AN: All righty, guys. This is a shorter chapter than the others (a little under 2k), but things get pretty amped up. To avoid spoilers, I'll place the content advisory or trigger warnings in the end-of-chapter notes, along with a summary if you wish to skip a full read of the chapter but still have an overview to provide context for the final one.
And as before—I hope you enjoy the chapter, and interaction is welcome & appreciated: kudos, comments, theories, constructive criticism, favorite parts of the chapter, emojis, et cetera!
He was still a good few strides away when an odd noise gave him pause, instantly halting his tracks and sending a prick of anxiety into his spine like a weird sort of anti-acupuncture.
He eased nearer to the wall while his hand moved to hover above his sidearm. His ears strained to identify the sound.
It took only a few moments for his stop to become go.
He dashed to the room, making it in no fucking seconds flat, his eyes tearing across the room when the bed proved empty. The noise was much louder already, a high-pitched rasping of breath interrupted by choked noises and intermittent whimpers.
He rounded the bed and stopped short at the sight of his charge.
The kid was having a panic attack. Quietly.
But the lack of volume couldn't mask the reality. The younger boy was knelt on the floor, curled up and trembling like a willow branch in a gale. His face glistened with dampness, probably sweat and tears and everything else all mixing together, and his skin was blotched with flushes of red. Worst of all, one clawed hand was clutched to his side in a gesture that was probably meant to be protective but likely just worsened the pain he must've already been in just from that position.
Crap, if he didn't stop—Jay moved before he could finish his own thought, at the kid's side like a magnet. "Easy, Baby Bird, easy," he said, managing to gain a careful grip on Tim's left forearm. "I'm gonna need you to breathe. Breathe and let go, okay?"
The kid hissed out sounds, a "J" or "G," a "K," but his breathing was too erratic and jaw too tightly clenched to let the words escape properly. He shook his head, free hand curling into a tighter sort of mangled claw.
Jay winced at the pain in his younger brother's voice, one hand stroking down his back while the other worked to try and carefully, carefully force Tim's hand away from the wounded area. He had to avoid sudden movements if he wanted to avoid making things worse himself, but the kid was putting up a surprising level of resistance.
Not intentionally, Jay knew, but that made it no less alarming.
And it was getting worse. The tremors intensified—and Jay knew he needed a better plan—and then a full-blown spasm tore through his small frame, a cry of muted agony leaking from his lips.
Jay held on for the sake of them both. He rested his head against Tim's shoulder, feeling the erratic, violent pulsing as the kid's muscles went fucking haywire for what had to be the longest 3, 5, 8 seconds of either of their lives.
And shit like this never just happened once.
Tim relaxed with a choked gasp, and Jay struck like a cobra, a feral sense of urgency driving his movements. He all but threw himself into the corner formed where the nightstand met the bed—hauling Tim along with him. Position stabilized, he wove his limbs around Tim's like iron briars, locking the kid back in a position where he could breathe more easily and the strain was taken off of his wounded side, his uncontrolled limbs trapped away.
He used his left leg to pin Tim's right, letting the weight press just above his knee. Other times he might've simply used his own right, but the cross-body position would ensure Jay didn't brush against the burns himself.
The kid was small enough—or Jay was large enough, to-may-to, to-mah-to—that one arm was enough to encircle Tim's torso and slip underneath both of his arms, preventing the limbs from doing further damage, and leveraging against the pinned leg to keep his body from curling inwards again.
Jay used his remaining hand to carefully nestle the kid's head against his chest, hoping to minimize dangerous thrashing when—
The next set of spasms began.
"I know, I know, I know it hurts, Timbo, I know," Jay murmured, forcing calm into his throat like each pained cry from the boy didn't feel like it was shredding his own body apart. "But just focus on my breathing, match my breaths."
But the kid was far too frantic to comply, and his distress only compounded the panic. Jay could feel Tim's breaths halt and then jerk as the spasms forced air from his lungs and he could only get air in short bursts and snatches.
Jay gritted his teeth, eyes closing as he worked to keep his own breaths as steady as possible while the smaller boy gasped and thrashed in his arms, holding on to the faint hope that this would be enough to center him—center them both—once the current wave passed.
He counted silently, keeping his own anxiety at bay by confirming that the kid was still getting some breaths in, even if they were erratic and strained. He bode his time, fighting the helpless frustrated thrumming in his own veins until he felt the tell-tale slackening as the violent spasms loosened their grip for brief reprieve.
