(Untitled)

[lost_undercover]

Who: Dick Grayson, Billy Costigan; Paddy, Tim, Damon (Otherwise, open; ask to join)
When: Tues (1/11) to Mon (1/17)
Where: Dick's room
What: Costigan tries to get clean. Withdrawals ensue.
Warnings: Drug references, language, violence, hallucinations, self-harm

Comments

[9ish hrs since last dose]

[batmanschmatman]

[A few hours in, and Dick was already starting to feel sort of selfishly grateful that getting Roy through detox had been left to a bunch of adults and not him. And it wasn't even the worst part of it yet. If he'd had to do this as a teenager, by himself, with everything else going on, he probably would have snapped.

But he could handle this. Having something to do to help someone else always helped him focus, and trying to plan for the worst helped him not think about what had happened recently to himself. And really, it wasn't like he had anything to complain about comparatively or anything. Costigan looked miserable, and he'd gotten up to retrieve a bottle of water from the minifridge in his room, sitting down in a chair next to the inmate and holding it out to him.] You should probably try drinking something.

[lost_undercover]

[Costigan had passed out for about a half hour before waking up uncomfortable, feeling ill. That had transitioned into profuse sweating and the inmate curled in a ball with sharp pains in his stomach and abdomen in general. To just say he hated this would be a gross understatement. If he was already feeling this shit, he doubted his ability to succeed again unless Paddy and Dick both held firm on what they had promised in so many words.]

"I'm not hungry." [He muttered, closing his eyes for a second and then snapping them open. The nausea was beginning to intensify and the former undercover had no interest in provoking it, even if he knew his warden was right.]

[batmanschmatman]

"Well, it's a good thing it's not food."

It was a typical "Dick tries to make things better through bad humor and trying to give orders without actually giving them", and he knew it probably wasn't going to do all that much to help. Dick chewed at his bottom lip, weighing the options. While he knew it was really likely Costigan wouldn't be able to hold down anything, it was important to try and keep him hydrated, and it wasn't like he had a way to give him fluids intravenously here. He put the bottle down on the coffee table within easy reach of the inmate.

"It's there if you need it." He settled back in the chair, watching Costigan carefully.

[lost_undercover]

Costigan glared at Dick for the attempt at humor, completely not in the mood. He respected what his warden was trying to do somewhere in the back of his mind, but right now he was just in pain and irritated and finding it difficult to focus on anything other than the pain in his body that he couldn't do anything about and the knowledge that it would only be getting worse.

"I said I don't fahking want it," Costigan snapped back. The inmate rolled over and smacked the bottle off the table, as far away from him as it would go. He then glared over at his warden again, challenging him to do something about it. The former undercover wouldn't have minded a fight right then, at least to take his mind off of things. Besides, the external pain he was used to would have been a welcomed relief from the cramps and muscle tension he was dealing with now.

[17ish hrs since last dose]

[lost_undercover]

Costigan hadn't slept at all, despite his best efforts. He was still nauseous, despite vomiting a few times, and had finally taken a few sips of the water bottle Dick had left out for him. On his warden's behalf, the guy had been watching him the whole time without feeling like a goddamn mother. He appreciated that more than his present mind would acknowledge. Right now, the former undercover was more concerned with the aching in his legs to the point where he wondered if he could stand. His mind was starting to feel disheveled, like he couldn't quite focus, and there was a subtle disconnect forming between what he was feeling and doing and the man himself.

He had to focus to roll his head over to look at his warden. The dehydration his warden was trying to prevent was beginning to settle in as well, giving him a headache. The Bostonian hand up a hand, looking at it as he flexed his fingers. After a beat, he finally realized he should explain. "I can't feel it. My hand."

[batmanschmatman]

It was probably a good thing that Dick had been trained to handle things like stakeouts and other periods of sitting around not doing much interrupted by moments of actual concern and action. He'd tried to do what he could for the inmate when he needed it, but otherwise kept his distance, not talking or asking questions, but still carefully monitoring how much water he was drinking and how much he was actually able to keep down.

He frowned when Costigan said he couldn't feel his hand. That was concerning. Definitely a warning sign that things were probably going to get worse, and knowing how this kind of thing went, it was entirely possible that things would get pretty bad pretty quickly.

He moved forward on the arm chair, sitting on the edge of it to try and get a better look without really invading his personal space.

"Nothing? No pins and needles or anything?" He needed confirmation to know what he was dealing with.

