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singillppl2025-06-04 11:05 pm
singmod) wrote in singillppl2025-06-04 11:05 pm
Entry tags:
June 2025 Test Drive Meme
JUNE 2025 TDM
PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: A new group of arrivals find themselves lost in the frozen wilds and vulnerable to the dangers of nature. With luck, they make it to the town of Milton, and to a friendly face offering food, warmth and shelter — and the current inhabitants, their fellow survivors.
PROMPT TWO — WHAT LIES BENEATH: New fissures caused by seismic activity within the Northern Territories physiologically alters the Interlopers who check them out.
PROMPT THREE — SUFFOCATION RISK: Interlopers find it hard to breathe, and need a helping hand to catch a breather.
ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST
WHEN: Mid-month.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential animal attacks, potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.
'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.'
It’s the last thing you hear. A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. You feel afraid. Maybe you’re dreaming, maybe you’re wide awake. You saw the lights, and then your world went dark. But you hear it in the blackness, you won’t forget those words.
These are the words of the Darkwalker, you’ll soon come to find.
You awaken. You are not where you were before. It’s different for everyone, there doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern in where you find yourself. You may open your eyes to find yourself in a cold, dim and dank cabin. The air is stale, dust hangs in the rays of weak sunlight that shine through the tiny windows. Someone lived here once, but they aren’t to be found. This place has been ransacked, abandoned long ago. It is quiet. The wood creaks around you.
Or perhaps you may awaken to find yourself shivering in the yawning maw of a cave, the freezing stone below you. Or maybe you’re unfortunate enough to sit up to find yourself lying in the snow, in the middle of the wilderness. Snow lies thick around you. It’s freezing out. You haven’t felt a cold like this before in your entire life. Cruel and biting. You have no idea where you are, and what’s worse — you are completely alone.
The sun is bright, enclosed in light fog. It is a strange kind of twilight.
You may feel different, too. Any powers or magics you may have feel... absent. Disconnected. Things that may not have affected you previously now do. Something in you has changed.
You know you can’t stay where you are. You’ll need to move, try to work out where you are and how you came to be here. So you walk, head out into the unknown, in hope of finding a trail or a road. You’ll find one soon enough. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear howls of wolves around you, and the terrain is difficult: slips and falls are likely. You’re completely vulnerable out here in the open.
Or it’s possible you may come across someone else here. Someone who looks far better prepared to deal with the freezing cold and frozen landscape, out hunting or gathering. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town. However, for the unlucky ones who don’t come across anyone, you’ll carry on until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire. Not just one, but several. Civilization...?
Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. Unfolding before you in the mountainous forests, you’ll see the most welcome of sights: a small mining town tucked up in the valley. Battered, rusted road signs will direct to “MILTON, POP. 947”. You’re almost there, you keep going, and it looks like other people have had the same idea as you. In fact, you’ll hear the muffled sounds of life. People! In the town!
As you head into the outskirts and then further into town, you’ll find it’s a little easier to walk but the cold has gripped you hard. You’ll find the buildings, both shops and homes, some are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. People are going about their business, or stood watching from their tiny porches of their small, timber homes. For a town this big, there doesn’t seem to be many people. Several dozen at most, but no more.
Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the biggest of the smoke trail rises: a school-house of sorts, or some kind of community hall. Perhaps both. You’ll find more and more people all drawn to this place, each and every one of them in the same position as yourself (and your companion, if you’ve found one). Some are in worse states than others: some are bloodied, nursing bite wounds or cuts; others might have some other kind of injury sustained in the journey here from falls. Others may look as if they could faint from the cold at any second.
The door opens, and you’re greeted by the gnarled, wizened face of an elderly man, dressed in thick furs. He has a kind face. He smiles warmly, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.
“Ah. Once more, you poor souls come.” he nods gravely. No, this is not the first time that this has happened. “I am Methuselah. I welcome you, Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. You are not the only one, the lights are changing things. Come. Mother Nature has not been kind to you, but there are plenty here to help.”
The room is dim, lit only by natural daylight through the windows. A roaring fire sits at one end of the huge hall. It crackles, bright and cheerful... and warm. Even as big as this place is, the room is pleasantly warm. You’ll also find basic cots set up down one side of the hall, and while it seems there's a few people already living here, there's enough space for those in need of them. There's places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long tables laden with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers.
