Author'sNote
Hello,
So I don't know if this took a while or not. But it's a decent length and good quality, plus it's about the one person you guys have been dying to read about, plus some stuff that a few of you guys have been wanting to read. Beware, it's got a bit of graphic stuff at the end and is definitely not something to read if you don't want to read that at the end.
This is the third out of four chapters that are all taking place at the same time, one more and it's about the Team and will kick off well into the continuing time stream.
But for now I bid you all to enjoy this precious little chapter about our dear little Wing and tell me what you think.
I love you all! Have fun and read well.
Luffles from Creative!
PS: remember 100th reviewer gets to have a one-shot written for them about any YJ character/pairing (besides anything that takes place in Season 2) slash/straight in fine with me.
Now... 3, 2, 1... READ!
A low groan broke the still silence as it's sole occupant stirred. Blue eyes struggled open, finding only blackness as they searched for indications of where their holder was. Arms tried lifting away from the hard table, stopped by restraints around wrists, forearm and upper-arm. A low pound sprang to life as the boy rested his arms fully on the table before trying to move his legs, finding them held in place as well. Nervousness began gnawing at Dick's gut as he found himself only able to distinguish that he was on some sort of metallic table with either a very ripped up Nightwing suit or something wrapped around sporadic parts of his upper body.
The tell-tale buzzing of automatic doors rang to life, making Dick turn his head to locate the sound. A loud whoosh preceded a faint clicking sound. The rhythmic clicking grew louder before being eclipsed by another sweeping of the mechanical doors. Something warm touched Nightwing's forehead before ripping away whatever it was that had been over his eyes. The hero closed his eyes, the sudden exposure to bright light making them burn. With slow blinks to adjust to the light Nightwing began to take in his surroundings. He was indeed strapped to a table, though the room was something other than what he had pictured. Instead of the dreary and terrifying setting his mind had conjured up based on previous experiences, the room before him was more of a hospital room versus dungeon. Better. Not great, but better. Dick was ripped from his thoughts as a light bout of laughter filtered into the air. He turned his unmasked eyes onto the girl standing next to him. He quickly determined her age to be no older than Wally or Kaldur but definitely no younger than himself. Though her face was mostly covered by a feline-inspired mask the protege could easily see that she was of some asian descent, curtesy of the shape of her face and definitions her tight mask gave to her cheek bones.
"Hello there, Nightwing. Can I just call you Wing? Please? It's so much easier to say then Nightwing," asked the girl, her tone a little too high pitched for someone old as Kaldur thus confirming that she was more towards Dick's own age.
Dick didn't answer, only watching her as she walked around gathering various things in her arms before returning. She laid out everything she had gathered for Dick to see; a pair of scissors, thread, needles, gauze, tape and plenty of disinfectant. Thoughts started running through Dick's head about all the possible things that could happen with those few materials, and none of them good nor pleasant. When she picked up the scissors and began moving towards the hero Dick let himself freeze, he wouldn't break or squirm or give them any leverage on him; he was the protege of the Batman, he could take a little pain. When he followed the glinting silver blades to his chest new information added itself to the mathlete's equation. His chest was already covered in a bandage, though it was no longer white. The scissors slipped under the first layer and the felinesque girl began clipping away the soiled, bloodied bandage layer by layer.
Shock was what held Dick in place as the final layer of the largest chest bandage was removed. The lacerations and marks that had been carved there by the Joker were cleaned and prettier scabs than the mess of dried blood and dirt infested scabs they had been. He was also surprised by the gentleness with which the cat-themed villainess seemed to apply the new coating of disinfecting spray, then wiped away the excess pooling liquid, then lotion to slowly and near-painlessly remove the scab. He only winced internally once, when she had pressed too hard on a scab that laced over a rib problem of some sort and cut across a previous scar. And despite him not even flinching in any minute amount outwardly, the girl seemed to know. After that she had been more careful, hardly skimming the cloth over the scabs as she removed them and smoothed a thick, gelatinous paste over them. The concoction made a cool, soothing numbness leak over the wounds. Dick's head pressed back into the table as he fought the urge to relax. He felt the bandages being tugged out from under him, leaving his bare back against the metal table. He was not focusing as the same soft, bubbly voice began speaking.
