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Entry tags:
Flight 02 [Batman]
Title: Flight
Author: Feygan
Fandom: Batman
Pairing: Nigma/Crane, slash
Main Characters: Edward Nigma, Jonathan Crane
Curled on his bed with an ice pack shoved against his face, Edward allowed himself to cry.
He'd looked at himself in the bathroom mirror as he used a washcloth to remove the worst of the blood and mess from his bruise-mottled skin. He looked like some grotesque monster, his face swollen and lumpy. There were finger-shapes pressed into the skin around his neck like spread butterfly wings, four fingers and a thumb on each side of his clavicle.
His chest and stomach were covered in fist marks, darker purple patches raised amongst the surrounding red and blue. The Batman had focused largely on his front, though there was a nasty pain in his right shoulder blade--it hurt to lift his arm.
He felt and looked terrible. The Batman had really done a number to him, and he'd been helpless to stop it.
Edward reached out and grabbed his favorite baby doll from the other side of the bed. He tucked it close against his chest and clamped his free arm tight around it, the feel of the squishy body relieving something tight in his chest. With Baby against his arm, he felt as though someone loved him.
Even knowing it was illogical, hugging the doll made him feel safer. Neither the Batman or the rest of the world could get him as long as he was on his bed and Baby was with him. He could breathe and heal and no one would find him in the safety of his haven.
His face throbbed, the painkillers barely having taken the edge off. He'd used only the recommended dosage and wasn't willing to take any more. The last thing he needed was a late night trip to the emergency room to have his stomach pumped. The explanations alone would be too much for him to bear.
Edward hugged the doll and closed his aching eyes. Maybe if he slept he would wake up feeling better.
He didn't imagine that he could possibly feel worse.
.
He was wrong. Waking up was a nightmare of sore bruises intermixed with sharper aches and pains. The Batman had really done a number on him.
Little whimpers escaped his throat as he levered himself off the bed and hobbled to the bathroom. A shower might ease some of the pain if only he could make it in there. It seemed like a near impossible journey; ten feet that might as well have been ten miles. Part of him was tempted to go back to bed, except he didn't think he could manage turning around without falling.
Doggedly he put one foot in front of the other and went into the bathroom. Then it was a few minutes of jaw-clenching pain as he took his clothes off and stepped into the shower. He breathed out a sigh of relief the moment hot water began pouring down over his body, loosening the tightness.
Small whimpering sounds escaped his throat as he soaped a washcloth and washed away the blood and dirt.
If he could have killed the Batman he would have done it. To take that nightmare and crush it into nothingness; he could imagine his aches and pains being soothed away by revenge. But he really didn't want to see what the Joker would do to Gotham if his favorite toy was destroyed by someone else.
There was a reason why the Batman was still alive and lurking around. The man may have believed it was his own skill or his reputation as the terror that flapped in the night, but what it really came down to was the Joker and how murderous he would be if his bat-shaped nemesis was ever permanently decommissioned.
Edward ducked his head under the water. A long rinse was the best he could manage when his arms refused to reach up high enough to grab the shampoo. He couldn't even run his fingers through his hair, his shoulders hurting too much when he tried.
He stared at his feet as black grit and other debris swirled down the drain. He had vague memories of his head bouncing against various surfaces as he was slammed around limply.
I'm lucky he didn't kill me. It was a sobering thought, one he tried his best to ignore. He wasn't up to thinking of his own fragile mortality at the moment.
He closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the hot water. It wasn't going to last much more than half an hour and he was already dreading having to get out.
The thought of drying off with a towel seemed like an impossible task. He was already wincing away from the pain to come.
Edward slowly rotated under the water, letting it sluice over every bit of him. He was surprised by the myriad of bruises decorating his skin. He ignored how some of them were finger-shaped, only larger than human because they'd been made by armored gauntlets.
When the water started getting cold, he reluctantly turned it off. Then came the arduous task of drying himself with a towel and tugging on a pair of underwear.
He usually wore a matching set of pajamas, but underwear was all he could manage. So it was with a sense of being half-dressed that he stumbled to his bed and crawled beneath the covers.
It was near to impossible to find a comfortable position. No matter how he lay, some bruise was being pressed against the mattress.
He was sure that even his hair was hurting.
"Ugh," he moaned, forcing his eyes closed.
If he was lucky he wouldn't feel any worse when he woke up. It was something to hope for.
.
Edward woke with the half-delirious sense that he was drowning. It hurt to draw in a full breath and there was a growing discomfort in his belly.
He bit back whines of pain as he rolled out of bed and hobbled to the bathroom. He switched on the smaller of the two lights before approaching the toilet.
It took a long time for the pee to start coming, and when it did he couldn't hold back a pained moan. Tears burned in his eyes as the urine sputtered before beginning to flow.
"Oh no." It didn't look like pee, being a dark and murky orangish-red. The last few dribbled looked like pure blood.
With shaking hands he carefully ran his fingers over his stomach. He winced at the soreness and noticed that there was tightness in the muscles and a just visible amount of swelling.
He didn't trust hospitals, but he needed a doctor. Someone that could come to him and see him in privacy.
Unfortunately he didn't have anyone he could call. His usual back alley physician had died a terrible death the month before, victim of a dissatisfied patient.
Edward barely made it back to the bed. He was losing his strength and his stomach was beginning to swell with trapped fluid.
