Dick felt sick to his stomach as his brother's wails echoed through the cave.
He and Bruce had been the first to respond to his beacon. Batman's antidote didn't work against this new strain of fear toxin, so they had to bring him back to devise a cure. Tim was unresponsive, trapped in whatever hellish illusion Scarecrow's gas had triggered. They had barely been able to get him into the car, with how wildly he was flailing. His limbs struck around violently, uncoordinated. Not trying to attack, but as if he were desperately trying to flee from something. (The smell ozone lingered in the air) Once they'd reached the cave, they had to strap him to the medbay table to keep him from falling off.
The first one had made Bruce recoil and nearly drop him. None of them had ever heard him scream like that before. It was something out of a nightmare, high-pitched and raw, carrying an unimaginable amount of pain. (Like a death wail) There was a frenzied, tortured quality to it that had Jason stumbling away and tripping when he reached the scene. It had made their blood run cold.
"It's like he's dying." Jason had remarked quietly from the side once they'd moved to another part of the Batcave. The red helmet lay discarded on the table he was leaning on. His face was pale, and there was a tremor barely hidden in his voice. A disturbed look flashed in his eyes, as if he was remembering something. (Pools of swirling green)
Bruce's black gloves squeaked as his fists tightened. He was stone-faced, but his sons could read the worry in his blue eyes. The Batman was just as helpless as them. It made his blood boil. (Electric currents buzzed through the cables on the floor)
The room was bathed in blue light from the Batcomputer. A white cup of cold coffee sat untouched by Jason's elbow next to the keyboard. (An accident waiting to happen) It sat there since the afternoon, when they had been urgently called for an Arkham breakout. Tim's coffee. Dick was suddenly struck by the absurd though that his brother would never leave his coffee around like that. Hysterical laughter bubbled up in his throat, but he swallowed it down. Distantly, he recognised that his fingers were twitching along with his baby brother's screams.
It was all so incredibly wrong. The whole situation was just plain wrong. Red Robin's mask should have held against the gas. Hell, Crane should never have had the time to make a new type of toxin in the first place! It made no sense! (It made no sense to put an ON button inside the machine!)
Muffled screaming could still be heard even though the medbay walls. It was now more hoarse and ragged, as if whoever was making the noise had swallowed a bucket of sand.
Truly, it was a testament to Alfred's strength and devotion that he had stayed and taken care of him through all of it. Meanwhile, they'd fled like cowards into another room, pretending as if they were figuring out a cure, and not hiding from their failure.
The computer was processing the blood samples at an agonizingly slow pace, while they stood there unable to do anything to soothe their brother and son, respectively. The sounds grew more strangled and faint the longer it went on. They'd cut out a few times, when he'd run out of air, but they always inevitably started back up twice as anguished. (Incredible how he so rarely ran out of air, as if he didn't even need to breathe.)
Dick couldn't even imagine what Tim was going through to make him let out such a sound. (Privately, selfishly, he was glad that Damian was not home to witness it.)
With Jason's gun pointed to his head and Batman preoccupied with his third son, Crane had bragged that the gas made you relive your most painful moment. Dick turned a blind eye to his brother using a bit more strength than necessary to knock out the rogue.
They tried to figure out what Tim's worst experience was. Jason brought up the Titan's Tower, Bruce the JJ incident. Dick quietly proposed it could be something from the year he went missing to find Bruce. (Something from before they knew him, something from before he was Tim, something from when he was Da-)
The screams cut off again for a few blissful seconds, then started back up. It was a miracle he could keep going after so long. Dick felt his stomach churn. He'd heard people yell, cry, and shriek before, but this was something different. Something born entirely out of agony. Something guttural, prolonged, and horrible. Something no human should ever be able to produce. (Only something that was no longer human could let out such a scream.)
---------------------------------------------------
DannyTim woke up feeling like he had swallowed glass. His vision was swimming, and his head pulsated painfully. (He hoped he hadn't died this time, or Jason might actually kill him for stealing his gig again.) A sudden wave of searing pain made his muscles spasm painfully.
A big shadow loomed over him. Someone was touching his forehead and speaking to him in a hushed tone. The words were garbled, like he was deep underwater. They should really work on their pronunciation.
"-im.... -nother shot...-eetheart"
There was a pinprick somewhere on the back of his elbow. He tried to pull away, but his arm felt like lead. He let out a scratchy, quiet whimper, and immediately regretted it. The pathetic excuse for a protest left his throat feeling like it had been burned from the inside. The Demon Brat would never let him live this down if he learned of it. The big shadow returned to shushing him and patting his hair. It felt cozy and safe, like Dad.
Darkness once again closed in on him, and he settled for listening to the big shadows rumbling to lull him back to sleep. (He awoke panting from the phantom electricity still coursing through his bones, searing off his flesh and replacing his blood with green-)