"Look, I know this is going to hurt and be weird no matter what I do; but I need you to arch your back so I can get the bandages all the way around. I know you've got no reason to trust or even like me period, but this isn't for me or for them. Me doing this is so that you won't die or get sick or any infected injuries."
Her eyes were open and in full view for Dick to examine as he debated what to do. Over several seconds thoughts of her hurting him any more than he was if he did or did not comply with what she was asking, of him being able to find out why she was doing this in the first place and his overall paranoia at the situation crossed his mind. With a slow nod the acrobat began to lift his back off the table, arching it enough that Wally could have slid underneath him with ease.
The girl quickly went to work, wrapping the white gauze around Dick's thin chest tightly. Occasionally she would pause and shift her eyes up to look at Dick's, searching for signs that she was wrapping it too tight. Within seconds of the pause she would resume wrapping. When she was done she place a feather-light hand on Dick's chest and put hardly an ounce of pressure to tell him letting his back drop down to the table was okay. Next she moved onto the arms, not needing scissors to cut off the wrap as she slowly unwound it by hand. As the silence filled with tension her mouth started moving.
"I blame that idiotic clown if you ask me, I hated him right from the start; but I got roped into working for him by my best-friend. She and I started working together off the streets in Bludhaven, no one there to oppose us as we started up our names. Then Luma gets wind of the Prince of Crazy's plans to recruit a team to go up against the Justice League's covert op's team and decides that she wants us in on it. We didn't know that it was a kidnapping, or would it be called hero-napping? Anyway, we thought it was a quick fight to take you guys down a notch; not hero-nap with intentions to-" The girl was cut off, much to Dick's annoyance, by a loud whoosh of the doors and angry huffing of a hauntingly familiar voice.
"Why's Mister J. so hung up on that floozy? Can' he see tha' I'm righ' here?" The high voice whined as she began pacing angrily around the room.
The bells on her hat jingled with every step and toss of her head. Her black and red costume was the same as ever, as she entered Dick's field of vision; a complete and utter rip-off of a once hilarious court jester's costume. He shied away as her hands banged on the table next to his ear. He ignored the ringing as he looked at Harley's face, seeing the distraught anger and hurt that lay there so plain even with the coatings of make-up. Dick expected the unstable sidekick of the Joker to start running around rampaging in the infirmary, as Dick would call it now, not to hear the calm, soft voice that had made even him listen speak-up.
"Harley, he sees you but he's moving on. You were a plaything for him, like a mouse is to a cat. He got tired and moved on, maybe you should too."
"Nah, Mister J. wouldn' leave me behind. I'm his partner, more than that li'l plant muncher. He's a gentleman he is, that Mister J. He probably is just playin' nice to the girl, wha' wit' her babies all bein' left behind. That's it, righ' Felli?" Harley asked, turning her deranged gaze up to the girl's amber eyes.
Dick could not help but notice the sadness in the smile that formed on the cat-girl's lips and the pity that lodged in her eyes as she nodded.
"Probably Harls, probably."
The harlequin themed villainess started skipping around with merry sounds of joy echoing in the room. The sounds were roared over by the fast whooshes of the door before the room was silent. A long heavy sigh escaped the girl as she closed her eyes, a large weight seeming to be on her shoulders. Dick tried to stifle the growing concern or sense of 'this person is feeling bad, I should help them' morality, but to no success as his mouth opened and let the flood gates open to Dick's too-good sense of goodness.
"Something squashing the aster in your life?"
"Squash the what out of my life?" Came the typical response.
"Aster. You know, opposite of disaster?" Dick said, trying to get some sort of positive reaction.
The only one he got however was a light, almost disbelieving chuckle of, "You've got some imagination Wing." That was followed by her resuming unwrapping the bandage on his arm. Her fingers were a little stiffer and heavier than before, but his arms were less sensitive than his chest and as such he didn't flinch once through the unwrapping.
"It's not imagination it's pure logic. The prefix 'dis' expresses negation, thus if it's in front of something it's just canceling it or making it the opposite. Take distraught for an example. Distraught means deeply upset or agitated, in my words it means not feeling the aster but that's explanations for another time. So, if you take the 'dis' out of distraught you are then left with traught, a word that means calm and focused. Making sense?" Dick asked, a smile forming painfully on his lips as he finished explaining.
