Beneath his frightened exterior, Dick Grayson was tapping into the reserve of calm and calculation he'd been trained to access in his days as Robin, carefully trying to find a way out of this disaster. After all, he had spent a year learning from and working alongside the best in the business. The very best. True, since that time they'd both been broken and brainwashed and left the business, but no matter. Once a superhero, always a superhero. World, meet Robin, the Boyish Wonder!
And beneath that facade, he was even more terrified.
Holy shit, he thought to himself. I'm somewhere in the woods in the middle of Southeast Texas, tied to a tree in my underwear, about to be set on fire by three idiots in Klan getups! And the one man who could save me--the same man who accidentally got me into this mess--is unconscious and on the verge of death himself right now. He's even worse off than I am, and there's not a damn thing I can do to help either one of us.
That wasn't entirely true; he was busily remembering the techniques Bruce had taught him for escaping from rope bondage, for instance, even though his odds of escaping were still remote at best. At the moment, all he could concentrate on was the burning desire to puke. If he did hurl, he realized, the gag would catch it and he'd probably choke on the vomit--an even less appealing option than being burned to a crisp. Besides, they'd probably roast him anyway.
"Got the gas can?" said Yokel One.
"Yup," said Yokel Two.
"Well, wutcha waitin' for?" nagged Yokel Three. "SOAK 'UM!"