Chapter Text
The tiles were cold beneath Jason's bare feet, which seemed odd to him since they were in the scorching desert. The compound must use some kind of natural cooling. Mountain springs or some bullshit. Probably just solar powered air conditioning, who the fuck knows? Why was he thinking about that now?
Tim sat cross legged on the bed, quietly watching Jason pace. Like Jason, he was shoeless and sockless. They were in civilian clothes, but they'd been stripped of anything they might use to escape, as well as any concealed weapons and tools they'd had. They were both in nothing but semi-casual party attire.
Jason should probably have been sitting down seeing as he had been trying to hide his limp from Tim, but if he stayed still he might explode. Tim narrowed his eyes at the leg Jason was definitely not favoring, but didn’t comment.
"How the fuck are you so calm?” Jason only barely didn’t literally snarl. His head was pounding. He rubbed gingerly at the lump on the back. Those bastards hadn’t held back, he was lucky he didn’t have a concussion. Tim didn’t look much better. “Isn't this like your worst nightmare or something? He's like your mortal enemy. Immortal enemy. Whatever.”
"Really trying not to think about that, Jay, but thank you so much for pointing it out." Both of his eyes were starting to blacken from his broken nose. The bleeding had stopped at least, and he cleaned it up the best he could. Jason couldn’t see any other visible injuries, but there was no telling what was hidden beneath his clothes. Neither of them had gone down easy.
But they had gone down.
Tim’s answer was completely fair. Nice one Jason, way to be an asshole. Still, it was driving him crazy how serene Tim was acting when Jason couldn’t hide how fucking scared he was of Ra’s. He hated himself for it. "Sorry. But you're just sitting there, why aren't we escaping right now?"
"Because it's Ra's. You have to learn to play his game. Just trust me, okay?"
Jason didn't stop pacing. "Okay, so what do you think his plan is?"
"I think he's probably still in the plotting stage. He wasn't exactly expecting us to just fall into his lap like this.”
And goddammit, they had done just that. They'd been undercover at a private party in
Dubai and they'd almost literally just bumped into Ra's al Ghul. He'd looked just as surprised as they had. Needless to say, they hadn't made it out of the party under their own power.
"Well you know him better than anyone,” Which wasn’t strictly true, Bruce and Damian held that title, but Jason knew Tim had worked closely with Ra’s at some point. He didn’t really know the whole story, but he knew how it ended—he’d seen the scars. “If you were him, what would you do?"
Tim glared—the first real emotion Jason had seen since this started. "I really resent that."
"Resent whatever the fuck you want as long as it gets us out of here."
Any semblance of emotion slid smoothly away and Tim’s face went blank again. Jason could see now how forced it was now. As forced as any of Tim’s masks ever were, anyway. "Quit worrying so much. I can get him to let you go, no problem."
Jason sputtered. "You really think I'd just leave you here?"
"Don't be stupid. Of course you will, because if you get out of here you can tell the others where I am."
As logical as that sounded in theory, Jason did not like that idea. "Won't Ra's be expecting that?"
"Yes, but he won't be worried about it, his ego is too big." Jason hated how right he was. Ra’s was the original megalomaniac.
"Do you know what he wants with you?" Again, Jason didn’t know the whole story behind their relationship. He assumed it was similar to Ra’s and Bruce’s; Tim and Bruce were so alike it was uncanny, and Ra’s would see that easily.
Tim shrugged a single shoulder, his hands still clasping his crossed ankles. "I can think of a lot of things. I'd rather not."
"Look, if I'm gonna be leaving you here,” as if, “I want to know what I'm leaving you to. And how are you gonna convince him to let me go, anyway?"
This idiot was always too ready to sacrifice himself. (See: directing an entire fleet of murderous drones at himself to save everyone else. And that was just the tip of the iceberg). Just like Bruce. Jason wondered if it was secretly their egos. Ra’s probably liked that, too.
Tim closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Will you stop pacing? You're giving me a headache."
Jason did not stop pacing. "You didn't answer the question."
"And I don't plan on doing so."
"You—"
There was a polite knock on the door and Jason froze. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Tim tense minutely. For all of his posturing, Jason could tell the kid was scared and just putting up an almost flawless facade.
The door cracked open and a man peeked in the room. "Hello," he said in thickly accented English. "I hope I am not interrupting."
He stepped all the way inside and gave a meek smile. His short hair and beard were dark and he wore a light green thawb.
"I am Fahad. Master Ra's has assigned me as your personal escort. I will be serving you for the duration of your visit here."
"Our visit won't be long, Underling Number One, so you don't need to stick around," Jason sneered.
"It is Fahad, sir. And Master Ra's has instructed me to escort you to his drawing room."
Jason snorted. "Drawing room?" he mocked. "Are we in a Brontë novel?"
