Meredith was in a panic. She'd been heading towards Colin's basement laboratory to check on Myrrha, her nose buried in research, when she'd slipped on the stairs.

Her paperwork went flying and she tumbled down the last few steps, landing in a bruised and uncomfortable heap. What on earth had she slipped on?

Her eyes irritably scanned the staircase. She froze at the sight of a puddle of blood, now smeared from her slipping in it.

"Oh, god…" she whispered in horror.

Forgetting the paperwork, which was useless anyway if Myrrha was dead, she bolted for the lab they'd left Myrrha asleep in. He should've been out for another hour! Had he woken and tried to escape? Was he okay? Of course he wasn't okay – what was she thinking? There was a puddle of blood at the bottom of the stairs! He'd tried to escape, he must've been upset about something, and why oh why didn't she remember to lock the door?

She banged the door to the lab open, flicking on the lights and scanning the dead silent room. No Myrrha. How on earth… He made it up the stairs! In who knows what condition!

She spun on her heel, not bothering to flick off the lights, and charged back the way she'd come.

Back at the stairs, it seemed obvious that he'd made his way up them. There were drips and streaks of blood leading all the way up, enough that it might have made her sick if she wasn't in such a panic. She needed to find him. He could be dying and … and…

And this was all her fault.

Oh, god, this was all her fault.

Why couldn't she see it? Why hadn't she seen this coming?

She swore angrily at herself, cursing herself with every swear word she knew, the most expletive references to an incredibly stupid and selfish woman she could come up with as she followed the trail of blood up the stairs and into the room across from the staircase.

Blood, blood, more blood… and no Myrrha.

Oh, god, what if he was dead? A child could be dead and it was all her fault! Her heart seemed frozen in her chest, a deadweight of guilt and panic.

The blood trail ended. God, no! Where did he go? She had to find him! She had to help him! He could be dying!

She forced herself to calm down enough to examine the room more carefully. There was no time to be panicking. She had to find Myrrha as soon as possible.

The child was gravely injured, in at least two places. One was undoubtedly his wounded leg. She desperately hoped the other wasn't his head, but from the distance between the two puddles and the looks of the streaks and trails, that's what it sure looked like. And then the trail ended…

No! No, it didn't!

She hadn't noticed in her panic, but there was still a slight trail. Myrrha was clearly too injured to completely hide or cover it up.

She dropped to all fours in order to see better, and quickly followed the tiny specks of blood leading back to the hall and down towards the main part of Colin's house.

The child was clearly trying to escape.

Escape. She'd never meant to imprison a child, and certainly never meant him to feel trapped. This was supposed to be a wonderful opportunity! Living with Colin, he could have anything he wanted! A life of endless opportunities and boundless luxury! And surely it should be an honor, a privilege, to make scientific history!

Right?

Wrong.

She'd been wrong. So very, very wrong.

This was child abuse. She could be, she deserved to be locked up in prison for this. What kind of woman puts a child in a situation where he tries to drag his injured, maybe dying, body up a staircase and out of a mansion? When the child's already injured and shouldn't be able to even walk…

A sudden shock went through her as she realized she'd never gotten around to having Colin explain how the child had been injured in the first place. She'd been too excited about the research possibilities. Come to think of it, he had said something about an escape attempt…

Gunshot wound in the leg…

She was a fool. An idiot. And words far, far worse.

The trail led into a guestroom and under the bed. She raced towards the bed and lifted the skirt to see underneath.

Myrrha lay there, looking like death and covered in bruises, scratches, and blood.

"MYRRHA!" she screamed, hoping desperately for a reaction.

None.

"MYRRHA!" she screamed again, and with strength she didn't know she had, she lifted the bed and shoved it out of the way so she could reach the child without banging or scraping it against him.

She knelt at the motionless child's side and immediately felt for a pulse.

One was thudding along at his neck, but it wasn't nearly as strong as it should be. And… oh god, he really was injured in the head. The right side of his head was gashed open and still bleeding, leaving trails down the side of his face and a puddle where his head rested on the floor.

Crap – he probably had a concussion! Can't move him. She wasn't trained for this. She needed to get a doctor! A medical doctor!

She bolted for the doorway, already screaming.

"COLIN! YEAGER!"

The ringing in his ears woke Husky up, closely followed by a splitting headache, a screaming stabbing pain in his thigh, and a merciless throbbing in his left arm. He whimpered and fidgeted to try get more comfortable, but that only set off a whirling nausea in his stomach and a dizzy spell so strong he could've been spinning in circles for all he knew.