[lost_undercover]

Luckily, the disconnect Costigan was beginning to feel prevented him from being overwhelmed by the panic lurking beneath his surface. The inmate lifted his left hand and flexed it as well, comparing the two in his line of sight as if they might somehow look remarkably distinct from one and other based upon the degree of feeling in them. He had to think about what Dick was asking for a moment before he could process it. The inmate slammed his eyes shut with a flesh wave of pain in his legs, then opened them and looked over to his warden again. His hands fell to his sides. "Right forearm, pins and needles. Same with left hand. Right hand I just can't feel."

[batmanschmatman]

Dick quickly ran through the list of symptoms of withdrawal, frowning slightly, but trying not to look all that concerned. The hesitation between asking and answering the question was something to think about, although it could easily have just been him being difficult, or just feeling too lousy to respond. He kind of wished he actually knew Costigan a little better. If he had been someone he knew for more then just a couple weeks, he'd know what he could write off as him being stubborn versus actual warning signs.

"That's okay. That's normal." Not ideal, but not out of the question. "Let me know if it gets worse." Which it probably would, at this point. His voice was level and calm, not trying to order him but also not treating him like a kid, and without betraying any concerns that the former cop might have had.

[45ish hours since last dose]

[batmanschmatman]

Dick hadn't realized he'd dozed off until he was blinking and pushing himself back up in the arm chair, rubbing a hand over his eyes. It was probably a sign that he maybe shouldn't be doing this while still recovering from a relatively serious injury, because usually, keeping himself awake for somewhere around forty hours straight wouldn't have been a problem. He wasn't even sure how long he'd been asleep for.

At least Costigan was still there, and if he'd been out for as long as it felt like he'd been, there apparently there hadn't been anything too horrible going on while he'd been out. Maybe the inmate had even been able to get some sleep too.

He scrubbed his hand over his eyes again, fighting back a yawn, blinking at the inmate curiously. He frowned.

"What are you doing?"

[lost_undercover]

Still entirely unable to sleep, Costigan had just been stewing in his own misery. He never felt when his mood had changed, but it was definitely different now. When Dick had fallen asleep, the former undercover had managed to get himself another blanket from the closet, though it was discarded on the floor at the moment, and had actually finished the bottle of water. He was irrationally hungry and still nauseous and close to vomiting again.

"Fahk you," the inmate replied without missing a beat. Costigan was on his communicator, trying to figure out which of his friends he could trust to bring him food and which of them had begun to turn against him or which had been against him from the beginning. He began to type a reply in to someone, laying on his side facing away from Dick, screen illuminating his face.

[batmanschmatman]

Dick immediately felt himself kicking into action, shaking off the lingering effects of his nap. He couldn't afford to fall asleep again, especially as things got worse. Costigan could easily injure himself or start having a seizure or something, and he needed to be awake and ready to deal with it.

He pushed himself out of the chair and walked over to the inmate, holding out his hand expectantly.

"Costigan, give me that. Remember what happened the last time?"

Referring, of course, to the last time the inmate had tried getting clean. He'd told Dick he'd managed to alienate some of his friends by transferring his increased paranoia to the network, and he'd said he didn't want to go through that again. Dick was more then happy to help prevent that if at all possible, or at least try and control the damage.

[lost_undercover]

"Yeah, I do, kid. You weren't fahkin' heah foah it." Costigan forced himself to sit up, propping himself immediately against the wall. He shifted with his back to the wall so as to face Dick, glaring at the man who was trying to ruin his friendships in order to encourage Costigan to work only with him. It was practically as bad as Nygma. The inmate held out one hand in a sort of testing gesture, the one that stung like it was about to fall apart, and used the other, relatively working hand to continue typing out his message.

"You'ah heah to look out fah me. That's all. So if I don't want youah help? You can leave me the fahk alone."

[52ish hrs since last dose] Enter Bourne

[lost_undercover]

Costigan had thrown a black t-shirt on, to appear more normal than walking around shirtless despite the sweating. He was still freezing, but sweating in a jacket would stand out more to anyone paying attention and that's precisely what he didn't want. The inmate was pale and still nauseous and he knew he probably looked like shit. The walls were shifting and it was as if he could feel the movement of the ship on the waves, swaying with the motion and wishing he didn't get so easily seasick-- his mind had devolved into full delusions and he didn't quite remember where he was anymore, though there was no sense of amnesia either. The sharp depersonalization or disconnect in his mind made him think, if anything, this was simply a dream and anyone could do anything in a dream

as the brain-fog caused by my space flu lifts...

[brokenweapon]

It had been a couple of days since he'd seen Costigan, and Bourne was beginning to get a little worried. The Barge had ways of just disappearing people without warning. Sometimes they came back. Sometimes they didn't.

When inmates disappeared, most of the time they didn't come back. At least Costigan had put up an entry explaining that he'd be out of commission, but the former assassin figured there'd be no harm in checking. When Bourne saw the inmate ambling down the hall, looking quite frankly like crap, he didn't hesitate to set off at a light jog towards him.

