"Calm down."
"I am calm," Jason all but snarled from the passenger seat of the Batmobile.
"Clearly."
"How can you be so calm?" Jason snapped. "You saw that-that trophy room! You saw what that monster is going to do to Dick!"
"Think, Jason," Batman growled. "Elyssa Morgan was forced to dance for days before she escaped. It's likely that the Collector forces them to perform until their bodies give out. And yes, I saw that trophy room. I also saw that Dick had a place of honor. He's obviously…special to him. He won't just kill him."
Jason let out a breath and leaned back in the seat, letting Batman's words roll over him.
"He was only taken a few hours ago," Batman continued. "If we're lucky, he's still unconscious."
"When are we ever lucky?" grumbled Jason. But Batman's words made sense. Dick was still alive, and they would bring him home safely, no doubt about that. But the kid was violently ill, injured, and in the hands of a murdering madman. It was impossible not to be terrified.
"I swear when this is over, we are embedding a tracker in that kid's skull," Jason promised. He looked over to see the corner of Batman's mouth turn up slightly. He also took in the stiff posture, the way Batman leaned forward slightly in his seat, and the way his hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly, he had to be losing feeling in his fingers. Batman was worried too.
Jason took a deep breath and began unloading and reloading his guns to give him something to do with his hands during the torturously long drive to the theater. He was already regretting letting Bruce switch out his bullets with heavy tranquilizers.
Dick was alone in the darkened dressing room. He could barely stand, his body was shaking so violently. His fever had to be incredibly high, he figured, and his light headedness made him sway.
They had forced him to change into a black and white gymnast suit, which disturbingly fit him perfectly, and had fixed something small and silver onto his neck, just below his ear. His attempts to remove whatever it was were in vain, and left his fingertips raw.
The room spun slightly, and Dick sank into the cold metal chair. He leaned forward, gripping his head in his hands as he fought to get control over his body.
"Anytime now, guys," he muttered, wishing his heart didn't feel like it was about to beat out of his chest. He just wanted to be out of this nightmare and back safe in his bed. There should be a rule about kidnapping when he was sick.
But he shook more from just his illness. The Collector was disturbed and frightening, his obsession with Dick scared him more than he wanted to say.
Someone breathed against his neck.
Dick startled violently, leaping forward off of his chair in a movement that made him even dizzier. He stumbled and leaned against the wall, panting, as the Collector stepped from behind his chair. God, he hadn't even heard the man enter the room.
"You're perfect," the Collector breathed. "I was right to save you."
"Don't do this," Dick said in a last attempt, though he knew it was useless. "I'm in no condition to-"
"That's the beauty of it!" the Collector rushed forward, eyes wide with excitement. Dick pressed himself further against the wall to get away. "It won't matter that you're sick. It won't matter that you haven't done anything like this since you were small. Richard, your body can't forget how to fly, and I have the means to make it happen! You should be thanking me, for doing this for you, for helping you!"
Dick thrust his knee up, slamming it into the man's groin, and shoved him back when the Collector doubled over in pain. He bolted towards the door, stumbling dizzily as he reached for the handle.
"Stop."
There was a sudden snap, a disconnect deep inside of him. Needles stabbed into every surface of his body, burning with their intensity as he suddenly froze in place, hand still outstretched.
"Turn around."
Dick turned instantly, fire spreading over his nerves as he did so. His hand fell to his side.
The Collector stood slowly, his silver watch gleaming in the dim light. "Come here."
As if his body knew exactly what the Collector meant, it turned again and did two flawless back handsprings until he stood at the Collector's side. The pain in his ribs was agony, and made nausea clench his gut, even as the needles sensation pulsed along his skin. But Dick stood straight at attention.
The Collector's hand reached out to cup his face. Dick wanted nothing more than to flinch away, but his body remained still. "You're ready," the madman took a deep breath. "The show's about to start. I must take my seat. I don't want to miss a moment of it. Places, everyone!"
Horrified, yet unable to do a thing to stop himself, Dick followed the Collector out of the dressing room, each step agony. It was dark. Curtains, poles and wires formed a darkened corridor, and Dick could see a sliver of a lighted stage just beyond it. His heart raced.
"This is where I leave you, Richard," the Collector stood behind him, hands on his shoulders. He bent down and whispered in his ear, sending terrified chills down his spine. "Break a leg."
I know, I know, I'm so mean. Not only was this the shortest chapter yet, but I leave you like that! I was going to make this the long chapter, but that mean part of me wanted one more of build up before the big finale. Stay tuned for the most intense chapter yet, and as always, love to know what you think. :)