Blame it on your karmic curse, oh shame upon the universe
Who: Claudio thecrowingtobe and Trauma mademyhell
When: Friday night/Saturday morning.
Where: Apartment of Emo in Sector Four.
Summary: Nightmares are a bitch.
Warnings: Talk of suicidal behavior. Trauma curses a lot? ....Is excessive emo a warning? Cause it probably should be? excessive tl;dr oh my god why is it so long
( It knows its lines It's well rehearsed//It sucked you in, it dragged you down//To where there is no hallow ground//Where holiness is never found )
When: Friday night/Saturday morning.
Where: Apartment of Emo in Sector Four.
Summary: Nightmares are a bitch.
Warnings: Talk of suicidal behavior. Trauma curses a lot? ....Is excessive emo a warning? Cause it probably should be? excessive tl;dr oh my god why is it so long
( It knows its lines It's well rehearsed//It sucked you in, it dragged you down//To where there is no hallow ground//Where holiness is never found )
Of course. He was just fucking all kinds of things up now wasn't he? Wake up everyone in the goddamn apartment too.
He still was stuck with the earth shattering paranoia that something was coming after him, the kind that stuck around when you'd just woken up. It had dredged up all the shit he normally buried and just...tried to fucking ignore. Unhealthy? Probably. A lot easier to deal with? Hell fucking yes. Try going through the day remembering what your mom was like the moment her sanity shattered. Not something he felt like reliving constantly. (He probably deserved it though, a voice in the back of his head told him. It was probably right.)
About the point he tried to acknowledge someone else was even in the room, let alone try to even fucking speak, he realized at some point he'd been crying or some shit like that from the wet tracks he felt under his palms. God. What the fuck was wrong with him. He drew up his knees to sit more normally, and wiped furiously at his eyes, easier to be angry at the reaction then deal with the fact that he still felt sick and was pretty sure his hands were shaking.
Fucking dreams.
"...Shit." He finally looked over In Claudio's direction for the first time since waking. "...Sorry."
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First Jinx and... and what ever that was, now Trauma and not sleeping and this... We’re all falling apart... he thought to himself, willing the deeper more father like voice to not reply to anything. To stay silent and away for now so he didn’t feel like he was going crazy now as well.
Two of three was bad enough. He’d keep the other voice at bay and just... take care of them as best as he could.
“Don’t be sorry.” He said in a groggy voice, sitting straighter, yawning and rubbing his hand over his face rather hard. Shit, he was tired, having gone past the fifteen minute power nap into something more sound only to be awakened from it? It would take him a moment to get awake, if at all. He stood, shifting to the wall and ducking through it, invisible for the moment and checking on Jinx, still passed out.
Drawing back into their own room he yawned again, moved to the side of Trauma’s low resting bed, foot running into it and the water bottle. He bent down, swiping the bottle up, turning a bit and with out asking plopped down onto the others bed. A deep sigh as he did (man this bed was comfy) and leaning on one arm behind him he held up the unopened bottle of water.
“Drink.” He said, blinking sleepy eyes over at the guy. He looked like hell. “Was it... really bad this time?” Stupid question, but... he’s still waking up some.
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He stared at the water bottle for a moment, debating if it was a bad idea or a very good one with the way he was feeling like he was going to throw up. Trauma finally took it and spent a bit longer staring at the thing and fidgeting with the label instead of opening it like he should have.
Terry wanted to say it wasn't that bad. He really wanted to. But he was pretty sure he wasn't going to be believed. Waking up freaking out kind of had given it away.
"...Yeah." He said, not liking how harsh his voice sounded. There was just no hiding that the dream had gotten to him, and in annoyance he finally opened the bottle and took a drink.
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Seated on the boys bed he felt himself sway a moment, staring at the bottle in the boys fidgeting hands. If he didn’t open the bottle in a moment he’d reach over and do it for him. “Sounded like a bad one. Maybe I should have woke you up earlier...” He said, his voice trailing off sad, regretful.
Trauma had nightmares off and on, sure, but this one sounded bad. He was never sure what one should do for these kinds of things, and he knew the boy hadn’t been sleeping for days.
He shifted, kind of leaning in to check on his face more, to look at him better. “You... alright? You look kind of sick. What happened?”
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He just woke up on his own, most of the time. Or the dream ran its course and woke him up.
When he was a kid, he could remember people telling him if you wanted to, you could change your dreams or even wake yourself up in the middle of them. He'd never been that lucky, and only in the past few years had started to get why.
"...The usual." Which, really was true. Nothing was new. It was all a variation on a theme. It didn't take being some kind of fucking analyst or something to get what his problem was. It wasn't hard to guess. He knew he had problems, he knew what they were for the most part, and he knew what made them worse. He'd just kind of hoped it wouldn't be this bad. So much for that.
"...Expected it anyway."
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“Expected it?” He asked, trying to cover the sleepy yawn he had, reaching double over to grab at the corner of his blanket, pulling it over his cold feet then sitting back again, pretending to look up but more looking off to the side, to make sure he was really alright.
Really, he looked like shit and how he woke up didn’t seem... normal. More pained then before. He really, really should have woke him up, he though. Rubbing at his own face and trying to cover another small yawn he asked “is it really that usual?”
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He cut off and curled up further around his knees. He didn't need anyone to try and fix shit after nightmares. He was a gr-Okay, he was old enough to deal with it on his own. And the dreams were normal. They shouldn't get to him anymore. He'd made things this bad, he had to fucking deal.
Trauma frowned into the dark and dropped his forehead to rest on his arms. This was all so fucking screwed up. It made him want to yell or throw something, break something, just to make all of the twisted up shit in his head stop. But that was a dangerous urge when it was him and he wasn't about to indulge it.
"It happens a lot."
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So, it happened a lot. He gave a small nod, turning to rest his head half assed sideways on his own shoulder, to look over at the boy. “So... what... happened?” A question he was pretty sure he shouldn’t have asked.
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"...This is payback. For us hovering. Isn't it?"
They'd kind of been ridiculous for a while there. It would serve him right.
(But after days of dreaming of them screaming at him, and clawing at hospital walls, and Claudio's fucking death every time Terry closed his eyes to try and sleep, he reserved the right to be a little paranoid.)
Either way, it didn't look like Claudio was going anywhere any time soon. If he waited long enough, he was pretty sure he could stay awake longer and avoid the question. Then he could just go in the living room and keep himself up again.
But, honestly...Claudio already knew shit.
He'd given him the short version of everything. It managed to tell everything without including shit like the eight thousand fucking conversations with his d-Jerry before he'd left about where to put everything and what to tell the family (That they barely spoke to in the first place, so the point was pretty goddamn stupid), about how he was pretty sure Billy hated him by now (or at least thought Terry hated him), Or how he'd never gone to say goodbye to his mom before leaving for training (Had Jerry taken him off the visitors list by now? Terry had never checked.).
What was one more stupid fucking thing.
(When he was a kid, his parents told him that if he told people his bad dreams they'd stop. He'd give anything to not have them anymore.)
"...My mom." He said, voice almost muffled in his arms. "It was my mom."
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