Tim Wayne(Robin) (red_bird) wrote in wariscoming, @ 2010-01-02 12:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | star, tim wayne/robin |
who: Tim and open
What: trying to deal and not getting far
when a few days after the rescue Tim still isn't sleeping in the middle of the night.
where: complex kitchen
Everything was still fuzzy when Tim stayed awake. It was when he slep that the trouble began. That he remembered it all. The knives on his stomach and arms. Sure they were healed by now but no amount of magic could even touch on healing the memory when he slept. So he stayed awake. Three days and eight hours he counted since he last ate or closed his eyes. Meditation didn't help. All he felt was anxiety. All he could hear were screaming voices. Tims head throbbed. His face was black and blue. But never the less he was moving again. He was in the kitchen sitting at the table with his red laptop open but unable to focus enough to do any research. So he stared at his home page. His eyes dark from exhaustion. His skin unhealthy pale.
Tim didn't know what to do. Bruce Wayne wasn't there. Help hed even take Dick Grayson right now. Anybody familiar. His mind was a mess. Unsorted and full of nightmares. He didn't even have to be sleeping to see them anymore. His head gently fell into his hands to keep himself propped up and awake. He was running dangerously low on everything. Energy, nutriants, sleep. Though nutriants couldn't be helped. He couldn't keep anything down. Nothing not even juice. He could drink sips of cool water but that was about it and all he was strong enough to get for himself. His eyes kept threatening to close against the soft glow and hum of the computer screen. But he just rubbed them and stood. Pacing as memories tried to fight to the surface. Tim was trying not to let them win. Not to be consumed but it was to hard. He looked down at his arms and what was left of the color in his face drained. Blood. They were covered in blood and razor thin cuts. It was phantom but Tim couldn't tell anymore. He walked to the sink and turned up the hot water. His arms underneath the steady stream until the phantom crimson was gone and turned the wter red. He rubbed at them. It didn't help. He felt his heart race and beads of sweat gathered on his face as he only burned his arms by running them under that constant stream of steaming water. He was panicking.