Fahad frowned. "I apologize if my English is not correct. What word would you use?"
Jason opened his mouth and then closed it again. He looked to Tim who shrugged. "Parlor?" Tim suggested. He fell easily into the infamous Robin banter, the familiarity easing some of the tension. "But then you're getting into historical southern romance novel territory, and I don't think that's the theme here.”
“Yeah, definitely not a Margaret Mitchell story, Timmy.” Jason glared at Fahad. "Fine. We'll go with ‘drawing room for now,’ but only because I don't have a thesaurus handy."
Fahad looked a little baffled. "I will show you the way now, if you would?"
——
On the walk to this supposed “drawing room,” Jason and Tim decided on “sitting room.” Jason should have thought of that sooner. The only drawback was that he couldn’t think of any literary quips that applied well enough to their particular situation.
Give him some time, though.
Ra’s’ sitting room was surprisingly plain, the colors warm and muted. The rugs were thick and cushioned under Jason’s (bare fucking) feet, but lacked the intricate designs he would expect. The furniture was still, of course, sturdy and expensive, the chairs high-backed and skillfully carved, the small round table in the center of the room coated in gold, but the chairs and couches were arranged in a boring configuration, no centralized throne-like chair for Ra’s.
Ra’s was lounging on one of the couches. He gestured to the opposite couch. Jason and Tim didn’t move.
"Detective," Ra's greeted. "I hope you are finding your accommodations agreeable.” He didn’t try to insist that they take a seat.
"Ra's," Tim responded coolly. "What can we help you with?" Jason was impressed. Tim didn’t seem fazed at all, even with his blood stained face and purpling eyes. Jason hoped he was coming off just as nonchalant, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t even close. He was shaking in his imaginary boots. Anything Pit-adjacent had a tendency to do that to him.
(What if there was a Lazarus Pit here? Right beneath their feet? Would he feel it? The smell of it was always still staining the insides of his nostrils. What if he wasn’t just imagining that?
He tried to hide the shudder.)
When in doubt, just look really pissed off. That usually worked for him.
Ra's smiled. It was slimy and predatory. Jason was grateful as hell that Damian hadn’t inherited it. His self-righteous, puff-headed little smirk was all Bruce. "You know,” Ra’s said, “I haven’t anything prepared, Timothy, I do apologize. This has been nothing but a fortuitous happenstance. I had planned on pursuing you again in the future, of course, but I took our meeting at that gathering as an act of fate and had no choice but to take the opportunity in the moment."
He looked at Jason with displeasure. “You, however, were never part of any plan.” He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “What to do with you, Jason Todd?”
Jason bristled, but when he tried to think of a witty retort he pulled a blank. He wasn’t at his best when he was fucking terrified, okay?
“You were quite the entertainment in the fighting pits, as I recall.” All other thoughts fled as Jason’s body went cold, ice flooding him all the way to his toes, settling the heaviest in his stomach. His ears started ringing. “Perhaps we will relegate you to that once again.”
The feeling of bones crunching beneath his fists. The smell of blood and mud, a mixture of both caking his body. Was it sweat or blood dripping in his eyes? Pain on the back of his thigh—the slash of a sword. He didn’t understand what was going on. Why were these people trying to hurt him? He wanted his mom. Where was Bruce? Where was…
“—barbaric, plebeian form of entertainment, Ra’s.” Jason tuned back into the conversation. His lips and fingers were tingling. Tim had shifted slightly so that he was partially blocking Jason from Ra’s. “I’d expect something more sophisticated from you than watching people beat each other up.”
Ra’s tsked. Damian’s little tic sounded gross coming from Ra’s’ mouth. “There is nothing more elegant than watching two warriors in a dance to the death, Timothy. It is an ancient and primal sport; it strips man of his superfluous complexities and pares him down to nothing but instinct and skill. Seeing a man look death in the eye is seeing his soul.”
Ew. Cliche.
“You call forcing a confused sixteen-year-old to fight for his life elegant?” Jason could see the anger radiating off of Tim. His facade was cracking. Ra’s was getting under his skin expertly.
“I see you are passionate about the subject.” Ra’s was smirking. He knew exactly what he was doing. “Perhaps you should see it for yourself before passing judgement. As a master of martial arts yourself, I am sure you will change your mind once you have seen it with your own eyes.”
Jason’s head was starting to go fuzzy, his focus drifting outside of his control. It was taking too much effort to keep his breathing steady.
“I will have such an event arranged for tonight. For you, Timothy, I will bring out my two most prized fighters.”
So not Jason? He wasn’t going to force Jason to fight. Not tonight, anyway. His knees went weak with relief, but he kept them locked hard.
Ra’s hummed. “I would like to invite you to dinner, Detective. I can think of many subjects on which I would like to pick your brilliant mind. We will attend a fight after.”