The vomit came up. Someone supported his body over a bag as his stomach heaved out bile and various other foul-smelling liquids. Dry heaves continued long after his stomach was empty, and he was sobbing by the time they finally came to an end.

The large, supporting arms gently helped him lie back down and someone wiped his face for him. Husky couldn't really make out what was going on. For some reason, he could only see in black and white, and everything was a fuzzy blur that twisted around nauseatingly. He managed to pick out the shape of someone, maybe a man. Husky figured he was tying up and throwing out the bag of vomit.

He closed his eyes against the blur, but the sickness in his stomach, the throbbing in his head, and the dizziness remained. As far as Husky was concerned, he'd discovered a new definition to 'sick'. At least the sickness blocked out most of the pain. He tried to turn on his side to curl into a ball, but his injured leg could not be budged. He whimpered at the restriction and again opened his eyes to try see what was going on.

"Myr…. a…"

A voice was calling him, barely audible over the ringing in his head. His dazed eyes tried to focus on the figure leaning over him. Slowly his vision cleared up, revealing a large, middle-aged man shining something in his eyes. He blinked at the man, still feeling more sick than he thought possible, but it wasn't as bad as a few minutes ago.

Husky didn't like that light. He raised his left arm to swipe it aside and hissed as new pain shot up his arm at the movement. On the bright side, the pain cleared up his head somewhat. On the downside, the return of the pain… returned all of the pain. The fish +anima managed to hold back the cries, but he couldn't help the sharp intake of air through his tightly clenched teeth.

"Myrrha," repeated the voice, cutting its way through the ringing. "Can you hear me? Are you awake?"

Husky grunted and turned his eyes, hot with pain and fueled by annoyance, towards the man. A doctor. He looked familiar…

Damn you! Stop moving!

Choppy memories flooded his mind. Memories of being pinned down, of fading in and out of consciousness, unsure of what was dream and what was reality… This large man, yanking his weapon from him, forcing him to finally surrender to that cold pain and achingly empty darkness… Cursing as he drove a huge needle in and out of the flesh of Husky's thigh, stitching it back together, grumbling about the damn drugs not working fast enough…

Good boy, good boy. All over now. Get some rest…

Then that same man, much gentler now, brushing his hair out of his face and patting his head. Telling him he was a strong kid and not to let a silly thing like a gunshot wound get him down. Explaining, even though Husky had been too dazed to understand it all, exactly what had been injured when he'd been shot. How the doctor had had to clean it out and stop the bleeding and stitch it up so it could heal properly. How he would need to take drugs to prevent infections and lessen the pain, and how he wanted him to rest until he was all better…

"Doctor… Marshall?" asked Husky weakly, the name finally coming to his mind. The first doctor, the medical one that had taken care of him after he'd been shot.

"Good boy," said the doctor, nodding and patting Husky's right arm, the one that didn't hurt. The large, dark-haired man was sitting at his bedside, on the same side as his bad leg and good arm. As Husky frowned at him, trying to put the pieces of his scattered mind together, the man took a pen out of the breast pocket of his button-down shirt and jotted some notes on a pad of paper resting on a side table beside the bed.

"What… what happened?" asked Husky weakly, his voice alarmingly weak and trembling.

"You tell me, kid," replied the doctor.

"Why… why can't you…?"

"I need to test your memory," said the doctor casually, pushing his wire glasses up his nose. "I'll explain everything in a bit, don't worry. First just tell me what you remember about your predicament."

Husky frowned. "I… got shot…"

"Yes."

"Was trying to escape that… tank. Yeager, butler guy… Don't like Colin…"

"Not surprised you feel that way. And that explains your leg. What else?"

"… You took… you took care of me. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I help brats like you all the time, but it's nice to hear them acknowledge it."

Husky chuckled weakly. He raised the hand that didn't hurt and rubbed his head.

"Headache? Don't push it."

"I… woke up. You were gone. Felt funny. Drugs? Yeager… was there. He's not so bad I guess… Wish he hadn't shot me… What's wrong with me?"

"Quite a few things, and ones I'm certainly going to speak with Colin and Meredith about."

"Meredith?" There was no recognition in the child's voice.

Dr. Marshall frowned and patted the kid's good hand in a comforting gesture.

"Anything else?"

The child closed his eyes and rubbed at his head. Suddenly tears sprung to his eyes and he started shaking. "What… what happened…?" he pleaded.

Dr. Marshall sighed and set down his pen.

"It's okay, Myrrha. It's okay. Calm down." The boy looked up at him with those big, blue eyes. "You're going to be okay, don't worry. Tell me what hurts."

"I want to go home…"

"Don't worry about that, Myrrha. Tell me what hurts."

