He needed to run faster.

But the screaming angry claws that ripped at his mind was making it even harder for his legs to pick up the panicked message. His heart was pounding. Thrashing and smashing in a bloody disarray against his ribs. He coughed and choked at the burning liquid iron that threaten to bubble past his lips with every outward breath. His fingers felt numb and frozen, lacking even the familiar tingle that he had learned to live with. He felt like he was on fire, yet his skin was cold and clammy with slowly drying perspiration. Pale blue eyes were wide and glassy, pupils wide to allow the visions access to his soul.

Where had he been before this? Before the anxiety and terror. His thoughts reeled in futile attempts to see past the hallucination but to no avail. All he could remember was darkness. Darkness that seemed to watch him, move with him in a disturbing dance of the ages. But there was more…there was a man. A man in a mask that he had thought looked stupid. A man that smelled funny. And Jay Bird, he had yelled something to him…

And then he heard the laughter.

That damned voice, he knew that voice. That damned man, that awful man from not to long ago. Taunting him from the very corners of his psyche. Screaming and chanting words that cut and stung like needles in his flesh.

Needles, he needed needles.

He could feel memorable hands graze up and acrossed his lower back and shoulders, down his arms to pull painfully against his wrists. He could feel blood pooling to form dark unrelenting stains against his pale skin. His arms were jerked back, twisting him and forcing him to the ground. Gravel dug painfully into his knees and his legs became spastic. A scream filled his ear. He glanced tentatively up to face the man. The man's face was twisted, leaving the already warped memory of him forever ruined. Melted tar dripped from the man's cheeks, the smell of sickly sweet tobacco filling every pour of his very being. Dark green smoke slipped from the man's slit nostrils leaving a disgusting sheen to his unkempt blond hair. The scent of brandy managed to become noticeable as the man opened his mouth to speak. Words that he couldn't hear, unable to even track the movements of his lips. Pale blue eyes dared to lower from the man's face, unable to even try catching those horribly glowing eyes. Deep green muck clung like a second skin to the man's lower body, accentuating the threat they held. He could feel his heart sputter and stop. He swayed, suddenly dizzy, as he forced his graze upwards to examine the exposed and burned flesh of the man's upper body. Raised abrasions mapped out the man's abdomen leaving the unmarred flesh oozing green sludge. Spines jutted out of deformed shoulders and were scattered like exposed bones all down the man's arms. A moment passed before clawed fingers flexed against his wrists and pulled his trembling form upwards.

With a sudden jerk of his upper body he slammed the top of his head into the man's sternum. Talons sliced open flesh but he was gone without even feeling the affect. His feet found purchase in what felt like silt and he stumbled forward. The ground expanded as a high pitched howl filled his senses, attempting to envelop him completely. Clay wedged laboriously under his blunt finger nails as he scraped and mauled his way through. He could feel moisture dripping from his arms. He could smell iron and gore through tobacco and liquor.

"Arsenal!"

The high pitched screech of his name set him off balance. His feet lost their unsteady grip and his knees once again buckled and slammed against corrosive earth. His body was thrown effortlessly down. His chest and face collided with something solid, forcing his breath from his lungs. He coughed, gagging at the taste of bile that rose with the exertion. His face stung as he was pulled back by his ankles, the ground beneath him suddenly a rough sandpaper. His arms flailed almost lifelessly in an attempt to pull himself away from the feel of icy metal being pushed against the balls of his feet. Another scream sounded.

He slammed his forehead against sand that was now rock when the gentle caress of cold metal turn to the sharp agony of nails. His toes curled in his boots and he managed to roll in the man's grip to lay on his back. The land around him curled upward, encaging him to the man. A deadly chortle played past a smirk painted acrossed chapped lips as the man reached out a spined arm. Another scream. He kicked out, blindly.

"Arsenal, please"

The voice that fell past the man's grin sounded desperate for a moment. Muscles spasmed and he shook as a clawed hand griped his hair. His head was thrust from one side to the other and he could feel a sob hiccup its way out. The man paused.

"Ollie…" His voice managed to croak out his plea despite the fact that it was contracting with the force of his sobs. "Not tonight."

Tears stung his eyes and he winced when the salty substance dripped down his cheeks, mixing with the dirt and blood that smeared his complexion. The grasp on his hair tightened at the shaken request and another devastated moan racked through his body. A menacing growl sounded from the man and he did his best to push himself back away from the agonizing grip.

"Oh god, Ollie, I'm sorry."

Hooked fingers left his hair only to travel downwards to grasp the collar of his tattered uniform. His head lolled back, his red hair tangled with spurs and grime. He heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of a pouch being opened. His whole body began to shake as he closed his eyes. He didn't want to see. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to feel this. Not again. His collar was released and he fell limply back against jagged rock. He couldn't do this again.

"This will make it better."

His eyes shot open at the oh so familiar feeling of a syringe as it was pressed into the inner bend of his elbow. The warm sensation of liquid filled his veins, running through his system and leaving his whole body irritated. He jerked back, unwilling to accept anything the man wished to pump him full of. His hands weakly pushed at the man's face. His heart hammered harder, shattering the pen that had once been his ribs.

Another scream was swallowed by the dark muggy night sky. A scream that sounded recognizable as his own to him now. A scream that left him breathless and panicked. The smell of leather and Kevlar surrounded him as he was lifted off the cold gravel of the rooftop. His hand reached out lazily until his finger tips found soft black hair. His head lolled to the side again and his eyes slowly fell shut.

"Hang on Harper."

Written for the DCU Villains Meme. "Prompt; Scarecrow - exploring the depths of any character's fears. The more sadistic the better."