There are canisters with hot herbal teas, mostly. But some coffee can be found. There’s also soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus some grilled fish. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast for those who have battled the cold to come here.
Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks — aided by a handful of others in the Hall. Your fellow survivors, but those who have been here for some time now. He does not have much time to talk. More and more people seem to be coming in from the cold. He will not stop to sit and rest until everyone is seen to, taking up a place by the fire to gaze silently into its flames.
He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the town and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, but gesture to your fellow survivors. They will have better answers than him.
WHAT LIES BENEATH
WHEN: The month of June.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural ailments; mental manipulation; altered physiological states; potential character injuries; potential dangerous situations; potential cold injuries.
The world has gone quiet since last month’s quake that caused a considerable amount of damage around the Milton and Lakeside regions. Newer Interlopers have been met with a town still in the process of being repaired and rebuilt, and some properties have been abandoned all together, used only for spares and repairs of homes that are actually occupied. Milton was home to some thousand people in its hey-day, now it remains a shell of itself. Some hundred or so people making this place a home in a harsh and unforgiving world.
But the world is not completely quiet: tremors and minor quakes can still be felt as time goes on. These tremors don’t have the same impact as earlier quakes, but they’re enough to give someone pause — keeping Interlopers on their toes.
What’s more is the damage caused by this ongoing seismic activity is dotted all over the landscape: scars are beginning to show in the earth itself, or rather — open wounds.
The fissures are small and unassuming, but can easily snag someone’s attention. Even more curious about them is the occasional strange vapours that seem to curl and lazily rise from these fissures. The vapours are a faint green in colour, almost sickly, and there’s plenty enough in you to make you feel like you should keep well away from these rising fogs. But there’s something about curiosity and cats, after all.
The vapours won’t kill you, no. They certainly won’t do you any physical harm, either. No instant burning of the strange, caustic fog that plagued Interlopers last year, nor the sickness that Glimmerfog brought.
But getting close enough to the vapours to examine them will cause a change in you. It’s more of an insidious thing: gradual and slow, changes in your behaviour over the course of a week. Feeling a little more anxious than normal; snapping at people you interact with; avoidance of others; the feeling of being watched and a growing paranoia. You feel like the animal that has known the feel of the snare, or seen the barrel of the gun. Hunted and small.
Soon enough, this slow chipping away at your mind is enough to cause you to snap: fight or flight.
Fighters are lost into states of pure rage. They are combative, blind to anger in a desperate bid to survive — seeking out their dangers to face them head on. They are volatile, difficult to reason with. They will cause damage to anything around them, or anyone. They will cause damage to buildings, objects — smashing their way through whatever stands in their way. They will fight with those around them — their fellow Interlopers — lost in perceived threats.
Flighters are lost into states of pure fear. They’ll break down in crying fits, hysteria and abandon all logic — avoiding their dangers. They will try to escape from wherever they may be — wanting to run out into the wilds, putting them in potentially more dangerous situations. They could end up getting lost in the wilds, or encountering dangerous wildlife like moose, wolves or bears. Or perhaps even onto thin ice on bodies of water. They will hide whenever they can: under beds, in caves, anywhere their minds might tell them are places of safety.
To those around them, it’s finding a way to try and bring the affected Interloper back to their senses. It’s a little stumbling in the dark: wrangling flighters back to the safety of town, like trying to calm a spooked horse and give them a sense of safety and care and connection might be enough to bring them back to their sense. Fighters can arguably be dealt with the same way, but some might need restraining or fighting back in order to knock some sense into them. Perhaps even literally. Drawing blood in a fight with Fighters will also… strangely calm the affected Interloper down.
Affected Interlopers will be a little shaky afterwards. But a stiff drink or a hot meal and some rest will end up soothing them. Hopefully they won’t go poking around those fissures again.
SUFFOCATION RISK
WHEN: The month of June.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural afflictions; themes of suffocation; themes of co-dependency/unhealthy codependency; potential character death/near-death experience; medical emergencies.
