five hopes for any fear (джен)

He chokes on the gas. It’s already too late, too late, the timer has clicked down to zero and he shuts his eyes in resignation and no, not this.
He coughs again. Inhales. He’s not supposed to, he knows, but he doesn’t know why.
His head hurts. His head always hurts.
Laughter, behind him.
 
[or: Scarecrow sets off a(nother) gas attack in Gotham while a catatonic Jason Todd is wandering its streets]