SIRENSPULL: Test of html for the dream plot.
At first, there's only sand.
And doubt.
What are you doing thousands of miles from home? Why did you run away on some hunch that she might still be out there waiting for you?
Mom.
But then she's here under your fingers, blonde hair soft against callouses, the smell of lilacs filling your nose. She's here. Finally, what you've been waiting for your whole life is here: a family. She won't abandon you, she won't die, she'll never die, you'll make sure of it.
And you'll stay here, that's something else you're sure of. You won't be going back, home is here now, with her.
Just when you think that things could not be more perfect in your life, she has to go. An errand, business, life goes on after all. You can't help but follow, she looks nervous after all and you're not going to let anything hurt her in any way. She's too perfect, too wonderful.
But then you're suddenly standing outside of a warehouse with her, she's in trouble with the Joker and you're here to help. Bruce is far away and you can't let that madman hurt her. She's drawing long drags from a cigarette and there's muffled sounds of words, like an old recording left in the sun for too long, they're not important, except when you draw down the zipper of your jacket to reveal your true identity. You don't need to look down at it. You can help her, you know you can, you won't let anything hurt her.
And then you see him. The Joker.
"What?! But you said…" your nerves scream at you to run, to get away now.
The sound of metal being drawn out and her voice again, "I lied."
She's pointing a pistol at you. Mom. Mom. "You see, I can't afford to have you stirring up trouble" there's so much venom in her words, your heart almost stops. "I've been dipping into the medical funds myself. If you blow the whistle on the Joker, the ensuing investigation would certainly uncover my embezzling."
You can't believe this is happening.
There's a grip on the front of your shirt, your head is already spinning, but pain shoots through you. She doesn't want you. She doesn't love you. Her own son.
"Come now! You're not going to sleep on me already, are you? The party's just got started!" His voice. The Joker's, reminding you that you can't roll over and give up. Mom still needs your help. You try to fight back, but it's useless and only earns you another pound to the face and a boot to the ribs.
"This is going to hurt you a lot more than it does me." And he's right. The crowbar cracks across your back, breaking more ribs as you fall back down, unable to protect yourself, unable to protect her, but she's just watching as this maniac doesn't stop.
Your skull caves in, your lungs refuse to work, your bones break and shatter under the crowbar. And then there's finally a blessed darkness that takes over.
But it's not done yet.
You don't know how long you were out, but you're getting up on legs that can't support you anymore. She's tied to a pole, a bomb close by with a timer. You're going to save her no matter what. So you crawl, too slowly, you're too slow, but you can't move any faster, your hands shake as they claw against the ground and drag your broken body with you. The pain burns through every fiber in your body and all you want to do is die, but you can't. You have to save her. She's your mom, no matter what. She shouts at you, gaze focused on the bomb, but your ears refuse to hear anything but a loud ringing as you slowly inch toward the pole she's tied to. Sit up, slow. Wavering even as your fingers fumble across the knots.
You barely have enough breath to stay conscious and upright, but for her you'll speak. For her you'll sit up, for her you'll move mountains, and as the ropes fall loose, "You're free… run… for it… go."
And even that much talking takes its toll on you as you flop down like a count down tree, blood running from so many places you can't count. But it doesn't matter, she's free. She's safe. But she doesn't run.
"Come on. Let me help you." She's reaching around your broken bones and slides your arm across her shoulder, not caring that there's blood, not caring that you and she might not make it. "We'll both get out of here, together."
And you start to move with her help, on shattered limbs, with her underneath you and you can't even keep your head up or eyes open. What kind of son are you? But you momentarily feel at peace. You are both here. At the end and there doesn't seem to be a timer anymore, just this moment stretched into eternity. You and her, like it was always meant to be. Just you and her.
"Stay here while I get the door," She carefully, tenderly sets you against a box as she darts to the door and tries to open it, but the door handle only jiggles.
Then there's only a moment to react and you push yourself forward, dive between her and the bomb.
And then there's nothing.
But it's still not done, the nightmare continues, just as you feel you might wake up.
The darkness continues as you open your eyes and that same pain fills you, a groan falling from your lips as you stretch out your hand to try and find something, but it stops all to short when your fingers meet fabric mere inches from your face. What? That's not what--- white swims into your vision and you realize exactly where you are and you can't help but scream.
Your coffin.
No, you have to stop screaming. You have to stop screaming. There's not enough air. You have to stop screaming. Think. Think.
Your nails tear against wood and earth as it sprays down on you but you're trying to hold your breath as you push upwards. You don't know how you got in here but you don't care, you're getting out, you're getting home.
The smell of the rain has never been so sweet before as you pull yourself out, not being even slightly careful of the bones you can feel shifting out of place. As you crawl for a few seconds, you know you have to get to your feet if you're going to get anywhere. But you'll find him. You'll find Bruce. He adopted you, he chose you, he wants you, just get up and walk.
The miles roll by as you stumble through the rain, but you can't find him. You can't find him. He doesn't want you, he buried you, he doesn't lo---
There's a screech of tires, a flash of headlights, and you finally wake up.
***IMPORTANT TO REMEMBER: There's no mention of "Batman," and the dreamer will only see green gloves (i.e. those that have worn the gloves, like another Robin, will recognize them). As well, Jason's face is never seen and his name also never used. This is done (on an ooc level) to keep from ruining the Bruce Wayne/Batman secret identity. Please respect this! <3 If your character already knows about the Bruce Wayne/Batman secret identity (whether in or out of port) then feel free to do whatever regarding the dream (inferring/knowing who it is, etc.).