Mutual Trauma
A hand clutches his shoulder as his scream dies in his throat. Rawness scorches his vocal chords. He bolts upright in bed, nearly knocking into the befuddled young woman and kicks off his comforters. The darkness of his room encroaches, encapsulating Hot Spot as his vision swarms. Salty sweat dribbles down the sides of his chiseled face and mingles with his tears.
"Hey, hey! Can you hear me?"
The voice calls again, but Hot Spot cannot see her. He glances around in quick, swift motions. His head jerks in every which way direction as if ready to be lopped off. Hot Spot croons, clutching his head and panting. Wild images flash across his mind in a flurrying tornado of chaos, and his breathing hisses in heaving cries.
"Hot Spot! Earth to Hot Spot!"
Hot Spot shoots out of bed and thrusts himself at the window. He wrestles with the flimsy cotton curtains and tears them off. He grips the windowsill and opens the window with a startled gasp. Cool air immediately hits his face and chills him, earning a relieved sigh in return.
The hand returns to his back and applies light pressure. Hot Spot stiffens as her gentle voice calls his name. Faintly, the wind sweeps up apple shampoo and vanilla conditioner from her hair. Hot Spot relaxes, lowering his shoulders and peering at her.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, and Argent somberly tilts her head.
"Don't be. Was it them again?" she asks, guiding him to his bed.
Hot Spot grimaces. He clenches his fist, digging his fingernails into his coarse palm. He scratches through his ruffled hair and gives an imperceptible nod.
"Those monsters really are still fresh in our minds. I mean, even if a year passed, it doesn't erase the pain," Argent murmurs, sitting on the bed with him in his homely flat.
She had offered to remain at his home when he mentioned the recurring nightmares. Their past was full of horrors only the Teen Titans could comprehend. Battling an intergalactic alien army at a young age initially drove them for a promising career of heroism. Full of initial hope and valor, the hybrids only had each other to maintain a steady focus for their goals.
Yet, as their victory became the war's lingering aftermath, the trauma quietly settled in their minds and daily lives. They were created to be child soldiers forced to contend with a murderous king and warriors who conquered dozens of planets with surpassed brutality. Merciless months of being hunted, kidnapped, and fending off the H'San Natall's propaganda forces on Earth left Hot Spot, Argent, and the rest of their fellow hybrids thoroughly paralyzed with nightmares, continuous anxiety, and personal disorders.
Each day they dreaded King Ch'Ah's return. One day, perhaps, the H'San Natall will break the non-aggression treaty to conquer and slaughter everyone they loved. Even though the hybrids had separated to pursue personal goals, the mutual apprehension rises within each of them and scourges their dreams. The memories twist and churn their nightmares as their hearts pound and blood chills whenever they bolt awake.
Hot Spot's first nightmare was days after they succeeded in quelling King Ch'Ah. He was trapped in Prysm's virtual reality and forced to witness abhorrent war crimes. How his friends' bodies were twisted under metal clamps left him sobbing as soon as his eyes snapped open, and now, the nightmare recurs.
"I thought it was over. I really believed I would stop having that dream," Hot Spot whispers, allowing Argent to embrace him.
Argent nods, rubbing Hot Spot's muscled back in soothing circles. "I know. I had one last week, but I managed to wake up before Pylon could get me."
"It's over. It's been over for so long," Hot Spot hisses, clenching his jaw. "I shouldn't be affected by this anymore."
Argent shakes her head. "That's not true. We had to deal with that horrible situation by ourselves. We had no one to help us."
Hot Spot bites back a scathing remark. Considering she is offering her consolation, he does not want to insult her. She had also endured the same agonizing fate, but he wonders if her father's subsequent arrest increases her personal pain. She never spoke about it, choosing to privatize her emotions unless in front of her therapist.
Her thumbs creases against his cheek to smooth down a stray tear. Hot Spit grips his bed's edge and wearily smiles. Argent returns the grin with a smirk, flicking his cheek.
"No need to be all stony, cold, and lonesome, Hot Spot," she playfully quips, and Hot Spot rolls his eyes.
"I'm always red hot-"
"-and stubborn."
He groans as she laughs. Resting his cheek on her skull, Hot Spot sighs. His chest expands with slow breath, and Argent pats his thigh. They remain quiet, enjoying the gentle comfortability of their bond only they share among the Honorary Titans. Argent cups his cheek, immense worry plaguing her expression.
"Are you feeling better? Need anything?" she asks, and he shakes his head.
"I'm good. Thanks for staying."
"Are you sure? We can talk more if you need it."
"I'm not one for spilling out my feelings, but tomorrow, if you want, let's do something relaxing. I'll even go shopping."
Her eyebrows raise, and she dips her chin to her chest. "You? Go shopping with me? Well, I never thought I'd live to see the day!"
"Don't think too much of it, Argent. I know you're famous for your shopping sprees, but I'm gonna curb your time going through every single store," Hot Spot sneers, and Argent pouts, crossing her arms.
"Come on! You need a wardrobe update! You'd look great in formal clothes, and you need new jeans, shoes, and much more."
"I think your fashion splurges are way scarier than my nightmares," Hot Spot mumbles as stars illuminate in Argent's eyes. Clearing his throat, he picks at his plaid pajamas and adds, "I'm gonna go to bed. Thanks again, Argent."
She nods, standing up and placing a chaste kiss to his forehead. Patting his shoulder, she says, "Sure thing, love. Get some good rest, okay? I'll see you in the morning."
He watches her leave, waving as she shuts the door. Hot Spot gathers his wrestled comforters and tucks himself in, embracing the budding warmth. He smiles in the darkness, banishing his trepidation. Heavy eyelids slowly flutter and shut, and Hot Spot drifts into a dreamless, pleasant sleep.