“He’s not going anywhere with you alone,” Jason said firmly. It was almost impossible to keep his voice from shaking, but he wasn’t going to let this happen.
“He will be perfectly safe, I assure you.” Ra’s’ eyes flashed. “And you might find it prudent, child, to refrain from provoking my ire. The only reason you are not currently being cut open and studied for your resilience to the Lazarus Pit’s effects is because it would upset Timothy. The fighting pits are not out of the question, as I believe he would find that preferable to your death and would therefore be more agreeable to it as an option.
“I have not yet decided your fate. Be mindful.”
“If you so much as lay a hand on him I will tear down your entire empire,” Tim said. There was that cold Red Robin facade again, clicking easily back into place. His voice didn’t hold an ounce of inflection. It wasn’t a threat, it was just a statement of fact.
A slow smile split Ra’s’ face, and an honest-to-god twinkle sparkled in his eye. “Playing that game with you would give me great pleasure, Detective.”
——
They were silent as Fahad led them back to their room—or chambers as Fahad called it. Jason’s head wasn’t sitting solidly enough on his shoulders right now to come up with anything for that one either, even though it should have been an easy one.
When they were alone again, door safely closed behind them, Jason collapsed onto the edge of the bed. It was Tim’s turn to pace.
The sound of swords clashing and men crying out was still ringing in Jason’s ears. He knew he could hold his own in the fighting pits—he had before already—but that wasn’t the point. The smells, the sounds...it would bring back too many memories and he just—he—
It took too long for him to register the face hovering in front of him and the hands on his shoulders. Tim was crouching in front of him with concern pinching his features.
“Sorry, what?” Jason asked, shaking away the phantom sensations.
“I asked if you were okay, but I got my answer,” Tim said, straightening. “Tell me where your head’s at?”
Jason shook his head. “It’s fine, I’m good. I can do whatever we need to do.” His head was actually about 10 inches to the left of where it should be.
Tim shifted and dropped down on the bed next to him. “We need to feel things out more before we can start thinking up an escape plan. For now all we can do is kill time.” He glanced over at Jason. Not subtly. “Plenty of time to talk.”
Jason scrubbed his face with both hands and allowed himself to be more vulnerable than he wanted to be. “What if there’s a Lazarus Pit here?” He couldn’t keep his voice from shaking anymore. “I don’t ever want to be near one ever again, Tim. I can still remember the smell. Sulfur and sweet, like rot. Wrong. And I don’t want to fight in the pits. It’s pretty clear how just the mention of them is affecting me. I’ll freeze up and get myself killed. And...” He took a breath. “Ra’s scares the shit out of me.”
“You’re not going back into the fighting pits, Jason. Or anywhere near a Lazarus Pit. Not if Ra’s wants any ounce of cooperation from me.”
Jason shook his head numbly. “You heard him. He’ll give you an ultimatum. You’ll have to choose the lesser of two evils.”
Tim set his shoulders in determination. “I told you I know how to play his games. There’s always a third option with him. I’ve got this.”
Jason really wanted to believe that.
——
Jason ignored the plate of food that Fahad had brought him, letting it go cold on the small dining table in their room. Like fuck was he eating any food Ra’s al Ghul offered him. The water, unfortunately, he had to risk, but he did his best to run as many improvised field tests on it as he could first. It didn't burn off his skin or kill him after a small sip, anyway.
He paced. Again. Tim had been gone for too long. How long does it take to eat dinner?
Jason jumped when the door opened.
Tim looked exhausted, every line of his body tense.
Jason was on him the second he walked through the door. "What happened?"
Tim's distracted gaze wandered to Jason. "Just Ra's’ usual...creepiness."
Jason frowned. "You good?"
“Not really. I want to get out of here. Give it another day or so and I think we can start coming up with an actually informed plan. For now Ra's is sending Fahad over with 'proper attire for tonight's entertainment.’” He threw an indecipherable look Jason's way. "He wants you there."
Bile rose in Jason's throat. "I can't."
Tim's face twisted. Oh. That look was sympathy "I know. I don't think we have much of a choice. We have to choose our battles right now."
Jason took a deep, slow breath to keep himself from spiraling. “Okay,” he breathed. “Okay. I said I could do what we needed to do, I guess. Fuck.” He ran both hands through his hair.
He could do this.
He could.
——
Jason didn’t actually get why the memories of the fighting pits bothered him so much. His whole life had been nothing but fighting. He went from fighting on the streets to fighting in a costume. It never stopped. Why should that experience be any different?
Ra’s had made sure Tim was wearing a “suitable” outfit for the night’s show. Makeup covered his twin black eyes and he was dressed in a red Kurdish kaftan, elegant golden flourishes lining the edges of the outer silken robes. The silk shirt was a shining black, adorned with more subtle golden and red flourishes and filigree, and the golden harem pants were tucked into soft boots, the same deep red as the robes.
