "Your... father? He did this to you?"
"Jason, focus." Your voice wobbled, "How would–" bile rose in your throat again, "How would this device know you were nearby?" He was still at a loss, mouth open in awe. You'd gotten an idea, "Is your helmet, Wayne Tech?"
He snapped out of his daze momentarily, "Y-Yeah. This one is."
"Throw it behind you," You breathed, "Your guns too."
He stilled a moment before complying, throwing everything down an alleyway.
"What now?"
"Anything else on you, Wayne Tech?" You asked sheepishly, to which he shook his head. "God, no, I can't..."
Something clicks for him behind his eyes, "You think it'll recognise the signature..." he says under his breath, "That's really smart."
"What if I'm wrong?" You let out a whimper at the ache of the stitches, "I don't know what'll happen if I get close."
Jason took a step towards you, "Let's find out."
You backed away, "No, Jason." But he kept walking towards you, "What if I fucking blow up? What if you do?"
"How the fuck would that thing blow me up? What? Does it know my DNA from a few feet away?" He tried to reassure you, "How big is it? The device?"
You gave a broken scoff, "I didn't exactly fucking look at it as they ripped my stomach open and shoved it in there–"
"This is important," His voice was low now.
You closed your eyes, trying to feel the metal in your lower abdomen. It didn't feel all that big at all. "Two match boxes, maybe?"
"It's not a bomb," He sighed, relieved but still with an unknowing edge to his voice. "Stay still."
He stepped towards you again, and you kept taking steps backwards, "What if he– I don't know, he could've–"
"Trust me." The look in his eyes was similar to one he'd given you a lifetime ago. So you took a deep breath and stood still. He took a few cautious steps before picking up his pace. Now stood directly in front of you. "Everything okay?"
You nod. As soon as you do that, he wraps his arms around you. And you hate the way you melt into his broad body. It feels right. Standing there with him. You grab at the red bat-like symbol on his chest, bunching the material in your hands. Then you start bawling, choked sounds forcing their way out as you realise you're finally safe. He held you tighter; his heart ached at hearing you like this.
And when the two of you finally broke apart, you looked up at him. He looked lost in his thoughts, completely drunk on confusion and adrenaline combined.
"I'll take you to my safe house," he says softly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.
"But your weapons are everywhere–"
"I'll move them." He interrupted, shaking his head. He then bent down and lifted you off your feet in a fireman's carry. Your arms wrapped around his neck loosely as your head fell onto his shoulder.
He'd laid you down on his bed. You insisted the couch was fine, but he wasn't having it.
"I need a shower," You mumbled, exhausted and traumatised.
"You need rest," He pulled the sheets up over you.
"No, I'm filthy. I'll dirty your sheets," You argued as you tried to get up, but he just forced you back down again.
"The sheets have seen worse," He said before thinking. Jason glanced at you, pressing his lips into a thin, awkward line. You let out a dry huff.
"Thank you for this," You whispered, snuggling into the pillows.
He gave you a nod, awkward again. It was like he didn't know what to do with himself now that you were in his apartment, but you weren't his girlfriend.
His eyes fell onto the side of the bed he always insisted on sleeping on. The door side.
"You can stay if you'd like,"
His eyes widened, caught off guard.
"No. I really shouldn't," he sighed, "If you need anything, call out. I'll be on the couch."
He started walking away as you spoke, "I honestly..." You ran your finger over the material of the sheets as a comfort, "I don't know if I can be alone after it all."
Jason gave a tentative sigh, "We can't do that."
You turned over in the bed without another word. You felt him linger in the room fleetingly. Maybe he'd stay? That's when you heard his footsteps lead out of the room.
You'd asked too much. Fuck.
"An hour," He'd said as he entered the room again, pillow in hand. He'd always slept with two pillows under him, more comfortable for his neck after all the injuries.
You didn't turn around, keeping you back to him. But hearing his soft breathing was an anxiety-relieving sound. Always had been, always would be.
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NOTES: this might be shit bc theres not a lot of jason actually in it but yk. story type shii. anyways hope u enjoy, dw im getting back to hollow tmr. typing this at 4:46 am guys so im on the tumblr grind just for u. LUH U BYE