Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Then take me,” Jason says into the shocked quiet. His heart is racing, pounding beneath his jaw. He can’t quite believe he’s doing this. “I’m just a kid. You can handle me.”

Two-Face regards him with an unreadable expression. His gun doesn’t waver from where it’s pointed at the woman’s head. Jason can’t tear his gaze from the slick gleam of dark metal. If Dent won’t take Batman as a hostage, then it has to be Jason. This may be his first ever outing as Robin, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is Robin. He can’t let Two-Face hurt an innocent person.

“Besides -” Jason keeps going, desperate for Dent to agree, to let the terrified woman go. “Think of the power you’d have over Batman. And better still, I’m the second Robin. Think of it! It’s so fitting -” Because Two-Face always commits crimes based on the number two, that’s what Bruce had said.

“Yes,” Dent says. “It’s almost too ironic.”

He shoves the woman away from him, although he keeps the gun held threateningly towards her. Jason steps forward to take her place, letting Harvey wrap a possessive arm around his chest, dragging him close against his body. Cold metal presses against his temple. Jason isn’t scared. He’s not. His heart isn’t beating hard enough to almost burst out of his chest or anything.

Jason meets Batman’s cowled gaze, trying to look more confident than he feels. Bruce’s jaw is clenched tight, but he gives Jason a reassuring little nod. Jason will be alright. Bruce won’t let anything happen to him.

He keeps telling himself that as Two-Face leads him to his stupid looking car and forces him into the passenger side. Jason’s never been held at gunpoint like this before, but this isn’t the first time he’s been around a gun, or an angry man wielding one. He just has to play this right and look for a chance to slip away.

“Now I must warn you,” Harvey says as they pull out onto the road. “I’m not a nice man. If you try anything at all, you’re a dead bird.”

His gaze flicks between the road and Jason, but the gun stays steadily pointing at Jason’s face. He’s sure that if it was Dick that Two-Face had taken, he’d already be free. Bruce never misses a chance to tell Jason just how much better the first Robin was. He’s probably regretting letting Jason be Robin at all.

Jason’s a little surprised when Two-Face pulls off the road, down a little dirt path. They haven’t gone far, surely this isn’t where Dent had been planning on taking him. Maybe he’s hoping to drop Jason off and buy himself enough time to escape. Maybe he’s planning on just shooting Jason and leaving his body on the side of the road for Batman to find.

The thought sits strangely in his stomach, little butterflies fluttering to life. He shoots Dent a wide-eyed look, but the man isn’t looking at him, focused on slowing the car to a stop. He keeps the engine running, but shuts the lights off. In the sudden dark, Jason can only see the gleam of Harvey’s exposed eye and the wet glint of his teeth.

Dent reaches into his pocket and pulls out his lucky coin. Jason can’t read the expression on the unmarred side of his face, or the look in his eyes as he turns to properly face Jason. The gun doesn’t waver. Harvey must be stronger than he looks because Jason’s not sure that he could hold his arm up like that for an extended period of time.

Soft moonlight spills through the windows, illuminating the silver of the coin as Harvey flips it into the air. He catches it easily with one hand. His gaze lingers on Jason for just a fraction too long before he glances down at the coin.

“Evil wins,” Dent says in a low voice.

Jason’s heart jumps up into his throat, almost choking him. Two-Face is really going to do it, he’s going to shoot Jason right here and now, and discard him like yesterday’s leftovers.

“Wait,” Jason croaks out. “Wait, you can’t kill me.”

“Who said I was going to kill you?” Dent says, dropping the coin back into his pocket. Jason doesn’t like the look on his face. It makes his stomach churn, a strange anxiety he doesn’t recognise seeping through his veins.

“Then why did you flip the coin?”

Two-Face doesn’t put the gun down, even as he leans in close, his free hand reaching out to cup Jason’s cheek, oddly tender.

