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Jason can't breathe. The idea is ridiculous because he is breathing. If he keeps his breathing shallow, he can survive for around five hours but he doesn't know how long it's been, he'd been out with Dick and Tim and wandered away from them for five minutes and oh god are they okay and there's not enough air in his lungs and his chest is stuttering and—
Breathe. The voice in his head sounds like Bruce. It's stupid, because it's not Bruce. Jason didn't have a comm on him when he'd been attacked and he doesn't have one on him now. He'd checked when he'd tried to see if he had anything that could help him. He knows he can use his shirt to keep the dirt out of his face if it comes down to him splintering the wood (he'd looked up everything he could about surviving being buried alive after he'd woken up in a coffin the first time). The only problem with that is Jason doesn't know how deep he is. He can't tell how long he'd bee digging for.
Breathe. The voice says again. Jason sucks in a shuddering breath and lets it out slow. He repeats the action, knowing he's wasting air. Still, Jason does it. His mind starts to clear even as tears start running down his face, drying uncomfortably in his hair. Jason swallows and takes stock again. He'd been out of it the first time and with a clearer head, Jason takes note of the rectangle his knuckles brush against. He grabs the lifeline. When he flicks open the flip phone, the light is welcome thing. His shoulder relax and every tense muscles goes limp. It's not dark. He can see and he's got a phone so whoever caught him has to be close by. They're either going to call him or…
Jason selects the message app with one text notification.
Call this number: 718-555-4663
Jason punches in the numbers with a shaky hand. The line rings and he makes sure it's on speaker. It's not even halfway through the first ring when the phone clicks with an answer. That relaxes Jason more. The text had been sent several hours prior. Being able to get service means he's not buried deep. He's going to be okay.
"Jaylad?" Bruce's voice is crackly. And it is Bruce. That's not his Batman voice. That's his scared father, Brucie Wayne airhead voice. Jason chokes on a laugh at the thought.
"Bruce?" he says. "Ca—Can you hear me?"
"We can you, Jason."
"Dick and Tim! Are they—?"
"We're right here," Dick says. Jason can hear Tim's relieved voice in the background. Jason can't stop the horrible sob that works out of his throat. They're okay it had just been him. Probably because he'd been the first one they caught alone. Someone had been following them and none of them had noticed. God, Bruce would tear him a new one when he got home.
If you get home. An unhelpful part of his brain chirps. Another sob rips out of his chest at the thought and it hurts.
"Jason, this is the commissioner," Jim says, "Can you tell me everything you remember?" Jason snaps into reporting mode. He can't stop it, the way the words tumble out, stilted and wavering with fear. He tells the commissioner about how he'd left Dick and Tim to check out another store in the mall. He'd turned the corner into the store when someone had pricked him in the neck. He hadn't the time to react before he slipped unconscious and had woken up approximately ten minutes ago before finding the phone and a text with instructions to call the number.
"Good," Jim says, "We've found security footage and we're looking into the men who grabbed you now."
"Commissioner…" Jason says, "You probably can't tell me this but… How long has it been?" Jason needs to know. He needs to know when he'll have to start clawing through the dirt (through the mud caked under his fingernails, the worms in his mouth, the suffocating feeling of no air in his lungs).
"Two hours," Bruce says, when Jim doesn't answer. There's scuffling and Jason can hear an argument in the background, but he can't make out distinct words. He wishes someone would talk to him again. Take away the gnawing weight growing in his chest again and help push away the closeness of the coffin.
"He's my son!" Bruce shouts. It's the first clear words Jason's heard in the last thirty seconds. "I'll tell him whatever I damn well please!" Jason's heart swells. Bruce won't keep him in the dark. He'll let him know what's going on. That's good. Jason can work with that. The tears have worked their way through Jason's sideburns and he can feel the salt pressing against the side of his head. It hurts. His head pounds and that salt isn't helping.
"Jason," the commissioner is back, "We're doing everything we can. We've been trying to track this call, but we're having no luck. I'm… looking into alternative sources." The last part is said with a hint of bitter resignation. Part of Jason twinges at the idea that Barbara would be able to help. He can't tell Jim that, though. He doesn't know. In the background, there's a sound like a ping and Jim tells Bruce to stay on the line. Jason almost scoffs at the idea of Bruce hanging up on him.
"Jay, are you alright?" Bruce asks. Jason laughs. It's a wet sound, covered with panic. He clears his throat as he nods at the hard wood above him.
