"If you're gonna kill me, get it over with."
Nightwing was pissed. He rarely tapped into that anger, but the times he did brought out a harsh precision mode. He was done chatting, done with his acrobatic flair. Once Nightwing was in that mindset, everything was done toward a definite end.
It was partially Scarecrow’s own fault -- the man couldn’t have known that his specimen was already on edge without the mix of a psychotropic cocktail. But Crane did know that the fight or flight response could be harsh.
Nightwing wasn’t thinking clearly, and it was as if Crane was responsible for the Parkthorne explosion, Crane was responsible for the circus disaster, Crane was responsible for all the looming threats hanging over his head which were most definitely based in fear. Only it wasn’t really Jonathon Crane he was seeing, it was Blockbuster. And that was enough to keep Nightwing from holding back.
So when that voice popped up -- that utterly wrong voice --
If you're gonna kill me, get it over with--
It broke the illusion. Broke it just enough for Nightwing to ease off immediately, panting hard, his rib cage at work, fists still clenched and bloody, though out of his immediate awareness. His mind was rapidly trying to figure out where reality began and ended, separating the images and emotional high for what he felt was the real world. Easier said than done maybe, and nothing he could immediately snap himself out of. His body was a little wiry, ready to defend himself, but he only backed up further, somehow already sensing the regret and that he had gone too far.