With a shake of her head the girl replied, "Not in the least; nice try though."
"Grr, you're just as bad as BM was about it. I think it took a few years for that knuckle-head to understand it," Dick growled in almost mock frustration.
"Sorry, but some people enjoy not butchering the already butchered mess that is the English language." The girl answered with a light laugh, her hands reaching for the spray and wipes.
Dick laughed with her for a second, before his chest started hurting. He almost raised a hand to cradle his once again aching ribs, but remembered the restraints right before. A huffing grumble of annoyance slipped past his now gritted teeth. Dick tried to focus on the subtle stinging and occasional little pricks of pain as the girl wiped away at the clunkier scab on his arm, putting all effort into ignoring the pain that was seeming to blossom in his chest. Soon the girl was taping and wrapping the right arm before moving to the left. She started in silence before, one again, Dick started up a conversation.
"So, what's your villain gig? I guess it has something to do with cats, right? I mean, the tail is a dead give away." Dick said causally shrugging his shoulders before scrunching his face in slight pain and mentally face-palming as he reminded himself about the injured chest. The protege knew that when he got out, the next couple months were not going to be fun in the slightest.
"Name's Felinis, and yes it has to do with cats. They are mysterious little creatures that can get anywhere and get away with almost anything. They make the ideal thief and that's what I am. Sure, I play with the big boys now but I started out in Bludhaven with Luma as thieves; high quality thieves, but thieves. And we were pretty good too. Got a few really nice scores. The Quraquian quartz wolf last fall, followed by the Zambalyan gem statue earlier this year back in January. Nice scores as I said." Felinis bragged with a smug smile as she applied the paste to Dick's left arm and began to wrapping it with the gauze.
"Guess I'll have something to start looking for while I'm stuck in bed for the next few months after the Team gets me out; 'cause you know that's going to happen right? Not once has a hero being captured ever gone a villain's favor; even if they are as nice as you Felli." Dick stated with confidence.
But as the two were about to continue the conversation the doors whooshed open, showing a mostly black clothed figure in the doorway. He advanced, metal boots sounding louder in the reverberating room. Hands were intertwined behind his back as slow, deliberate steps carried him forward. He stopped several feet from the table, head turning to look directly into Felinis's eyes.
"You said 'cleaning him up' would only take you a minute. It has been over thirty my dear, and now I believe your friend Luma does require your help cleaning up after a little cat fight in the cafeteria; though you may end up cleaning it on your own since you started it and have broken nearly every rule set in place around this young captive," came the dreaded cool, metallic voice.
Shivers ran down Dick's spine as he watched Deathstroke speak to Felinis, or maybe they were just from hearing Deathstroke talk period; Dick thought that the metallic note in his voice was creepier than Wally's taste in exotic foods, which sometimes literally creeped and crawled.
"I don't remember any rules about getting him to relax while I'm holding sharp objects. After that clown's treatment, he'll probably hate sharp blades and crowbars with a vengeance for the rest of his life," Felinis responded, ignoring the threats and refusing to be walked over even by her employer's employer.
It was hard for even Dick to find the minuscule traces of a changing expression in Deathstroke's single eye. The orange-and-black masked villain raised a hand, touching the cold metal on the back of it to Felinis' exposed shoulder before pushing against it.
"I do believe that you have a job to do else where, and I also can assume that you're rather fond of that atrocity you call an appendage sticking out your backside; so if you want to keep either of those things intact, I suggest that you move on, Felinis." There was no amusement or any emotion in the almost robotic tone of voice, only pure calculation and the distinct lisps of a taut smirk tugging at the hidden lips.
She did not make a move to step hastily out of his way, taking a few seconds to mount the tension prior to stepping out of his path. Dick watched as her amber eyes stayed locked with the single visible eye of the mask. Despite her own mask hiding a majority of her features the bound hero could easily tell just how much effort the felinesque villainess was working to keep her tongue in check. He had to bite on his cheek as well to keep from smirking at Deathstroke. The man may have power and a reputation to make the majority of people quake in their capes, but two of the people who were either stupid enough or thought they were good enough to stand up to the ego-maniac were in the room.