“It’s not often that I have such a pretty young hostage,” Harvey says, breathing the words into the scant space between them. Jason jerks back instinctively, tugging out of Dent’s grip. He can’t mean - he can’t.

Jason’s not stupid, he knows exactly the sort of thing men like Harvey are capable of. He’s seen plenty of scum just like him on the streets. Still, for some reason, he hadn’t thought that it would happen to him. Especially not now. Not as Robin.

But there’s no mistaking the look in Harvey’s eye. Lust. The thought sends a disgusted shiver down his spine.

“No,” he says, as if denying it will somehow make it not happen. He knows that there’s no reasoning with men like Two-Face, and yet he can’t quite bring himself to just sit back and let it happen. “Batman will be here soon. You should run while you still can.”

Two-Face doesn’t seem to be listening to him. He grabs the back of his neck, dragging Jason closer over the console so that he’s sprawled half in Dent’s lap, half in his own chair. Jason squeaks as he’s manhandled, off balance and terrified.

All this time he’s been on the streets, he’s somehow managed to avoid this. Even when he was starving and desperate - when the nice whore on the corner of 5th Avenue had offered to let him work the corner with her. Even when he’d been sleeping in storefronts and seedy alleyways. Somehow he’d avoided this. And now here he is, Bruce Wayne’s ward, Robin, with a man’s hand creeping down his back, hot breath on his face.

Two-Face’s wandering hand cups over his ass, huge and warm. “Don’t act like you won’t like it,” Harvey says against his ear. “Just look at this slutty little outfit.”

His fingers curl underneath Jason’s asscheek, dipping beneath the hem of his uniform pants. The touch against bare skin has Jason’s stomach lurching. “No,” he says again, as if that had done anything the first time. “Stop. Please.”

Two-Face shifts, tugging Jason closer with the hand on his ass so that Jason is sprawled face down across his lap. He catches himself against the door of the car with his hands, kneeling awkwardly. Dent brings the gun back up, tucking it beneath the shelf of Jason’s jaw. The cold metal digs in painfully.

“You can beg all you like, sweetheart,” Dent says harshly. He’s breathing hard through the press of his teeth. “But it won’t change anything. The lucky coin has already spoken.”

Jason yelps as his pants are torn down in one rough motion, exposing his bare ass to the chill air of the car and - worse - to Two-Face’s leering gaze. Dent smooths his hand over the newly exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Jason shudders. Just the thought that Two-Face is touching him like this has nausea prickling over his tongue.

The hand lifts, only to smack back down against the meat of his ass with a sharp slap. Jason jerks, a cry strangling in his throat, more out of surprise than any real pain. He brings his hand down again, harder this time, and Jason’s shout almost drowns out the pleased little noise Harvey makes.

“Mm, little birdies should really learn not to mess with the big boys,” Dent purrs, stroking his hand over the hot skin of Jason’s ass. The motion could be soothing, if not for the way it sets Jason’s stinging skin ablaze, or for the hard press of what must be Harvey’s erection jutting into Jason’s stomach.

“Please,” Jason whimpers. The shame of it burns, hot in his throat. He should stay silent. He shouldn’t give this sick bastard the satisfaction, and yet it’s almost impossible. The fear of it loosens his tongue and clatters beneath his ribcage.

“Don’t worry little bird, I’ll give you what you need.”

Thick fingers press between Jason’s buttcheeks. Jason yelps, trying to squirm away. His feet kick out instinctively, but at the awkward angle they don’t do much. Harvey pushes deeper, until he’s rubbing at Jason’s asshole. At the same time, he shoves the gun into the underside of Jason’s jaw hard enough that his head jerks back, the pain sharp and sudden.

“I won’t warn you again,” Harvey growls. He doesn’t even attempt to ease Jason into it, just shoves two fingers into him, the blunt agony of it scraping along Jason’s insides.