You think that maybe it’s the weather. The Northern Territories have been known for unsettled and sometimes ferocious climate — this is the world of endless winter, after all. But June marks a period of calm as the midsummer draws near. Occasional biting winds are the only disturbances to that calm. Other than that, it’s just damn freezing. Even with the midsummer upon the world and the still weather — the world is frigid.
The cold often bites at one’s lungs, and maybe that’s all you think it is at first. Each breath is like ice, hard to catch, and you feel like you’re suffocating sometimes. Overexertion seems to make it worse, whether you’re hiking up a particularly difficult piece of terrain or carrying a heavy load.
Interlopers will need to stop to rest often, and even then it feels like you still can’t quite get your breath back. This breathlessness will slowly get worse over time, until it’s almost unbearable.
Until it ends up nosediving into something more horrifying. One day, it’s the worst it’s ever been. It feels like you’re drowning. Your breaths are shallow and quick. Your vision blurs and warps, a shimmer of dull prismatic at the corners of your eyes. The world grows smaller around you, your hearing growing dim and distorted. You cough and splutter, gasping for air that you cannot seem to breathe in.
Panic sets in. You are suffocating, and if something isn’t done quickly enough, you will die.
But there’s a strange pull in you, too. A need. A person. You get a sensation of them, something about them. Their hair colour, their voice, their smile. Maybe it’s someone you know, maybe it’s a complete stranger, but something in you pulls you towards them.
As the world closes in on you, everything zeros in on that person. They can help. Hopefully you have enough time to reach them, hopefully you can find them. Maybe they’re searching for you too, in the exact same predicament — unable to breathe and trying to find that person to help.
Reaching that person and touching them will finally allow you to breathe. Like the air is clear, and breaths are painless again. It’s like an instant balm, and slowly the world grows back again — vision and hearing restored. You don’t know why, but this person, whoever they are — has given you your breath back.
You’re spared from the affliction, for a short time. Soon enough, it will return, and you’ll need to find that person again. Or just keep them close for a little while.
FAQs
1. Arrival threads can be treated as game canon.
2. Items characters have brought from home can be found either strewn around them when they awaken, or in the community hall — as if someone left them out for them to collect. Methuselah will not know how they got there, and will be quite bemused by the happenings.
3. Reminder that all characters are now depowered upon arrival. They can choose not to notice it at first, or can immediately sense something is different about them.
4. If asked any personal questions, Methuselah will smile and say "Oh, you don't want to know about an old man like me. But I have lived all over in these parts for all my life." He will be more concerned with trying to help Newcomers, and is genuinely concerned for them and their well-being. Other Interlopers will say much of the same — there's little to know about him.
5. More information about Milton can be found here.
1. Characters can be affected multiple times by the vapours.
1. The length of time Interlopers are 'stuck' together to combat the Suffocation Risk affliction is player choice. It could be a couple of days or even weeks — with the affliction itself ending by the end of the month.
2. Both Interlopers can be suffering from Suffocation Risk, or just one.
3. Interlopers who do not reach the person in time will die. They could potentially be revived through CPR, however — provided they are found quick enough.
dick grayson ( dc comics )
suffocation
But she is, actually, supposed to be a good guy now, and Root is nothing if not controlled and deliberate, so she approaches the panicking, gasping man. She's tense and wary, ready to react if necessary, but she won't just stand by and watch someone suffocate. ]
Hey -- you need help?
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dick is trying to suck in breath after breath without any luck, his chest is tight, his lungs feel like they're on fire and there's - there's no visible reason why he can't either. spots fill the edges of his vision and he knows he's out of time, his body can't take this much longer, he's going to pass out, die and he can't -
it's her voice that he recognizes.
dick drops down to his knees in the snow, and it's good there's padding because he's already bruised up enough as it is. there's not enough air in him to form words, so instead he extends a hand out towards her. trying to reach her but he can't quite - )
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That can be enormously deceptive, but in this case it's right on the mark, because she hurriedly shuffles the shotgun to rest behind her back and goes down on one knee in front of him. Both her hands reach out to take his, gloves meeting gloves but undeniable human connection. The dog stands guard nearby, ears pricked. ]
I've got you, [ she assures him, sounding grimly determined and not at all panicked. ] I have a friend with medical training -- can you stand or do I need to drag you?