As the doors whooshed once more Dick could feel the temperature in the room drop, or was it the sinking feeling of dread that was settling over him? The second burst of air signaled the closing of doors. Both villain and hero watched the doors for a few seconds assuring themselves that no one was going to come bursting through. Dick was not expecting someone to, that would be silly and naive and he was neither of those things. He did half-expect the villain to speak up, and begin a totally not astrous meeting all-too similar to Joker's, not hearing that grating yet discomfortingly familiar voice speak to the air.
"Computer, lock beta cell until I'm finished."
"Code eighty-Z: kappa-tau-etta authorized, beginning lockdown until override sequence pi-omicron-sigma activated."
Another shiver ran through the hero as he recognized the same computerized tone as the Cave's system. A fleeting thought passed through Dick's mind as he wondered how Deathstroke had gotten a hold of that software, it was Wayne tech specific; patented and everything. The thought was, however, chased away when metal clinked against the tiled floor. Then, as Dick was switching his attention to the moving villain, the single, cold eye was turned on Dick, digging full-force into him.
"So, you've got some sort of special voice recognition security system that uses specified lock codes that probably change every hour unless you know the base name for it, right?" Dick asked, curious to learn anything he could about the technological system.
"Quite astute of you Robin; it's Nightwing now isn't it? It's so hard to keep track of you silly birds, changing all the time."
"Kind of happens when certain business associates are on the skyward side of the tracks," Dick snapped before he could stop the words.
An amused chuckle rumbled through the muscled villain as he pulled a stool around from outside of Dick's vision and sat. A terrifying glint seemed to spark to life in the man's chilling eye as he crossed his arms and settled onto the metal seat.
"Clever with words I see, and in more ways than one. I recall 'astrous' being part of your petty word games? And something to do with 'whelmed', correct?"
This time it was Dick who chuckled with amusement, cringing and almost gasping for air afterwards before speaking his reasons.
"Why is it that the second most evil villain is the one who grasps my vocab faster than the good guys or the second-hand lackeys?"
Dick had closed his eyes to attempt holding in his laughter, wanting to avoid the pain it brought; so he did not see Deathstroke approach him with a now, if possible, colder look in that single eye. The movement with which the villain clasped his hand around Dick's suit, and jerked the hero off the table as much as the restraints would allow, was rough, harsh and made an involuntary gasping hiss of pain fly out of Dick's mouth. The boy's dark cerulean eyes were wide with pain and shock as he felt his ribcage alight with a frustrating and blindingly powerful agony. He did not need to see the entirety of Deathstroke's face to tell that the man was seriously not feeling the aster.
"Say something you didn't like, DS?" Dick said through his ragged gasping.
The hand around his suit pulled the hero farther away from the table, causing more strain on the bindings. A harsh shake brought Dick's eyes to focus intently on the smoldering icy eye that was Deathstroke's own. With no warning the villain practically threw Dick against the table, knocking what air that remained from the boy's lungs and possibly causing more damage to the injured ribs. A fierce hand planted itself right beside Dick's left ear, bending as the lead villain lowered his masked face till it was only an inch or two away from the hero's.
"You have got some nerve, boy. You might want to rethink your words when in such a precarious position. A single tap and you could all but shatter to pieces, and not to mention that we have our ways of teaching captives respect, though I assume from your current condition that my associate has already tried. I suspect he was unsuccessful in part to his lack of finesse. I believe that a little test run could be in order. Objection?" The taunting note that lingered in the infuriating metallic baritone was maddening and terrifying as Deathstroke reached behind his back and slowly pulled a blade out, bringing it to rest the tip on the table beside Dick's head, making the protege turn his head to look at the glinting blade not even a centimeter from his skin. With a slow movement the teen brought his eyes back to glaring at Deathstroke, taking his time to show he was not afraid.
The Bat-protege remained still as stone, not flinching as his eyes locked defiantly with Deathstroke's one in a silent, answering battle. Their staring match continued on for seconds before Deathstroke broke the still tension, lifting away with a sudden movement. His knife was replaced in it's sheath. With long steady steps Deathstroke made his way to the door.
"Computer, activate lockdown override code with vocal recognition sequence ."