As the tension holding the kid's lungs hostage eased, Jay attempted to reach him again, murmuring as gently as he could manage as Tim drew deep, desperate breaths. "It's okay, Timmy. It's all right, you're all right. You're all right."
"No.…" He shook his head weakly, but it was the first full word he had managed since the episode began.
Jay counted it a win. "Shh, it's all right."
"The pills, Jay." Yet another soft sob broke through his voice as he said it.
He understood at once what he meant, having clocked the dropped and scattered medication in his initial sweep of the scene. Jay shook his own head, ignoring the slight stings of worry pricking his gut. "It's fine, Timbo."
"No, I didn't, I didn't take them."
Clearly not for lack of trying; he wagered the kid had made his way to the floor in hopes of retrieving the stray tablets. He at least didn't seem to have fallen.
"I know, shh."
"I'm sorry, Jay, I'm sorry."
"It's okay, we can fix that."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please. Please." The crying picked up and the kid was working himself up again and Jay would've taken on the kid's pain in a heartbeat if anyone had given him the damned option.
Tim didn't deserve this shit.
"It's okay, it's all good, Timbo." He winced as he felt the tremors beginning to pick up again. No, no, no. "Tim, Tim. I need you to listen. You're fine, okay? You're fine," he repeated.
"Don't leave, I'm sorry I can't stop, I'm sorry I'm still, I'm sorry—"
Damn it! "Hey, hey, I'm not going anywhere. Just slow down, I need you to do that. That's all I need."
"I can't, I want, I can't—" The kid started to choke on his words and Jay could feel the next breakdown breathing down their necks.
"Tim! Fuck!" He loosened his grip, trying to allow himself enough leeway to reach the water bottle, because maybe—
"I'm sorry, I'll stop—"
But that was entirely the wrong fucking move because the kid lost it—
"I'll STOP, I'LL BE GOOD, I PROMISE I'LL BE GOOD, I'LL BE GOOD, I'M QUIET, I CAN BE QUIET—"
And the surge of nausea was instant and the spasms had started and Jay was going to bite his own fucking tongue off because now he couldn't breathe and he was shaking and he had to hold on and Tim was crying-sobbing-choking, and Jay, Jay had to get his hold right again, and there was a thrashing kid in his arms in agony begging and pleading and promising to be good and, and be quiet and he was begging Jay, JAY COULDN'T FUCKING STAND IT, AND HE COULDN'T HURT THE KID AND HE JUST WANTED TO LET GO, HE—he didn't want the kid to be quiet or good or stop crying or let Jay do anything now, but he was supposed to calm him down and he wanted to let go but he had to hold tighter and the kid was in pain, he was in so much pain and Jay couldn't fix this and he couldn't breathe and he was gonna throw up, he couldn't think, he had to remember, he had to find words, if he could find words, but he couldn't remember anything and he had to say something—
And the pills, how many, arbaa [four, the word came to him, and he remembered, remembered the trick, he couldn't find the words but he could find this, he could say this. "Arbaa," he choked out, and Tim was still gasping and did he hear him, he didn't hear him? "Khamsa," he tried again, teeth still clenched because he didn't trust, he knew it hadn't stopped, his stomach was still, he had to just—he had to get through this. "Khamsa…ethnaan…khamsa…veinte…a'ishroon."
The sobs and the pained cries continued but the begging had stopped and he knew the kid was trying, he was trying. "J-Jay? I don't.…" The words choked off.
"I know," he rasped. Jay didn't fully understand, either, but these were the words he had. He could breathe a little better without the pleading that drowned out even the rush of blood and buzz of static in his head. "I just need"—he took a deep breath himself and swallowed and thought his stomach might be okay now; he could talk. "Follow me, just follow me, Timbo, come on. Ethnaan, khamsa, veinte, a'ishroon."
No words followed, but the choking noises intensified as he tried to speak.
"I need you to say it, Tim." He lifted his volume to be heard over the distressed sounds that seemed to fill every bit of the room now. "Ethnaan, khamsa, veinte, a'ishroon!"
"E-Eth. Ethnaan."
"Khamsa, veinte."
"Kham…sa." The words were raw and distorted in pitch and pacing, but he was speaking again now, and it wasn't to beg, and they could both breathe now.
"Ethnaan, khamsa, veinte, a'ishroon."
