Tim Wayne(Robin) (red_bird) wrote in wariscoming, @ 2010-02-15 18:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | oliver queen/green arrow, tim wayne/robin |
Who: Oliver and Tim
What: Tim gets checked for Red K.
When: A sunday, late night.
Where: Up at Ollie's room.
Warnings: GREEN ARROW GETS SHOT..with his own arrows.
Tim felt numb as he slipped silently into Oliver's apartment once he was sure there was no noise from the other side of the wall, no Virgil, no Bart. He didn't want an audience if he had to do this. It was late, or early depending how you looked at things. His skin was a little paler than normal, he hadn't been taking care of himself to well since his adventures in red K began. His eyes looked drained of energy. If he did sleep it was only for two or three hour stints at a time mid morning. And not in his room. He rarely touched it these days. He didn't want to be bothered, didn't want to talk to anyone. He distanced himself from the complex, from Buffy and the rest. Even Oliver. He'd stopped meeting him for games. But still Green Arrow was in his sights. In his way. Tim spent his nights mostly perched on rooftops as Robin watching the city in to the early morning hours. Watched crime pass by his eyes without even a flinch. Without the tiniest sense of justice driven hero complex even humming in the back of his mind. Nothing. Just a void of anger that never got smaller, only worse as the hours droned on.
Finally he had to come back. He'd been off the boards for days, out of contact, and pretty damn close to MIA since he spoke to Sam Winchester about his little "problem". He didn't have a problem. He couldn't. He'd know if he did. But curiosity struck. When he got that bug he couldn't fight it. He wasn't wired that way. Maybe there was something to this "checking " business. Something that would pique his interest. The nights seemed to never end these days. It was enough to drive a person mad. But Tim's face was emotionless. He stood in Oliver Queens apartment. Naturally blue eyes scanning automatically for things that were, and shouldn't be in place. The job of a detective sometimes after all was to see things that weren't there. What didn't fit. Arrows. Just on the floor of his living room.
Kneeling to pick one up, Tim touched the green kryptonite tip and smirked as it sliced his skin with little effort. A thin trail of crimson slid down his skin. Sharp. Temptingly sharp.