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Oswald was back at Arkham. The smell of chloroform was intoxicating, filling his nostrils and setting his lungs on fire. Latex gloves, clean uniforms, the screams of various inmates during the night. Fear had no hands but gripped him tight, just as tight as the golem-like guards gripping him now. They were dragging him to the depths of hell through the overly cleaned halls of Arkham.
It was time. Oswald didn't want it to be time. He couldn't bear it again. He couldn't return to the chair room for another session. The mere thought of those vivid hallucinations kept him up all through the night, playing in his mind on endless repeat.
Oswald struggled, oh he struggled hard. Slapped his hands against the fists clamped around his fragile wrists, skidded his feet with loud squeaks against the waxed floor, but to no avail. No one listened to his hoots and hollers for help. After all, he was the sick one apparently. The nice doctors at Arkham wanted to help, they could do no harm. Oswald vowed to kill them all when he escaped.
The guards help him down to put him on the dreaded chair. Oswald struggled like he was being killed, as if that made a difference. Without his army or any weapons he was powerless. Nothing but a weak, crippled umbrella boy.
He was nothing.
The helmet was lowered onto him, despite his screaming. His body quaked like a bowl of jelly. He could already see those dreaded visions. One of the doctors whispered into his ear, the voice sickly demented.
“Oswald.”
Like it was a trigger word, Oswald broke out of the restraints and channeled all his energy to land a flying punch to the doctor whispering to him. As he broke the restraints, he was pulled into darkness, with the pale moonlight filtering through the windows. And he felt real flesh and bone, then the loud creaking of ancient bed springs, unlike most dreams.
Then he realized that he was awake.
Oswald was back in his master bedroom, and could only barely make out that it was his room due to the weak lamp on his side table. Up and down his chest heaved, his heart rate going a mile a minute. What Oswald’s fist impacted was sitting up beside him in bed, holding out a hand to wade off any recoil attacks.
“Oswald, please stop! It’s just me!” Ed pleaded as he held the other hand to his eye.
Despite still being half-asleep, the concern for his partner brought him to reality. Oswald threw the covers off of himself and crawled over to Ed, caressing him. The guilt was already sinking in and he had only been awake for less than a minute.
“Ed…”
----
Ed sat at the plush sofa with an ice pack over his face, occasionally wincing. Luckily he hadn’t been wearing his glasses or else Oswald may have seriously cut himself, and seeing Oswald hurt was worse than any injury Ed received.
Still, in simple terms, this sucked pretty bad.
Oswald limped out of the kitchen with a teapot in his hands, then pouring a cup for Ed as best as he could. Ed didn’t mind how much spilled on the table. Who wouldn’t if they were shaking just as much as Oswald was right now.
“D-Do you want anything else?” Oswald stammered, hands clasped over his from like he was a loyal servant.
“No, the tea is fine for now,” Ed replied. He removed the ice pack to lift the cup and saucer as Oswald hurried to sit close by him. It was camomile, a tea he hadn’t had in ages- surprising Oswald remembered that he liked it.
His thoughts returned back to his injury when he caught Oswald gaping at his face with dread etched in his features in the warm glow of the fire. He could already feel the swelling, judging by how the ringing pain refused to stop.
“How bad is it?” Ed sighed.
“Oh!” Oswald said, “It’s, um- well, it’s kind of-”
“Be honest.”
“I’m… still attracted to you?”
Oswald let out a nasally but nervous laugh, but Ed wasn’t laughing. Instead, he groaned and set his tea down, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The quiet laughter faded out.
“Do you have concealer?” Ed asked.
“Yes, but I don't know if it's your shade, nor if it would cover it completely.” That was true. Ed was no tanned Adonis from the south, not even a bit, but he had some color to his complexion. On the other hand, Oswald had the skin color of baby powder, resembling a doll.
“It would be better than nothing. We have a meeting with the department of education tomorrow, you know. I’d rather not have them asking questions.”
“No, no, you need to stay home and rest. I'll be fine. I can call Melissa to assist me.”
“Melissa? She’s a moron, Oswald! She’s just as bad as Bullock back at the GCPD. Please, Oswald, don't make me laugh. I’d be much more comfortable if I was there with you.”
“Ed, darling,” Oswald spoke in a delicate voice so sweet it made Ed’s teeth ache. Oswald put his hand on top of Ed’s on the other’s thigh, squeezing lightly- something Oswald knew Ed was weak to. “I may be your lover, but I'm also your boss. Your boss is insisting you take the day off tomorrow. You deserve it.”
Despite Oswald’s plea, Ed didn't budge. Not this time. “Stop, stop. I'm going.”
Oswald sickly sweet demeanor turned to a sour look, resembling a bird puffing out it's feathers to look intimidating. “No. You’re. Not. You are to stay here and take the day off. That is final.”
Ed let out a heavy sigh, flopping back and sinking into the plush upholstery. This was just perfect. The thought of Oswald being anything less than perfectly prepared for the meeting with such a bimbo gave Ed feelings he couldn't describe. He yanked his hand away from Oswald and folded them tight across his chest, wishing he was back in bed by now.
It was out of view, but Ed could tell Oswald’s expression: appearing genuinely hurt. Oswald cupped his lover’s face with such tenderness, such adoration.
“Ed,” Oswald whispered, “Look at me. Please.”
It took mental strength, but Ed returned the gaze.
“Ed, I can’t say how sorry I am. I-I thought you were someone else trying to hurt me. I would n-never hurt you like that, and I'm just trying to help. I don't want to make you angry with me. You know that, r-right?”
The guilt of being angry at Oswald caved in, and Ed placed a soft kiss upon the other’s messy black hair.
“I'm not mad,” Ed confessed, “I will do as you ask; there's a sufficient amount of paperwork to be done for a full day’s work. Though may I ask you something?”
“Yes, yes, anything!” Oswald cried.
“In your sleep, you were thrashing violently. Pleading, breathing heavy. What made you so terrified, if you're willing to share.”
Oswald’s Adam’s Apple bobbed monetarily. “It… I dreamt I was back in Arkham. They took me to the chair again. I… I couldn't go back! Then one of them started calling my name, and I…”
“Gave a physical and violent reaction upon waking up, before your mind had fully come to terms with reality?”
“Y-Yes. I-I didn’t know what was happening, just that I was scared. Scared and… and I didn’t know what to do.”
Oswald clung to the fabric of Ed’s night shirt, clenching and unclenching his fingers at an uneven pace. It was hard to scare, really truly scare, Oswald. As the King and Mayor of Gotham, he had to remained unmoved by the force life, whether it was to insight fear or be lauded as a hero. Yet here he was, clinging to his boyfriend like an ashamed child after giving him a black eye.
“Come here,” Ed said, bringing Oswald closer to his chest and bringing both of them down to lie on the couch. The sofa wasn’t meant for two people to lay side-by-side, but with Oswald’s small frame they managed just enough.
Ed wasn’t sure if it was the tea Oswald brewed, or the fact of how cuddly Oswald was, but he felt like they would be laughing about this two days from now. That was a nice thought.