"I miss my friends. I want to go home."

"You're injured, Myrrha. You have a concussion. It's a brain injury caused by hitting your head. I need to know what hurts so that I can treat you. I'll explain anything you want me to, don't worry."

"Head hurts… Stomach…"

"Headache and nausea, both caused by the concussion. I believe you may also have been having a reaction to a drug in your system, but those reactions should fade now that you've thrown up. What else?"

"Arm."

"Pulled muscle. You fell and grabbed something, probably a staircase railing. It gave one good yank, but it'll be better in only a few days. I've wrapped it for now."

"Leg… gunshot wound?"

"You were shot in the leg, yes. I took care of it a couple days ago, but it was torn open again. I stitched it back up and immobilized it so it can heal properly this time."

"That's why… that's why I can't move it?" asked the silver-haired child, sounding ever so young, weak, and scared.

Dr. Marshall took a couple pillows from where they'd been set on the floor and lifted Myrrha up slightly, propping the pillows behind him so he could look around better. Then he set a hand near the harness to show the child what he meant by immobilize.

"This keeps your leg from moving around. It's a very basic harness, just a series of straps around your leg."

"H… how do I get it off?" asked the child.

"You don't. The straps attach down here," he set his hand on the bottom side of the bed towards the foot of it, "for that very purpose. I don't want you leaving your bed for any reason until that leg's better."

The child's big blue eyes grew to enormous proportions. "B… bathroom?" he asked, sounding scared.

"We have a bedpan you can…"

"NO!" cried out the child, flushing red. He looked down in shame and embarrassment, realizing he was yelling at the man who was trying to help him. "P-please, no. I don't want…"

Dr. Marshall sighed again and sat back heavily in the chair.

"Myrrha, let me make this clear to you. You are in this predicament because you tried to escape again. If you want to escape after you heal, I'm perfectly fine with that. Not my problem. But you tried to escape while under the affects of a tranquilizer that apparently didn't agree with your fish form as well as with your bad leg. You fell, pulled your arm, ripped up your leg, and hit your head. This gave you a concussion, numerous bruises and cuts, as well as doubled the damage to your leg. And, since apparently that still wasn't enough, continued to push yourself along until you passed out, no doubt increasing the damage, and your subsequent recovery time, even more."

Myrrha stared at him with those huge eyes, obviously with no recollection of the events Dr. Marshall was relating.

"One of the symptoms of concussion is memory loss, especially about the traumatic event itself. Don't strain yourself thinking about it. That will only have the opposite effect as your brain tries to recover. Your brain and your body MUST rest. Ideally you shouldn't be on any meds but some low-dosage ones for pain relief, but with your leg that would be cruel to force you to bear. So I will be giving you prescription drugs, but only under very close supervision. You will have to be under near-constant observation."

The child continued to stare at him.

"One of the most alarming aspects of concussion is the issue with how susceptible it makes you to getting a second one, possibly with much more devastating an impact to your mental faculties and memory. I'm sure you agree with me that this is not something you want to risk."

Husky finally looked away and shook his head. "But… I won't… I can't…"

Dr. Marshall examined him closely. "Make a promise to me, Myrrha."

"Yes?" Again, that pathetically weak voice so out of character with the child as he'd first seen him, brandishing a fire poker, eyes burning with fury and hatred, refusing to give in to the pain.

"Promise you will not try to escape until you are healed. Promise you will take your medication and cooperate with us. That you won't even try to stand up, let alone walk around, until I give the go ahead."

"I… I want to go home…"

"Yes, I know. But you can't go anywhere until you're better. And you won't get better if you keep moving around. If you promise me, I'll allow you to use the normal restroom. But someone will have to carry you. If you're very good, maybe we can even arrange for you to go outside. Okay?"

"Oh… okay." The child suddenly turned pale. He looked dazed.

"Myrrha?" asked Dr. Marshall gently, even as he quickly moved forward, grabbing another bag and supporting the suddenly boneless child upright.

"… feel sick…" whimpered the child, tears escaping as he felt the urge to vomit again coming back.

The doctor comforted and supported the small child as his body again betrayed him and he threw up for the second time that morning. Dr. Marshall tossed the extra pillows off the bed and laid the child back down flat. He grabbed a couple wipes and gently cleaned off the child's face. Then he tossed the dirty wipes in with the vomit, tied up the bag, and put it aside.

The child was crying from the pain in his stomach, his head, his leg, his arm, and no doubt also his confusion about what was going on. It was the clear the child was very near his breaking point.

If he wasn't after all this crap, he wasn't human, thought Dr. Marshall. He reached out and stroked the child's head, carefully keeping clear of where the child's head injury was.