Clicks and whirs of gears echoed through the metallic walls before the doors slid open, almost grinding into their slots. Dick watched the orange-and-black masked villain pass through the opening, an annoying smugness in his slow step that irked the trapped hero to no end. The doors began to slide close when Deathstroke turned, blue eye glinting in the faint light that reached it as a smirk was surely spreading on his face.
"And let the Joker, and his princess, know they have some time reserved with our little package."
The doors slammed with an air of finality, punctuating the words Dick's mind was scrambling to wrap around. A cold lump caught in the hero's throat before plummeting to his stomach and settling there before freezing over his insides with dread and something too close to fear for his comfort. The now-sprinting beat of his heart went against the desperate battle for control that Dick waged against his thoughts and memories. The freshly bandaged wounds began to ache, faded remembrances of the last few days coming to life again; stinging, burning, tearing pain that spread everywhere.
His eyes squeezed shut, as if trying to keep the memories from seeping in though only allowing them to flash before the darkness. Splitting pain in his sides; dribbling streams of red seeping over torn black material... Dick shook his head violently, dislodging the train of memories before the burning wounds became too revived at the recollections of their past pain. The hero was not unsurprised to find that the brief retreat to memories made his pulse and breathing more erratic than before and though the looming threat ran rampant in his mind, wreaking havoc upon his sensible thoughts, some logic seeped through and the youth began the well-practiced calming routines learned years ago.
Ears trained on the rough sounds of his pained breaths, they did not identify the swoosh and grinding of the doors nor the slapping and clacking of feet on the tiled floor. With eyes closed and focused on the calming blackness Dick remained unaware of the two people approaching, one with a sickly green mop-like style of hair and the other with a strange black and red hat, waving with her steps. Quiet snickers echoed, varying degrees of sanity detectable by any who payed heed to the sounds.
The two figures stopped at the side of the table, a pair of toxic green eyes gleaming with hardly suppressed glee. The silver bells jingled as the hat's wearer tilted her head, observing the boy who seemed to be asleep. She reached hand out to poke him in the ribs, prodding harshly on a bandaged spot. Both grins widened when blue eyes snapped open and the tied-up hero jerked roughly against the restraints, fresh panic and pain glazing over the normally stoic features before being replaced with an obviously fake calm expression. His chest rising and falling unsteadily only solidified the wicked smiles on the villains' faces.
"Morning sunshine, did you do the homework we talked about?" Joker asked, his smile twitching and growing as if he couldn't contain all of his excitement and sadistic happiness in the already terrifyingly immense grin.
Dick's mind was scrambling once again, trying to regain composure, as he attempted remembering what Joker was talking about and futilely striving to ignore the almost-morbid glee in the two pairs of eyes staring at him. The slowed breaths he had fought for were once again swift and shallow, panic growing as the flashes of memories were not the ones he wanted to see, nor pleasant ones in the least.
The trained teen refrained from tugging at the bindings or squirming away as a gloved hand reached towards his face, gripping his cheeks and forcing his head to turn and gluing his eyes to the sickeningly toxic green ones. For a split second fear welled up in the dark blue eyes before being hidden beneath a layer of defiance, though a shaky one; almost blown away by the laughter splitting the air.
"I don't t'ink 'e did it, Mr. J," that irritatingly sharp voice giggled, practically making Dick wince at the tone and octave.
"What should we do, muffin? The poor lad's obviously been having some difficulty completing our assignments. Maybe he just needs some better material."
Dick did not dare move a muscle, nor could he. The panic and fear he had been fighting both stopped and surged at the same time, rendering his muscles and mind useless. Without understanding the Joker's conversation there was no chance at preparation, no chance for protection and without protection there was no chance of surviving unscathed inside. The widening smile of those horrific red lips and flicking glance of the almost-hypnotizing green eyes were the only warnings before a sudden pain exploded in his chest. The air was forced out of his lungs, splitting cracks echoed and a sharp laughter began.
His eyes squeezed shut only for a second as the hero refocused, or tried to, on breathing; not the pain in his chest that had just intensified; not the crazies around him going more insane by the second; only on breathing. But that second was enough for Harley to jab a finger harshly into his side again, inciting another groan of pain from the captive. His eyes flashed open, murderously glaring daggers at her.
