Chapter Text
The rough grasp of a hand around his wrist drags him from his restless consciousness. The figure’s tan-skinned hand wrapped around his arm in a vice-like grip, nails digging into skin and purple bruises forming around the afflicted area of contact. The longer the pulling lingers, the more senses that begin coming back to him. At first its touch—thick, burning liquid fire burns through his lungs and weighs down his whole being. It’s seeped into the crevices under his fingernails and made home in his matted scalp. The feeling is indescribable and un-tamable—yet all the same something that holds his entire self hostage.
Then, as he feels the top of his scalp graze open air, the rest of his body soon follows. Suddenly—the rough grit of gravel and dirt scratches his knees and elbows, thrown onto limp limbs by the shadowy figure lingering in the far distance of his spotty vision.
His ears are clogged by lingering green sludge, the muffled reassurances of the approaching figure falling on deaf ears. He should probably be listening—usually he’s better at that. But, the more feeling that returns to him—whether it be the uneven ground digging into his shaky palms or the cough of his lungs as he desperately hacks up the remaining liquid in his lungs, he just can’t seem to focus beyond the green haze filling his vision.
He knows he should probably move from his position on the ground and greet the person moving slowly to greet him, but no matter how much he strains his muscles and tries to move his aching limbs, his arms don't move beyond the ache of the bone-deep bruises littering his body. He wants to move away, move further and further from the approaching predator dawning its taunting sword and hidden knives—but the idea seems too far away to his hindbrain. The long-haired woman grows closer by the second, placating hands raised in an attempt at soothing the young boy, yet only serving to further draw him back towards the wall.
He wants to stay awake. He really does. But even the air itself seems to burn in this wretched cavern—the sticks of fire lining the walls proves to do nothing in the dim cave, only fueling the fear of the green pit that sat mere meters from where he'd fallen.
His limbs were unbearably heavy and his eyelids fluttered down beyond his control. The second animalistic consciousness that lingered in the back of his mind screamed at him to get out get out, but that screeching thought was soon tampered by the green fog floating over his brain until his body didn't obey him and his muscle lost their strength, the arms holding him into a sitting position falling out from underneath him as his head hit the ground, darkness immediately greeting his exhausted body.
Yet beyond the green fog and relentless screeching of a second being in his head, drifting memories of girl with curly hair sitting next to him on a rooftop grace his thoughts—her name and face were lost to the green fog, but he would never forget the girl that held his hand as the green fog overtook his consciousness.
Talia al Ghul stood over the collapsed boy's body, looking down wordlessly at the small mass of limbs that curled around it's torso in a vain attempt at protection.
It was… odd.
The demon's head had decided for her that she would take the shivering heap of lanky limbs to take under her own wing. It should've been pointless to dump a long-dead body in the Lazarus pit. It didn't work like that. And yet…
The boy, Peter, if she remembered correctly, had slid smoothly under the pit's surface and began twitching mere seconds later. Heartbeat thrumming back to life as an incessant stream of life began again through his chest.
Her legs carried her to the still body, hand reaching out to brush knotted hair from his eyes. They had glowed so harshly green earlier she'd been taken aback by the ferocity of it's flame.
Standing up again she moved back through the cavern silently, signaling to the servants waiting near the entrance to move towards the newest victim of the Lazarus pit's influence. Soon enough the bottoms of her heels soon began meeting harshly upon concrete floors, the sound itself sending servants back into their work.