"Ethnaan. Kh-khamsa, a'ishroon. Veinte."
"Hejdah, yázdah, bíst, quatre."
"Hejdah, yázdah, b-bíst, quatre."
"Quatre, bíst, fifteen."
"Quatre, bíst, fifteen."
"Fifteen, triente.…"
The numbers flowed on, no real rhyme or rhythm to them, until Jay felt the younger boy's frame slumping against his in utter exhaustion, the trembling still there but muted, and the gasps and wheezes of pain quieted to shuddering but steadfast sobbing.
Jay noted, with faint surprise, his own face now seemed damp. Exhaustion slowly bled in at the same time the tension bled out, like a weird transfusion of sorts.
But he was soothed, at least, by the warmth still present in his arms, and he realized the kid was still matching his own breaths as much was possible with this many tears intervening.
Jay closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep. He wanted his dad to come the fuck home, truth be told. But it was just him. Just them.
He hoped the kid would get some damned sleep now.
He also knew it was stupid to bother hoping for.
Especially since there was still a thing or two up in the air. In a Damocles sort of way.
END NOTES
[Footnotes, Trigger Warnings, Summary, Commentary]
Footnotes:
The individual numbers Jay recited for Tim are random and have no special significance (hence why I left them untranslated), aside from my possible background that Jace was able to pull them up in his panicked state because he had a vague memory of them being used on him at some point in his murky past. Partial credit to the legal drama Bull for this; it's where I first heard of the technique of using a random sequence of numbers to distract someone from a panic attack, because they won't be able to mentally focus on that and the anxiety at the same time, as they might be able to with more basic counting. My own twist on it was that, given that we're dealing with the Goddamned Batkids, it would need to be something still more challenging to be effective. …Hence using a combo of Arabic, Spanish, Farsi, English, and French!
TW: panic attacks, severe physical pain, difficulty breathing, flashbacks to abuse—CSA, referenced rather than explicitly shown—& to abandonment/emotional abuse, forcible restraint (absolutely benign in nature, but causing flashbacks to very non-benign parallels)
Summary:
Jay returns to Tim's bedroom to find the younger boy in the throes of a panic attack. Along with erratic breathing, Tim is also experiencing muscle spasms and issues controlling his limbs. To prevent the kid from accidentally injuring himself, Jay improvises a quick safety hold and restrains Tim in the position.
He also tries to verbally calm him, but Tim is still too stuck in the panicked state to focus, and as soon as he is able to even speak, the crying turns to outright pleading, as he desperately fears that Jay will leave him there, a la Jack Janet Drake. And he's too panicked for Jay's assurances otherwise to really sink in.
His distress itself is painful for Jay to witness, but when Tim starts saying specific words/phrases in his pleas, that and the combo of a thrashing, suffering kid being restrained by and pleading with a larger individual—yeah, that triggers memories of some of the most traumatic moments from Jay's time on the streets. And the additional shock of feeling as though roles are reversed and he's now the attacker leaves him extra blindsided. Despite how different the actual circumstances and intent are, it's still viscerally disturbing.
Jay experiences an intense surge of panic while still needing to calm Tim's panic, and they're both in bad shape until Jay's able to pull up memories of a method that had helped him calm down from panic attacks before. (You can check the in-chapter footnote for further explanation of the technique.)
The method eventually works, and a thoroughly spent Jay is left hoping for a reprieve, longing for their dad to be there, and mildly dreading the stuff still ahead—he knows neither he nor Tim is quite out of the woods at this point.
AJ's Casual Commentary: This ended up being a really tricky section of the story to write in terms of the pacing and emotional impact. The key issue was that I had specific dialogue I needed to get in, and the initial plan had essentially been to have two different spikes of intensity in the action, with a bit of a calm spot in between. But it just did not work out right and the transitions didn't feel natural. It wasn't until I tried just consolidating them into a single sequence of moments that everything finally slotted into place.
I think stacking them like LEGOs really enhanced both moments beyond what either would've been individually; it furthered that snowball effect of just having one thing after another in a short space of time.
By the way, for anyone wondering, the muscle spasms are chiefly caused by the panic attack itself, though they're exacerbated by the lingering effects of the toxin here. It's not something I've really seen covered yet myself, but those can be downright excruciating, plus the fear of the pain itself & the inability to stop the seizing can themselves fuel the panic further. A pretty vicious cycle for Tim and Jason to grapple with here, eh?