"Hey, Costigan," he called as he approached. "Are you okay?"

Jason Bourne didn't often have bad ideas. This just happened to be one of them.

Glad you're feeling a little better.

[lost_undercover]

The voice was a blur in the fog, but the face of the man actually came into focus. It was the first real imagine his mind could process and there was only one clear memory to associate it with: the man who had ruined his life forever. The man who had indirectly caused his death, who had erased his file, and condemned him to wherever the hell he was. So the rat bastard had been trapped on this boat in the middle of the sea with the inmate?

People could do whatever they wanted in a dream.

Costigan flicked out the knife behind his leg, so as not to be obvious, and moved to close the distance between he and Bourne in one fluid motion. The inmate swung his arm up in what might have been a hug if he was himself and if the two friends were reunited. Instead, the knife was aimed at Bourne's right shoulder, an area sensitive to pain but not fatal in any way. He wanted Sullivan to suffer for all the shit he pulled.

Tanks. So am I. Sorry for the wait - moving in and orientation.

[brokenweapon]

Bourne saw the glint of light off the knife's blade a fraction of a second before Costigan stabbed it into his shoulder - not enough time to dodge, barely enough to even think about dodging. The pain galvanized him into action, and he pushed the inmate away, lashing out with his left arm. If the stab had done some serious damage, he didn't want to exacerbate it.

He'd taken some worse hits, but never from a friend. His eyes took in Costigan's state - sweaty, stumbling, looking as if he'd recently been sick, a spot or two on his shirt of something that might have been vomit. It didn't take a doctor to see that he was unwell, even delirious.

Just my luck to share a face with the man he hates most. He had to get Costigan down before he could do any more damage, or something more drastic, like actually killing Sullivan's clone. He snapped his leg across and up, trying to drive his knee into his assailant's stomach.

[57ish hrs since last dose]

[batmanschmatman]

This was going to be up there as one of the most stressful weeks of the warden's life. Which was saying something, all things considered. He had had a lot of stressful weeks in his life.

At least Bourne had been able to get Costigan sort of under control before the inmate actually did really serious damage. He wasn't sure how he could explain not sending his inmate down to Zero after he killed a warden, even if he was going through detox. Hell, Zero was probably a better place for this to be happening, since he could actually lock him in there and hope he wouldn't escape

[lost_undercover]

Costigan had seemed fairly out of it for awhile. Even in the incident with Bourne, he had been almost entirely detached from the real world and now was not much better. Time continued to pass and to fade away without any rhyme or reason in the inmate's mind. Truly, he had absolutely no idea how much time had passed, why he felt the way he did, or even much of how he got to this place. His entire mind was noticeably absent given his current state, but the inmate seemed content laying there in an almost catatonic state for the last couple hours. His occasional shifts, mutterings, and looks proved that he wasn't actually in a place to be too concerned about, but he certainly needed to be watched

[batmanschmatman]

It took a minute for Dick to realize anything was wrong. He'd sort of started to zone out again, which was... sort of weird. There was no way a couple weeks of being on the Barge had made him actually go soft or anything. Maybe Hayley had been right, maybe he was actually coming down with something. Or maybe he was just tired. Or both. His mind was definitely was starting to feel a little foggy again, and the arm chair was starting to feel pretty comfortable, even though he knew he couldn't fall asleep again -

The yelling jerked him out of his slight daze and he immediately sat upright, staring at the inmate in concern. When he fell off the couch, the vigilante hopped up, nudging aside the coffee table to kneel down next to him, immediately slipping into his training to try and stay calm. It didn't look like he was having a seizure, and he'd noticed he'd been acting a little out of it, but this was unexpected. He put a hand on the inmate's shoulder, trying to get the other man to focus on him.

"Costigan, what's wrong?"

[lost_undercover]

"Get the.. Fahkin'.. Fahk," the inmate retorted nonsensically. His eyes darted around his body.

Costigan stared at the multitudes of creatures that covered his body, horrified by their minuscule size. His sense of panic began to escalate as the garish mutations of gnats and spiders began to claw and burrow their way beneath his skin and into his arms and torso. As the inmate continued to try to brush them off--no matter how many he was rid of, there still seemed to be dozens more--, something even more horrifying happened. With one desperate clawing at the creatures, a large chunk of his skin ripped off with no apparent effort. He immediately pressed a hand to the wound, shouting at his warden. "Fahk! Towel.. some shit!"

One hand was pressed firmly to a seemingly random portion of his abs, the other still clawing at his skin. There was no visible rationale for why Costigan was acting the way he was, not outside of his mind. But the fear and panic behind his words and contorting his expression were entirely sincere.