A gold medallion bib necklace was draped over his chest, topped with a golden collar that was lined with glittering green gems. The green stood out as somewhat out of place with the color scheme of the outfit, but that was clearly intentional. And freakishly possessive. It made Jason want to gag.
Jason’s stomach had dropped when he first saw it. He hadn’t quite understood how extensive Ra’s obsession with his fucking baby brother actually was until then. He hadn't even considered that Ra's’ interest was…like that. He hoped he was reading into it wrong.
Like fuck was he just leaving Tim behind.
“A bit over the top, isn’t it?” Jason asked through gritted teeth, trying to look casual by bumping shoulders with Tim as they walked, and speaking low enough that only the two of them could hear.
“Everything is, with Ra’s,” Tim responded just as quietly. “This is the first time we’re being seen in public together here. He’s making a statement: he always gets what he wants.”
“A statement to his people, or to you?”
“Both.”
Jason’s outfit was much, much plainer than Tim’s. He had been dressed in a similar thawb to the one Fahad had been wearing, though it was a higher quality cotton and a creamy white. The center front seam was lined with delicate golden embroidery, and brown leather boots peaked out beneath the bottom hem. It felt nice to have fucking shoes again. He'd felt oddly vulnerable without them. That had probably been the point. Ra's loved his weird mind games.
Ra's’ outfit was the same as usual—green robes trimmed with golden edges, a bright white shirt beneath it, a golden sash holding up silk green harem pants, and tall black boots. The only difference tonight was the addition of a gaudy lion skin cloak, the fur from the mane wrapped around his shoulders and held in place by bone clasps.
Wasn't he supposed to be some kind of eco terrorist? Shouldn't killing animals be against the rules or something?
When they passed through a tall stone archway that led to a large courtyard, Jason was presented with a familiar scene that made his breath catch in his throat.
The fighting pits were just that—large circular pits recessed into the ground of one of the many grand courtyards that were found around the compound—though he supposed it could be considered more of an arena than a courtyard. There were three pits of varying sizes. One was littered with various obstacles, another with walls lined with inward facing spikes, and the last filled with a deep layer of thick muck. The walls of each pit were a dark red stone. Jason remembered the feeling of the rough rock against his bare back, scraping deep abrasions into his skin as he fought against the hold of another “warrior.”
Most of his memories of his time post-resurrection and pre-Pit were muddled and foggy, but the fighting pits were crystal clear in his mind, cracked and broken though they may be from his confusion at the time.
The largest of the three was the obstacle pit, measuring maybe 60 or 70 yards in diameter. The smallest was the mud pit, barely larger than a boxing ring.
Mud clogging his nose and mouth; choking while trying to dodge the swipe of a sword. Slogging through knee-deep muck, not fast enough to block the blow to his abdomen, knocking what little breath he had out of him.
Coughing and gagging, trying to suck in air, but his vision was tunneling and he was on his knees waiting for the—
“No killing blows with this one, Tahir. Lady Talia is keeping him as a pet for the time being.”
“Jay?” Tim’s hand was on his shoulder, voice low.
“I’m fine. Stop.” Jason spoke through his teeth again, gritting them hard enough to crack, and brushed Tim’s hand off.
He breathed deeply through his nose. Fresh air. No mud. He was fine.
There were no seats or benches surrounding the pits—most of the jeering onlookers stood around them, but some of them were fortunate enough to be given the honor of the best view, sitting on the edge, dangling their feet over the side. Weakness was not tolerated among Ra’s’ ranks—not even from the servants—and anyone who was clumsy enough to fall into the pits deserved their fate and were allowed to be used as sacrifices to the warriors. Human shields, distractions, target practice. Whatever their chosen purpose was, their end was always the same.
It was all part of the entertainment.
The only actually comfortable viewing area was a raised, curved stone platform that oversaw all three pits. The chair atop the platform couldn’t quite be called a throne, but it was only just a step beneath one, all shining dark wood, emerald velvet, and bone accents. Jason was almost certain that it was human bone.
Two high backed wooden chairs carved with symbols and designs Jason wasn’t familiar with sat abreast each side of the regal seat. His and Tim’s.
As they ascended the steps on the side of the platform, Jason felt sick. The thought of being on the other side of the pits made his stomach churn. Most of the warriors who fought to the death here were willing participants...but some of them were not, and there was no way of knowing which was which. There was a good chance he would see an innocent person die here tonight.
It took all of his willpower not to turn heel and flee. He was dreading the sights and sounds that were to come.
Tim didn’t touch Jason again, but he still hovered. He was worried, Jason realized. About him.
Jason hesitated to sit in his chair, but complied when Tim nudged him with a meaningful look.
Jason sat back and did his best to ignore the start of the first fight.