“Stop!” Jason shrieks, an awful, undignified noise. He should be better than this. He’s Robin. He should be able to fight this bastard off, or at least take it without complaint. He shouldn’t be squirming on Two-Face’s lap, face wet with tears as Harvey fucks him roughly with his fingers.

“Don’t make me splatter those pretty brains all over my nice interior,” Harvey says, low and rough. Jason struggles to make sense of the words, too caught up in the terrible, burning pain in his ass. God, if only two of his fingers hurt this bad, Jason doesn’t want to think about what’s coming.

Then abruptly, Harvey’s pulling his fingers free. Jason sobs a relieved breath, slumping down over Two-Face’s legs. Maybe that’s it. Maybe this was just some sort of fucked up lesson and Harvey will let Jason go.

He’s not really naive enough to believe that. Still, he can’t quite hold back the sob as Two-Face almost lovingly strokes the barrel of the gun up over his cheek and taps it against his bottom lip.

“Up you get, little bird.”

It’s awkward and uncomfortable, but Jason manages to drag himself properly into Harvey’s lap. Dent reclines his seat a little, letting Jason straddle his hips. Jason’s pretty small, but his knees are still bent kind of painfully, digging into the back of the chair.

Two-Face touches the gun to Jason’s collarbone and reaches between them with his other hand. The sound of his zipper coming down rattles through Jason’s skull like a gunshot. His breath catches in his throat, wet and thick.

“Gorgeous,” Harvey says. The unmarred side of his face is loose and heavy with lust. Jason doesn’t want to do it like this. He doesn’t want to do it all, but especially not like this, face to face. He doesn’t want to have to look at the twisted, puckered skin, or the exposed eye, or the sick heat of his gaze.

“Batman will- he’ll-“ Jason’s weak voice trails off into an embarrassing whimper at the hot press of bare flesh against his ass. That’s Two-Face’s dick. Oh god, this is really happening.

“Batman’s going to be far too late, sweetheart. I’m going to fuck your tight little ass and there’s nothing you or Batman can do about it.”

Jason shuts his eyes. Two-Face grunts as he positions himself. Jason can feel the brush of his knuckles, then the hard, terrifying push of his cock between Jason’s asscheeks. Two-Face shifts, grabs Jason’s hip, and presses him down.

It hurts. Oh god it hurts. Sharp, scraping agony as Two-Face forces him down over his cock. An awful, gurgling whine slips from Jason’s throat. He jerks up, trying to get away instinctively, but Dent’s grip on his hip is hard enough to bruise. Jason’s thighs tremble at the effort.

“Fuck,” Dent hisses. His hips thrust up, fingers digging hard at the jut of Jason’s hipbone. He moans as he slides into Jason’s body inch by torturous inch, until they’re pressed together. Until Jason feels like he might tear apart.

“Please,” he sobs. It’s humiliating to be reduced to this. Crying and begging like a child. He’s Robin. He’s supposed to be better than this. And yet, the pain of it is more than he can bear. It feels like Dent’s cock is buried all the way up to his throat. Like his insides have been crushed to nothing beneath the thick press of him.

“It’s alright, birdy,” Harvey says, tinged with pleasure. “I’ll give you what you want, slut.”

His fingers grip hard at Jason’s hip, urging him up a little until he’s crouched awkwardly, thighs burning with the strain. He starts thrusting, hard and fast right away, not giving Jason anytime to adjust. Not that he thinks he could adjust to this, to the blunt thickness of him, the agonising scrape across his insides.

“Stop!” It comes out high and embarrassingly wet. Two-Face ignores him. The force of his thrusts almost knock Jason off balance. He grips onto Harvey’s shoulders, clawing at his suit. The gun presses into his collarbone, hard enough that he’s sure he’ll have a bruise.

“Fuck, so tight baby,” Harvey moans.