No doubt more off a child's instinct than anything, Husky reached out his arms and grabbed Dr. Marshall's arm, hugging it tight to himself as he continued to cry. Dr. Marshall gave another sigh, a slight smile, fixed his glasses, then bent down and hugged the small boy. He held on as long as the child did, which was until the crying stopped when Husky finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

It was 5:00 am when the civilian phone line rang. Usually the Titans ignored this line, allowing it to be forwarded to the local police department. This time, however, Robin was hyper-alert as he went over his notes on today's mission. Today would be the day they found the monster who had kidnapped a child from another world, he was sure of it. Instinctively, thinking perhaps it was one of the sources he'd contacted for information on this case, he snatched up the phone and held it to his ear.

"Titans Tower. Robin speaking."

"…"

"Who is this?" demanded Robin impatiently. If this was a prank call, he'd see someone slapped with at least a fine for wasting his time.

"Robin? This is Colin Canterfield…" began a hesitant male voice on the other end.

Robin's eyes behind his mask grew large in surprise. He quickly ruffled through his stack of folders and whipped out the one with just that name on it. One of their top suspects for the captor.

"Thank you, Mr. Canterfield. May I ask why you're calling?"

"I need help…"

"I understand you have a problem, Mr. Canterfield. You wouldn't be calling this line if you didn't. But you're going to need to be more specific than that. Is the matter urgent?"

"Well, no."

"Then…?" Robin prompted.

"Look, I did something wrong and I can't take it back!" exploded the voice on the other end, choked with regret and anger at himself.

"What did you do, Mr. Canterfield?" asked Robin, his voice perfectly calm and rock steady, even as he allowed his leg to tap quickly against the floor to let out some of the excitement and nerves building up.

This was the man. They'd found him! Or, rather, the man was suddenly giving himself up. Why?

Robin's leg froze as he realized the only reason for the emotion in the man's voice. Something was wrong with Husky.

"I… I hired a man to open a dimensional portal. No, I'm not joking! He went by Professor Chang. I just wanted something from another world, something none of my colleagues had… I'm a collector, see?"

"Yes, I see, Mr. Canterfield. What did you take?"

"… A child. A mermaid. Well, he's a boy, but… He was just so beautiful. I'd never seen anything like it and…"

"And what's the problem, Mr. Canterfield?"

"Let me finish! I was followed. The mermaid boy… merchild?... had friends who followed us back into this world. Three of them. Now, in that world there are these kids who can…"

"Change into animal forms?" finished Robin.

"Huh?"

"My team has recently taken in three youths who can shapeshift into animal forms. They call themselves +anima. A girl with blond hair, a boy with black hair, and a teenager with grey hair. Sound familiar?"

"… Yeah, that's them."

"What about them, Mr. Canterfield?"

"I need them."

Robin's hand tightened on the phone and his eyes narrowed. His voice growled with suspicion. "Why?"

"Well, not me. Their friend, the merchild I took, he needs them."

"I repeat myself. Why?"

"… He's injured. Pretty badly."

The icy claw of terror worked its way into Robin's chest. Had they gone through all of this, had those three poor +anima kids gone through all this, only to lose their friend? Was the child dying?

"I shouldn't have taken him, but it's too late now, and I need to make it up to him somehow, and I can't have him keep injuring himself…"

"Injuring himself?" demanded Robin angrily.

"Look, it can't be undone!" shouted Colin on the other side of the line.

"He better not be dying!" growled Robin. "Or, god help me, I'll see you…"

"He's not! He'll be fine if he just stops trying to run around! He can't be moved, but he'll be okay in a couple weeks."

"Where is he?"

"My house. A doctor, a friend of my family's, is treating him and has given orders that the child not be moved for any reason. But I can't deal with this anymore. The child hates me, with good reason, and…"

"What's wrong with him?"

"Look, can't this wait? I just want to apologize to Myrrha and the only thing I can think of is to give him back his friends!"

"My team and the child's friends will be there in half an hour. Be ready."

Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay and hopefully I won't take nearly as long on the next chapter. I do promise more action with the Teen Titans and the rest of the +Anima gang coming up!

Special thanks to Kitty-chan and Nya-chan for all her help with ideas! Thank you!

The poll is CLOSED! Well, it looks like a tie, so I'll be shooting for extending the plot without throwing us into an entire new arc. Thank you to everyone who participated in the poll!

Hope you enjoyed and please review! As you can probably tell from my delay, I'm running into a bit of an issue trying to work out some kinks in the plot – so any and all ideas are welcome and much appreciated!

As always, thanks for reading!