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That could not have gone any worse than it did.
Maybe it was the still bleeding gash that ran from Edward’s stomach to his chest, but Jonathan’s unconscious body laid on the couch and the recent failure of a bank robbery kept the decision from being simple.
Simple.
That was all it was supposed to be, Edward thought as he pressed a needle against his thigh. The syringe held a very special kind of fear toxin. A serum reserved only for the Scarecrow’s closest and most trusted friends, and one that gave all the benefits of fear toxin with less downsides. He winced as he felt the needle press past flesh and sting into his skin, but the pain from the needle quickly faded in comparison to the burning of the gash. It took no time for him to finish the injection and quickly press a small bandage over.
Bank robberies were supposed to be easy. It was the most simple crime in the book, one even C-Listers could pull off. And yet all it took was one of those damned bat-brats to slip up. Maybe Nightwing spent too much time out of town, but he clearly didn’t get the memo to be cautious when fighting Jonathan now. All it took was a batarang in the Achilles heel to startle the Scarecrow enough to temporarily spike his heart rate to the limit.
Edward shut his eyes and tried to ignore the memories. Watching Jon collapse and start seizing was bad enough, but him turning into the Scarebeast was just about as simultaneously horrifying and impossible to look away from as a train wreck that exploded into an amalgamation of flesh and limbs. The rest of the night followed as a blur. A blur that was painted red and green. Edward swallowed rising bile in his throat, cringing at the taste as the memories mocked the lingering nausea in his stomach. Whether it was from the sight of the Scarebeast, the worry for his dear friend, or the constant running for his life, he still wasn’t sure.
The situation was horrible on all sides. Those brats took risky calls to save the Riddler when he would make one offbeat step in the lethal tango the Scarebeast led, and they didn’t even get him nor Scarecrow into Arkham. And while Edward and Jonathan successfully evaded Arkham, it came at the cost of their mission and Jon’s body.
Edward hesitantly shifted his head to tilt towards Jon’s stiff form on his couch. He didn’t look asleep, but rather dead. He didn’t lie limp- no, the Scarebeast wasn’t that merciful. Instead he looked like a work of taxidermy, or perhaps a corpse with rigor mortis. The various blue, black, and purple bruises that were noticeable under the little torn rags of his costume left didn’t help.
Edward pressed his thumbs into his thighs, trying to cease his arms from shaking. He wasn’t sure when they started trembling, but that and the numbed pain stemming from his chest informed him that the medicinal fear toxin was working. Letting out a deep breath and shutting his eyes, he took the short chance of relief he felt. He’s done this dance before and knew to take hold of that feeling when the chance came. It’s gonna be a while before he feels it again.
Opening his eyes, Ed’s feet carried him closer to the unconscious form of Scarecrow. The only sign the man was truly alive was the delicate rise and fall motion of his chest. Looming over the lanky body of his friend, Edward forced himself to carry out the usual procedure for when this happened. First he took off the hat and analyzed what needed to be replaced. Like usual, he would need an entire outfit of spare clothing, as the fabric that remained barely did the job of acting as clothes. However that’s not where Edward’s attention was.
His eyes blurred with the sight of black, blue, and purple.
There was barely any tan skin, only splotches of black, blue, and purple. Realistically, Edward knew to expect this. He’s seen it countless times and yet that didn’t stop his quivering fingers from slowly trailing one of the repugnant swelled bruises that started from Jon’s shoulder and ran down to his wrist. The skin was rough and bumpy and it made Edward cringe.
It didn’t matter how many times he’s done this dance. When it came to Jonathan in a condition this severe, he’d always stumble.
Edward had to stifle a sob and bring the hand that was trailing the bruises to his face, wiping his eyes as he tried to keep himself tethered. Choking back another threat of tears with a pained wince and wiping the lingering wetness around his eyes, he was ready to force himself back to work.
Though starting was the hardest part. Nothing was more difficult than forcefully tearing his eyes away from the more-bruise-than-human that was currently Jon, and having to follow it up with trudging away to grab needed supplies. It took a total of twenty more minutes than it needed to and five trips. By the time he had dropped off the last of supplies, the coffee table no longer held a partially used first aid kit, but instead coolers that covered every square inch of wood and some spare clothes in Jonathan’s size.