Jason’s pretty sure he loses time, rocked on top of Dent. His whole world narrows to the slide of his cock, the wet pain between his legs, the slick of his sweat down his spine. At some point Two-Face lets go of his hip and grips the back of his neck instead, fingers curling beneath his jaw, tugging him close against his body. His hips stutter, thrusting quick and rough against his ass. He groans, low and deep, and Jason feels wet heat where they’re joined together.

For a moment, Two-Face just holds him close as he pants against Jason’s ear. The hand on his neck tightens, pulling Jason back. Two-Face is still inside him. The back of Jason’s thighs feel damp and sticky where they press against Dent’s legs. Two-Face shifts the gun up, up, up. He presses it into Jason’s bottom lip, insistent, until Jason opens his mouth and Dent can push the gun in. The taste of cold metal and gun oil makes Jason gag, his teeth scraping over the barrel.

“Bye bye, birdy,” Two-Face says quietly. Jason’s heart stops beating, nausea swelling sharp and sudden in his stomach. He’s really going to die here. Two-Face is going to kidnap and rape and murder him in this shitty car on the side of the road, and Batman is going to find his dead body.

A flash of light strafes the inside of the car, momentarily blinding Jason. Two-Face jerks, looking over his shoulder in time to see the dark silhouette of Batman against the headlights.

“Fuck,” he hisses. Jason stares at the gleam of his exposed eye. Batman is here. Batman is coming for him.

Two-Face wrenches the gun from between Jason’s lips, scraping the top of his mouth. He pushes the door open, the chill of the night air spilling into the damp heat of the car. Jaons shivers, goosebumps rising over his exposed skin. Harvey shoves him off and Jason - still crouched over his lap, off balance and awkward - tumbles out onto the muddy verge.

The screech of his tires as he peels away is shockingly loud next to Jason’s head. Then Batman is there, grabbing onto him with rough gloves, hauling him upright. Jason can’t seem to get his legs to cooperate. They’re limp beneath him, his pants still tangled around one ankle, exposing him.

“Robin,” Batman says, gruff and low at his ear. “Oh my god, Robin.”

He crushes Jason against his chest, smashing his face into the hard planes of his armour. Jason claws at his arms, legs sliding in the mud as he tries to get them under him. He’s pathetic. He can’t let Batman see him like this, exposed and filthy and weak.

“B,” he croaks.

“What did he -” a choked off noise “- I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry,” Batman says, in a voice so wrecked it barely even sounds like him. “I should have gotten here earlier. I never should have let you go with him. I didn’t think - I’m so sorry.”

He rocks Jason in his hold, like a baby. Jason squirms, pushing against the armoured chest. He needs some space. He needs to pull his pants back up. He needs Bruce to not be here. He’s going to see what a failure Jason is. He’s going to take back Robin.

“Two-Face,” Jason says. His mouth hurts. There’s blood on his tongue. “He’s getting away.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay,” Bruce says. Jason’s not sure if he’s even listening to him. He shifts, so that Jason is cradled in one big arm, then reaches down and starts to work Jason’s pants back up his legs. There’s dark smears on his thighs, shining wetly in the stark light of the headlights. Blood.

“Don’t,” Jason says, pushing his hand away. He tries to pull his pants back up himself. It’s surprisingly difficult. His hands are shaking so hard that he can’t seem to get a good grip.

Bruce makes a sound like a dying animal, keening and awful. Jason flinches, cringing back. The sound of Bruce’s pain grates on the parts of him that are flayed and bloody. This time, when Batman reaches to help, Jason lets him, turning his face away so he doesn’t have to watch Bruce work the pants up past the blood on his thighs and the handprint bruises on his hips.

“I’m sorry,” Jason says wetly, then can’t seem to stop saying it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Robin,” Bruce says. “Jason. This wasn’t your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

He traps Jason more securely against his chest, pushing himself up to his feet. Jason feels small and pathetic, carried in Bruce’s arms. But also, safe. Bruce is here now. He has him.

“I’ve got you, Jaylad. Everything’s going to be okay.”