Fic (DCFFA): Induced Dark Dreams
Title: Induced Dark Dreams
Author: angel_gidget
Claim: Tim Drake/Cassie Sandsmark
Characters/Pairing: Tim/Cassie
Rating: PG
Word Count: 590
Prompt: #11. Scarecrow Gas
Summary: Tim's nightmares are unnatural, but no less powerful.
Disclaimer: Me no own.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Done for dcu_freeforall. Table found here.
"I'm afraid you did not choose the most advantageous day to visit Wayne Manor, Ms. Sandsmark."
The old gentleman's calm words clash sharply with the sound of Tim's screams from beyond the stairs.
She's heard Tim cry out like that before, but never in a constant stream, and never in a place where the echos multiplied against the walls so well.
She mutters an apology to the old--Alfred, that's his name--but she isn't paying much attention. She flies down the hall. Finding him seems to take too long even though it happens in under half a minute. Nightw--Dick--is there. Holding him down, trying to calm him. Failing.
"What's happening?"
Strange how she and Tim seem to say it at the same moment. The question seems to mean something different to him, just part of a hysterical litany. His brother answers.
"Crane's gas. I... I don't understand. Bruce told me that he held up so well against it last time. Was almost immune, even. Now, it's... he won't calm down."
Knowing that Tim (literally) has nothing to fear but fear itself, allows her to calm down. Tim thrashes, sweats, and mumbles. It's not too different from what he mutters about when he thinks she can't hear. Death. Funerals (Thanks to those, they both hate roses now.) The Lab. Failed tests. Ra's. Failure. Death presides over most of it.
When he opens his eyes and seems to actually see, his eyes fall on Dick and he only flails faster. It leaves Nightwing confused, and Cassie with a slightly clearer perspective. She catches the older man's eye to ask permission, and he gives way.
Taking her old friend's wrists in her strong hands, she holds them still, leaning her face in next to his.
"I'm alive, Tim. Can you hear me? I'm not dead yet. Neither are you."
She's not Kon. And she's not Bart. She's just Cassie. And even though she and Tim have never been "best friends" by anyone's reckoning... she prays that things between them have changed enough--that they've been through enough--that this will mean something.
That the screams will stop.
That the panting will slow. That his back will stop arching and relax, just a little, into the bed. That his eyes will focus, and his cheeks will blush. That hint of embarrassment that he hasn't been fully in control of himself. That his mouth will form her name without quite saying it aloud, like his throat's too dry despite the bellowing that came before. That he'll swallow and try to hem away his discomfort, flicking his eyes about to assess everything he's missed. That he'll furrow his left eyebrow trying to gather all the information he can before he finally has to ask...
"...Could still lose you."
...That he'll still find some way to take her by surprise.
Not much to say. The truth still hangs where Tim left it. What matters at the moment is that the fit has passed and the last of the toxin will be purged in an hour.
Tim is as well as he's going to be. Dick is happy. Alfred is baking cookies. Cassie can already smell them. She can use them as an excuse to stay. That, and seeing that Tim recovers for herself. She still has to explain to the Titans why their leader didn't show up today.
But when Tim drowsily stretches out a hand, not saying a word, Cassie suspects that she'll be a while in returning.
She's honored to stand watch against the nightmares.
Author: angel_gidget
Claim: Tim Drake/Cassie Sandsmark
Characters/Pairing: Tim/Cassie
Rating: PG
Word Count: 590
Prompt: #11. Scarecrow Gas
Summary: Tim's nightmares are unnatural, but no less powerful.
Disclaimer: Me no own.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Done for dcu_freeforall. Table found here.
"I'm afraid you did not choose the most advantageous day to visit Wayne Manor, Ms. Sandsmark."
The old gentleman's calm words clash sharply with the sound of Tim's screams from beyond the stairs.
She's heard Tim cry out like that before, but never in a constant stream, and never in a place where the echos multiplied against the walls so well.
She mutters an apology to the old--Alfred, that's his name--but she isn't paying much attention. She flies down the hall. Finding him seems to take too long even though it happens in under half a minute. Nightw--Dick--is there. Holding him down, trying to calm him. Failing.
"What's happening?"
Strange how she and Tim seem to say it at the same moment. The question seems to mean something different to him, just part of a hysterical litany. His brother answers.
"Crane's gas. I... I don't understand. Bruce told me that he held up so well against it last time. Was almost immune, even. Now, it's... he won't calm down."
Knowing that Tim (literally) has nothing to fear but fear itself, allows her to calm down. Tim thrashes, sweats, and mumbles. It's not too different from what he mutters about when he thinks she can't hear. Death. Funerals (Thanks to those, they both hate roses now.) The Lab. Failed tests. Ra's. Failure. Death presides over most of it.
When he opens his eyes and seems to actually see, his eyes fall on Dick and he only flails faster. It leaves Nightwing confused, and Cassie with a slightly clearer perspective. She catches the older man's eye to ask permission, and he gives way.
Taking her old friend's wrists in her strong hands, she holds them still, leaning her face in next to his.
"I'm alive, Tim. Can you hear me? I'm not dead yet. Neither are you."
She's not Kon. And she's not Bart. She's just Cassie. And even though she and Tim have never been "best friends" by anyone's reckoning... she prays that things between them have changed enough--that they've been through enough--that this will mean something.
That the screams will stop.
That the panting will slow. That his back will stop arching and relax, just a little, into the bed. That his eyes will focus, and his cheeks will blush. That hint of embarrassment that he hasn't been fully in control of himself. That his mouth will form her name without quite saying it aloud, like his throat's too dry despite the bellowing that came before. That he'll swallow and try to hem away his discomfort, flicking his eyes about to assess everything he's missed. That he'll furrow his left eyebrow trying to gather all the information he can before he finally has to ask...
"...Could still lose you."
...That he'll still find some way to take her by surprise.
Not much to say. The truth still hangs where Tim left it. What matters at the moment is that the fit has passed and the last of the toxin will be purged in an hour.
Tim is as well as he's going to be. Dick is happy. Alfred is baking cookies. Cassie can already smell them. She can use them as an excuse to stay. That, and seeing that Tim recovers for herself. She still has to explain to the Titans why their leader didn't show up today.
But when Tim drowsily stretches out a hand, not saying a word, Cassie suspects that she'll be a while in returning.
She's honored to stand watch against the nightmares.