"Just peachy." he drawls. "No bad memories here or anything." It's stuffy in the coffin which means it's hot and Jason is fighting off every memory he can. Jason reaches a hand up to wipe at the tears.
"Bruce," he stutters, "Where am I?"
"I…" Bruce hesitates. Jason knows he can't get away without causing a scene. Dick and Tim are probably stuck with him, since it had been a successful attempt on a Wayne. The police can't risk a second one. Still, Jason had some hope that Bruce would've found some way to get connected to the Batcomputer or Alfred would have managed something.
"It's okay," Jason says.
"God, you're the one who's missing and you're comforting your old man." Bruce laughs. Jason can't help the half-sob that joins it. He asks Bruce to talk about anything and he does. Jason listens to Bruce complain about public appearances, the most mundane things about running Wayne Enterprises. There's a point where Bruce's voice goes tight and wobbly and he's replaced by Dick.
Dick tells Jason that Tim never got his ice cream. Dick had realized Jason had been gone for far too long, and by the time he went to look for him, half of the Gotham PD had converged on the mall, guns out and corralled Dick and Tim into the back of their cars and driven off to the station. They hadn't been told anything, but they had been trending on social media. When Tim had checked, the news of Jason being missing had already gone viral.
Jason chews on that information. The police hadn't been careful enough. Jason's case being public… That might mess with the ransom. He knows there's a ransom, even if no one's said it. It was Jason Tod-Wayne who had been kidnapped. Not the Red Hood. They wanted Jason in a vulnerable position so Bruce would feel the pressure. So he wouldn't go to the police. But somehow, the police had known.
"They tipped them off," Dick says before Jason can ask, "They wanted the police to know they had one of Gotham's most social elect in their hands. Made the whole thing messier."
"I'll bet," Jason croaks. He doesn't remember going quiet when Dick started speaking. "I mean, I'm sure all of America knows by now."
"Yeah, you're all over Twitter," Tim says.
"Tim." Dick hisses.
"What? It's true. There's a poll going around about what kind of coffin you're in." It's such a startling change in tone that Jason knocks on the wood of the lid. He tilts his head as he raises the phone to get a better look at the grain. He scratches at the wood with his nails and feels it in his teeth. That gnawing in his chest comes back.
"Tell them it's pine," Jason says, "Maybe southern yellow? Not strong."
"Alright." Dick makes a strangled noise and Jason can hear him mutter something. "What? He said to." Dick makes another noise. He can hear the phone change hands and then Tim's talking. Mostly, he's reading off tweets from the internet. Every once in a while, he changes to Tumblr and Jason wonders when the hell Tim made a Tumblr account. Still, Tim doesn't steer away from some of the harsher ones and somehow, it's a comfort. Jason knows he probably shouldn't be hearing about how the GCPD wouldn't care if it was anyone else buried in a coffin, but he does agree. He knows the privilege he has, even trapped in a place where every movement bumps him against his worst nightmare. If Bruce Wayne hadn't taken him in, Jason wouldn't have the entire police force searching for him.
"This one's good," Tim says, "'I can finally say I'm taller than that hunk of a man. RIP if you never read these but if you do I hope you understand'." Jason coughs as he laughs at that one. Tim's odd choice of talking has gotten Jason out of his head. There's still a steady stream of tears pooling around his head, but his breathing has mostly evened out. The phone battery hasn't dipped below 80% and it's looking mostly okay. Jason still won't be able to sleep tonight.
"I've got a radius!" Jim shouts. It's distant but loud enough that Jason can hear. He slaps a hand over his mouth so they can't hear the relieved gasp that tears out of him. He closes his eyes as he thunks his head against the wood beneath him.
Thank God. Thank God. Thank God.
"Thank Oracle," Jim says. Jason hadn't meant for those words to come out. His eyes fly open when he realizes what the commissioner just said. But Jason Todd doesn't know that name. So he doesn't react verbally.
"How big?" Bruce asks. He's right up by the phone now, and Jason wonders where Tim's gone.
"Five miles." Jim says. "It's the best we've gotten. We also have a hit on who it is. I've got men searching their last known location now."
"How…" Bruce trails off. Jason can imagine Jim's 'Don't ask' look easily. He can also imagine Barbara, surrounded by her dozens of monitors and consoles, running through every program she made herself searching for him. Jason's chest lightens at the thought. Barbara was looking for him. Another tick in the 'coming out alive' box.