He refused to die such an ignoble death.
TBC...
Author: Feygan
Fandom: Batman
Pairing: Nigma/Crane, slash
Main Characters: Edward Nigma, Jonathan Crane
Curled on his bed with an ice pack shoved against his face, Edward allowed himself to cry.
He'd looked at himself in the bathroom mirror as he used a washcloth to remove the worst of the blood and mess from his bruise-mottled skin. He looked like some grotesque monster, his face swollen and lumpy. There were finger-shapes pressed into the skin around his neck like spread butterfly wings, four fingers and a thumb on each side of his clavicle.
His chest and stomach were covered in fist marks, darker purple patches raised amongst the surrounding red and blue. The Batman had focused largely on his front, though there was a nasty pain in his right shoulder blade--it hurt to lift his arm.
He felt and looked terrible. The Batman had really done a number to him, and he'd been helpless to stop it.
Edward reached out and grabbed his favorite baby doll from the other side of the bed. He tucked it close against his chest and clamped his free arm tight around it, the feel of the squishy body relieving something tight in his chest. With Baby against his arm, he felt as though someone loved him.
Even knowing it was illogical, hugging the doll made him feel safer. Neither the Batman or the rest of the world could get him as long as he was on his bed and Baby was with him. He could breathe and heal and no one would find him in the safety of his haven.
His face throbbed, the painkillers barely having taken the edge off. He'd used only the recommended dosage and wasn't willing to take any more. The last thing he needed was a late night trip to the emergency room to have his stomach pumped. The explanations alone would be too much for him to bear.
Edward hugged the doll and closed his aching eyes. Maybe if he slept he would wake up feeling better.
He didn't imagine that he could possibly feel worse.
.
He was wrong. Waking up was a nightmare of sore bruises intermixed with sharper aches and pains. The Batman had really done a number on him.
Little whimpers escaped his throat as he levered himself off the bed and hobbled to the bathroom. A shower might ease some of the pain if only he could make it in there. It seemed like a near impossible journey; ten feet that might as well have been ten miles. Part of him was tempted to go back to bed, except he didn't think he could manage turning around without falling.
Doggedly he put one foot in front of the other and went into the bathroom. Then it was a few minutes of jaw-clenching pain as he took his clothes off and stepped into the shower. He breathed out a sigh of relief the moment hot water began pouring down over his body, loosening the tightness.
Small whimpering sounds escaped his throat as he soaped a washcloth and washed away the blood and dirt.
If he could have killed the Batman he would have done it. To take that nightmare and crush it into nothingness; he could imagine his aches and pains being soothed away by revenge. But he really didn't want to see what the Joker would do to Gotham if his favorite toy was destroyed by someone else.
There was a reason why the Batman was still alive and lurking around. The man may have believed it was his own skill or his reputation as the terror that flapped in the night, but what it really came down to was the Joker and how murderous he would be if his bat-shaped nemesis was ever permanently decommissioned.
Edward ducked his head under the water. A long rinse was the best he could manage when his arms refused to reach up high enough to grab the shampoo. He couldn't even run his fingers through his hair, his shoulders hurting too much when he tried.
He stared at his feet as black grit and other debris swirled down the drain. He had vague memories of his head bouncing against various surfaces as he was slammed around limply.
I'm lucky he didn't kill me. It was a sobering thought, one he tried his best to ignore. He wasn't up to thinking of his own fragile mortality at the moment.
He closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the hot water. It wasn't going to last much more than half an hour and he was already dreading having to get out.
The thought of drying off with a towel seemed like an impossible task. He was already wincing away from the pain to come.
Edward slowly rotated under the water, letting it sluice over every bit of him. He was surprised by the myriad of bruises decorating his skin. He ignored how some of them were finger-shaped, only larger than human because they'd been made by armored gauntlets.
When the water started getting cold, he reluctantly turned it off. Then came the arduous task of drying himself with a towel and tugging on a pair of underwear.
He usually wore a matching set of pajamas, but underwear was all he could manage. So it was with a sense of being half-dressed that he stumbled to his bed and crawled beneath the covers.
It was near to impossible to find a comfortable position. No matter how he lay, some bruise was being pressed against the mattress.
He was sure that even his hair was hurting.
"Ugh," he moaned, forcing his eyes closed.
If he was lucky he wouldn't feel any worse when he woke up. It was something to hope for.
.
Edward woke with the half-delirious sense that he was drowning. It hurt to draw in a full breath and there was a growing discomfort in his belly.
He bit back whines of pain as he rolled out of bed and hobbled to the bathroom. He switched on the smaller of the two lights before approaching the toilet.
It took a long time for the pee to start coming, and when it did he couldn't hold back a pained moan. Tears burned in his eyes as the urine sputtered before beginning to flow.
"Oh no." It didn't look like pee, being a dark and murky orangish-red. The last few dribbled looked like pure blood.
With shaking hands he carefully ran his fingers over his stomach. He winced at the soreness and noticed that there was tightness in the muscles and a just visible amount of swelling.
He didn't trust hospitals, but he needed a doctor. Someone that could come to him and see him in privacy.
Unfortunately he didn't have anyone he could call. His usual back alley physician had died a terrible death the month before, victim of a dissatisfied patient.
Edward barely made it back to the bed. He was losing his strength and his stomach was beginning to swell with trapped fluid.
He refused to die such an ignoble death.
TBC...