"No sleepin' in class, mister," she chided obnoxiously.
"Do we need to force your eyes open, or maybe the world's to who you really are. It seems our hero is without his symbol. Pity, the world won't see him as a hero unless he has it. Should we give him his symbol, muffin-cake?" That false-dubious voice irked and terrified Dick to no end as the clown pondered tortures.
"I t'ink so, Mr. J. You want Harley to grab ya' your new knife?"
The overly exaggerated nod sent Harley scrambling out of Dick's field of vision. The noises of clattering metal and excited squeals as rushed clacking of shoes made a new wave of dread wash over the teen. The Joker's assistant came back into view, a familiar looking dark gray ellipsoid shape in her hands. It was swiftly passed to the Joker, who's eyes lit up with a crazed gleam. The change of hands allowed Dick a new perspective on the shape, noticing the all-too-familiar design of the hidden button in the flat surface. The little bit of color that had seeped to Dick's face dissipated as the Joker ginned cruelly and pressed the small indentation.
Fast as the eye could blink the ellipsoid expanded into a bladed object, glinting in the light. Dick focused on the blades, searching for any sign that what was in Joker's hands was anything but what he suspected; to the hero's dismay the finely etched design along the polished metal and overall design was too similar for it to be anything else. That irritating fact sent words building in his throat before he could process or stop them.
"Can you villains get any more creative than using our stuff? I mean come on it's totally underwhelming if you're using our weapons on us, we already know what it does. You guys seriously need to work on your approaches to creating fe- Ahhh!" The scathing rant was cut off by his scream as the fine blade began to bury itself in his flesh, digging through the bandages and scabs to hit the cracked and broken bones in his chest.
White-hot pain stemmed from the deep enough incision and traveled along the cracked, broken and fractured ribs, making tears well-up in his eyes and forcing grunts and almost-shouts of pure agony from his lips.
As the initial pain and shock began to ebb in the slightest Dick tried to relax into it, attempting to let the pain flow through him and run it's course as he would in any other situation; only to be ripped back to the reality of harsh new pain. His mouth flew open, almost unhinging as a raw screech broke to life. His mind vaguely wondered if that was him screaming, thinking that the sounds were too raw and pure to belong to the First Protege of Batman, youngest protege ever to have lived and yet the most experienced. His eyes were shut as the teen tried to curb the sounds, only managing to stifle them in the slightest by shutting his mouth. When cerulean eyes opened they were greeted by a sight most would have fainted at; a blood covered weapon in the hands of certifiable maniac and his little court jester assistant at his side.
"No talking during class, Junior. Get the point?" Joker chuckled as he swiped a finger over the bloody blade.
A grimace passed over Dick's face as he decided against rolling his eyes at the "joke". That's something Walls would come up with. A barely smile flitted over his face as he pictured Wally evil and saying something like that. His moment of peace was interrupted by a swift, and ever painful, jab to the ribs.
"You t'ink ignorin' your teacher's'll get you out of the class?" The annoying voice asked.
He bit his tongue hard to avoid letting the semi-coherent babble that was about to spring forward out. His once-again defiant and strengthened gaze lifted to meet the toxic eyes of the Joker, and he couldn't keep the air of strength up as those poisonous eyes burned it away. A mad cackle burst to life, sending shivers down Dick's spine as he watched the clown shake and contort; a hacking sound almost seeming to seep into the laughs, though it was hard to tell.
"Let's get class started, we're late as it is." Waves of excitement and sadistic joy radiated from the crazed clown as he bent over Dick's chest, birdarang at the ready.
The hero tensed and almost closed his eyes as he watched the sharpened weapon descend onto his skin, though the jabs to the chest from Harley far out-weighed not watching his own creation used against him. With agonizing slowness the Joker cut each layer of bandages that wrapped his torso, careful to only slice one layer at a time as his eyes revealed a bizarre child-like wonder and joy at the act.