"There's two cemeteries in that radius, it would make sense for them to bury him there." Jim says.
"Sirens." Jason says. "Use… Use the sirens."
"That… Is not a bad idea, kid."
"I'm highly motivated to be found." Jim chuckles at that. Jason can hear him giving distant orders to the men around him. There's ambulances and police cars at their disposal so Jim tells Jason to listen for either and report back what he hears. Jason can hear the police force as a light hum as they move to obey the orders.
"Let me come," Bruce says. Jason's chest tightens. He bites his tongue to keep from calling out. He'll still have Dick and Tim.
"No," Jim says. Me and you, your other two sons, we're staying here." Jim says. "The second we know which one he's at, I'll take you."
"Commissioner—"
"Mr. Wayne, I am being very patient with you. Your son needs you. You have my radio." Jason can hear the commissioner walk away as his voice grows quieter, still giving out orders. Jason's chest is still tight.
"Jason?" Bruce says. Jason sniffs as the tears blur his vision again. God, he shouldn't be crying. He's closer than ever to getting the hell out of the cramped space. It's still stuffy and hot and there's even less room than the warehouse. He wants to curl up in a ball, but he can't even plant one foot against the bottom of the coffin to bend his knee. The lid gets in the way. His head is pounding. His chest is clawing at him. Jason is so achingly alone.
"I'm right here, lad," Bruce says, "Jason, I'm still here. I shouldn't have—Shit. I wanted to be there the moment they knew. I'm sorry."
"Dad?" Jason chokes out. The word burns his vocal chords. He's never called Bruce that, but he needs to now. He needs his dad.
"What is it?" Bruce says.
"I… Um…" Jason doesn't even know what he wanted to say. "I just… I. I want a hug."
"Oh, lad." Bruce's voice is thick. "I'll be there as soon as I can. You heard Jim, right?" Jason nods. Bruce can't see that so he gives a verbal answer as he closes his eyes against the onslaught of emotions. There's a lump in his throat as he tries to be strong for just a little longer. He's been strong for too long. His fucking scared and he wants his dad. He wants Bruce yesterday and he hasn't felt like that in a long time. Not since before he died. Jason isn't able to stop the lump from bursting and horrid sound escaping his throat.
"Jason?!" Bruce's voice is panicked. "Jason, are you hurt?"
"Daaaaad!" Jason sobs. He can't stop sobbing. The dam's burst and the tears won't stop and he's hiccupping loud and awful. He tries to curl in on himself to get some kind of comfort but his limbs bump the walls of his coffin. He's coughing and choking and crying. Something splits through all the pain.
"A-ambulance." Jason manages. "Ambulance!" He says again. His voice isn't one recognizes. Beyond the haze of fear he can hear Bruce's shouting—screaming—at the commissioner.
"I'm coming," Bruce says, his voice clearer now, "I'm on my way, okay, son?"
"Please." Jason hiccups. Bruce is talking fast and about everything. Jason can't follow the train of thought and doesn't even try to. He just let's his dad talk and talk while he waits for anything else. There's more sirens and he can hear people in the distance. Then, there's a thud above him.
"HERE!" Jason shouts. He slams his fists against the lid of the coffin, desperate, and phone forgotten. He can't dig himself out again, he can't do it this time. The memory of those wriggling bugs all around him is too much right now, but he screams his voice raw at the sound of thuds above. The sound of digging. Of freedom.
Light splits through the wood and Jason doesn't wait to claw himself out. He's on his knees gasping in fresh air and digging his hands in the grass, tears dropping down his face as his throat burns with the Gotham air. Someone drapes a blanket around him. Distantly, he knows it's for shock but he can't be hot right now.
"Off." he says. His voice catches and he's too quiet to be heard. There's arms under his own and when he looks up, it's Bruce. His eyes are red and puffy and his hair is a mess. His usually clean-straight suit is wrinkled to high hell and he's smiling.
Jason whines as he throws himself into Bruce. Bruce pulls the blanket off as he shushes him and tells off the EMT. Jason's ears are ringing. He buries his face in his father's neck and sobs. He's gripping the suit jacket hard enough he's sure it'll tear. Bruce is holding Jason too tight and not strong enough. There's a hand in Jason's hair, curling around the strands protectively.
"It's alright, son," Bruce shushes, "I'm here now. You're safe. I'm here."