The next step was easier, as it was simply dressing the man. They weren’t the fancy clothes that Riddler preferred to wear, but instead a simple loose fitting gray tee and baggy black sweatpants. He didn’t care if Jonathan wouldn’t like the style when he woke up, but he wanted to avoid any type of clothing that could possibly aggravate the bruising and wounded muscles. The next step was as tricky as it was tedious. It was simply placing ice on the bruises, but the bruises were everywhere, including his face. It didn’t help that his body was stiff. His muscles were pulled beyond what should've been possible and either stuck at an intense tension that was teetering towards snapping or they were already torn. It made the awkward pose he was in difficult to balance the ice on.
The tedious part was soon to come. He couldn’t cover every bruise in ice, because that would be covering Jonathan in ice, which would certainly end in a cold. So for the rest of the night, Edward would be spending sitting next to Jonathan while trying to distract himself with various puzzles and moving around the ice every hour and grabbing new bags every three. All while checking his temperature with every bag change and making sure he didn’t get too cold.
Edward has gotten better at this, but that didn’t mean it didn’t get any easier. Especially when he’d glance at Jonathan with both the hope of seeing his eyes flutter awake and him okay, but the knowledge of knowing he’d have to wait much longer.
Of course, the more logical side was correct.
Eighteen hours passed before Jonathan’s body slowly went limp over the course of three. This made it easier to move him into a more comfortable position as well as stack ice.
Twenty eight before Edward caught slight movement. It was when he was doing his fourth injection of the medicinal fear toxin, relying completely on the thrill and artificial energy it lent him to stay awake. He noticed Jonathan’s right hand twitch before closing ever so slightly and relaxing again. Not a sign of consciousness, but it was close enough that it boosted Edward’s mood.
And thirty six when he heard a heavy groan slip through numb and bruised lips, indicating that Jonathan was finally awake. Edward wasted no time both hurrily and gently sitting down on the couch next to his friend as his head tilted with a wince.
“…can… can’t ‘ nmove,” Jonathan groggily slurred. His voice was lighter than a feather and just as weak as the man looked. Edward’s trembling hands kept opening and closing as he restrained himself from touching the frail man. He did nothing but watch as Jon’s body twitched and tilted ever so slightly before the man entirely gave up, hissing in pain as his body went limp.
“Stop moving,” Edward quickly said as he pushed his hands against his own thighs. Either Jon listened or was too exhausted, but he stopped his attempts to move. “It happened again… the, uh… the Scarebeast,” Edward took the chance to explain as he watched the gears slowly chug to life in Jon’s brain.
“…wh, what- you, y- where?” Jonathan lisped through numbed lips as he fired off partial questions in his delirious state. Edward didn’t bother answering him, merely staring with a now forced and awkward smile as Jonathan awoke. While his friend took his time, Edward slowly scooted closer to Jon’s feet as Jon’s brain finally clicked.
He started moving again, wincing and hissing, all the while his body tensed as he repeatedly and sluggishly waved his head from side to side. “ No, no, no- no…” Jonathan repeatedly mumbled, distress slowly overstepping the line of exhaustion as Edward got up on his feet and circled the couch.
“Hey, hey- stop moving, it’s alright!” He called in response to the slight thrashing. He stood over Jon’s head, both hands now up and hovering behind it as he mentally deducted the risks and rewards of his next actions. “…it’s alright,” he repeated as he sat down on the end of the couch, knees brushing ever so slightly against the ends of Jon’s hair. With cautious movements, he brought his fingers into the hair and gingerly began playing with it in attempts to soothe Jon.
He couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as Jon slowly paused with a heavy exhale, settling again. That didn’t stop him from speaking. “Th- the, the mission- “ he simultaneously stuttered and lisped. “The mission, did we- did I-?”
“It was a failure,” Edward admitted bluntly as he lightly moved his hands from the hair and lightly gripped Jon’s chest. “Mind if I?” He paused to ask for the other’s thoughts, and got no words other than a nod. “Alright, take a breath-“ He instructed as Jon shakily inhaled, and Edward carefully dragged the man to where his head was resting in his lap. The breath was quickly lost as Jonathan hissed in pain and gasped. Edward frowned as he returned to playing with the man’s hair.
“…I’m sorry,” Jonathan said, voice almost pathetically quiet.
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault,” Edward sighed as he spoke. “You can’t control it. I’d much rather have you alive rather than dead because of a damn bank robbery even Kite-Man or Condiment King could pull off.”
He smiled as Jon lightly chuckled in response.
“…we’ll get through this. Just a few more days until you can move again, and we’ll come back better than ever, Edward consoled as his hands started playing with a tangle.
“…we’ll get through this,” Jonathan parroted in a weak breath as he wished he could lean into the feeling of Edward playing with his hair.