Annoyance was building as Dick watched him pick away at the layers, and knowing there were still a fair few before reaching skin the teen looked away. His eyes had the brief chance to wander and lock with Harley's. Brows knitted together as blue met blue-ringed-with-pink. As thoughts began to form sudden, excruciating pain burst to life in his chest. The burning wasn't the spread out, sudden crack and then gradual numbness of bones but the sizzling agony springing forth from sliced skin. As another scream tore from his throat Dick felt wetness creep down his chest, slithering over the bruises and feeling warm against the marked and scarred skin. Then the pain intensified, as did the ear-pounding screech, when the keen-edged blade was drug across the pale torso, tearing smoothly through the skin; sending continuous torrents of mind-shattering pain through out the hero's tensed upper body, the agony beginning to cloud his mind.
A new sharpness of pain ripped through the skin as the metal was removed, pulling a different kind of screech with it. In the brief respite a single thought resonated clear in his head. Get away. In panicked, desperate movements the boy pulled and yanked at the restraints, putting the entirety of his body into attempting to break away. Sweat was littering his skin from panic and the pain of before, now joined by the stress-sweat and began dribbling into the open wound. Groans echoed as the already aching and burning wounds began to prickle and sting due to the salt, almost drawing the prickling of tears to the hero's eyes.
In the moments of pain-free pain-numbed fog Dick began the time-old mantra of "Don't you dare cry. I swear to the high heavens if you start crying, Grayson, you're going to be in deep trouble." A sudden fire erupted across his chest again, a new line starting to be blazed across the pale, marred surface. The metal almost felt as if it were sizzling as it plowed agonizingly slow through the skin and muscle, ever so careful to just barely hover over the bone. Near immeasurable pain flared across the excruciating cuts as a precise wrenching slice tore through the fragile material, turning a corner for a continuous line.
Caterwauls of pain still rang in the air, growing hoarser and sounding rawer by the second. Sweat and blood pooled onto the table, mostly the dark liquid, before slipping down; seeping between Dick and the table, running into the bandages and soaking into them. The warm liquid drew Dick's focus as his mind surrendered to the pain and adapted to it. His chest still felt as if the home to a thousand fires and burned with agony; his throat was still clenched in a seemingly never ending cry of pain, blood beginning to well up in the back from being shouted raw; however, the pain was so great it numbed the boy's mind.
Dick smirked inwardly, a sense of peace flooding him as all the pain blended together. Another sharp twist of the blade sent a mild increase in the pain, almost forcing the boy out of his cloud, but not quite; though tearing a spiked shriek from the teen.
As he felt blood continuing to rush down the table Dick's world started to spin, slowly though noticeably, and a small, persistent pain budded in his forehead making him unable to focus on anything. Colors blended together.
A third sharp twist, wrenching a third spiked wail.
A quick glance down to his chest while hidden in the protective fog caused bile to rise in the young hero's throat. He had seen blood, he had seen people in pain and he had experienced pain; but looking at your own chest, already marred with years worth of scars, soaked in one's own blood and watching the knife, your own weapon, slice through your flesh was something Dick had never thought he would ever see. Disoriented cerulean eyes flicked around the room, searching for anything that he could focus on and not think of the blood.
A fourth spiking scream at a sudden turn ripping through the flesh.
Nothing stood out enough to capture the shaky attention of the hero, who was trying so desperately hard to fight the pain while staying safe within his numbing fog-like state of mind. But the spiraling lights and fuzziness of the world made it all too hard to retain any focus. Faint blackness began creeping over his vision; his eyes stayed closed longer with each blink, struggling to open again and then only opening half-way. The once skull-shattering pain was nearly nonexistent as Dick felt everything slip away, just as the red tears his wounds wept slid down his scar-bumpy skin then the table and then across the tiled floor.
The piercing cackles and whooping laughter that rang in the room only served as lullabies as Dick took a last few struggling breaths, a final ditch attempt at forgoing the creeping darkness. His hopes fell flat as a fifth twist of the blade sent a particularly power jolt of sizzling pain boiling through his chest, causing the blackness to swarm over his eyes and senses; sealing him off and enveloping him in the sweet embrace that would be his relief from the pain.
His howls of pain cut off as the boy's entire body went limp. Eyes closed, form relaxed and motionless except for the blood that poured forth from the wounds. No sounds echoed, save the slow dripping of blood, drop by drop, off of a hand dangling over the side of the bed, sending the blood pooling beneath it. Toxic green met purple-blue as fear swam between them.
Maybe they had had too much fun...