[ Root will absolutely drag someone around yelling for Shaw if she needs to. ]
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I'm - ( his free hand raises, waving off the offer of medical attention as he coughs once more, and shoves his fist up against his mouth. it's cold, which makes trying to catch his breath even worse in a way. ) I'm okay.
( another breath, and he tips his head to look up to her with a sheepish smile. )
Sorry, I don't know what came over me. ( but he did see her. hear her. recognized her as what he needed to breathe. it's possible she had done it somehow, had been the reason he'd been drawn to her and he won't toss that idea out the window but he's not going to make the idea obvious, either, because it's possible she was just what he needed to get himself back up. ) Just needed to catch my breath.
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Root leans back on her heel, removing her hands, openly assessing him. ]
Things get weird around here, [ she says succinctly. ] You new? I haven't seen you before.
[ Not that she's been here long either, but long enough to make a mental inventory of every resident she could even peripherally learn about. ]
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but things getting weird isn't all that odd for him either. new drugs surf the streets of gotham and blüdhaven. occasionally, magic infects the planet and everyone turns into their bizzaro counterparts. sometimes, everyone gets killed by an invasion of grotesque robins and batmen and are forced to rise again temporarily by batman with a black lantern ring.
you know. just normal completely weird and not at all traumatizing events that definitely wouldn't destroy people mentally if not physically. so normal.
she moves back, and he still - feels fine? maybe it was temporary, meant to draw them in for... reasons he's get to discern but there's a good few ideas on his plate. but drawing in and needing to keep them in are two entirely different things, so. maybe it's over. maybe he's good now. )
You could say that. ( he is new, in the sense of it hasn't been all that long since he woke up covered in ice that was soothing until it wasn't. his heart's still racing a little from the adrenaline rush of needing to find air, but it's calming down a bit.
and there's a split second where he considers whether he should be giving out his real name or a pseudonym, but dick also realizes - there's no way out, he assumes he'll be around long enough to be remembered, and so, )
Dick Grayson. ( with a hand held out; he's wearing gloves, but they're not quite the right size. there's time to go sifting around for clothes later. ) Thanks for rushing to my rescue. You and, ( with a smile down to the dog, who is clearly the most important between the three of them, ) this little guy. You sure he doesn't also have medical training? He looks like a real professional.
brother.......
Maybe Kate Marsh really did deck him hard enough to turn those screws loose in his head, because Tim swears he's hallucinating. He's hallucinating and still he's shuffling forward, brows pinched together in rising, devilish dread. There's a sickly sheen of sweat on him, the sun taking its toll as Tim does the only thing he's done in days now: walk to and from the mines. Just to prove to himself that he can. The light and calmer air of summer had been something he had wanted for so long.
His brother, here, is something he had wanted for so long.
Both things are curses to Tim now. Both things are here for him now and they hurt. (Or maybe he's only hurt because he's all banged up and not getting any better because of the innate masochistic thing that all Bats have in their DNA. Instead of being here, away from refuge and suffering through daylight, Tim could have stayed at the gas station. He has his own little corner- a nest he's made and hardly moves from. Then he'd neither be freezing and burned or feeling his heart drop right out of his chest and into the yawning grave below their feet-- falling, falling. Farther, farther, farther away.)
Thud. Thud-thud.]
Night...wing?
[He feels like a child. Thinks he sounds like one, too.
Tim is on his knees next to his brother- who is in one piece, who is breathing, who isn't the ugly red-blue-gray of hypothermia. He's shrugging off a fur and--] You don't have five seconds. Get up. [His aura is indigo and powder blue, and soft and incessant and Tim is only kind of beat up so he guesses it's not anyone's fault after all if he gets gutted by some evil doppelganger.] Wear this. Or else you'll catch your death out here.
no subject
(un)fortunately, tim clearly doesn't think that's good enough. there's another groan when tim starts demanding he move when he's so comfortable but, look, he's doing it. a palm shoves itself down into the snow, holding up his weight while dick gets his knees under him. )
Sheesh. Demanding much? ( now that his eyes are opening and he's realizing there's snow everywhere and dick is down here in nothing more than his usual nightwing gear - yeah, okay, tim has a point, he probably didn't have five seconds of laying still in the snow to enjoy it before the enjoyment turned into not having much fun at all. ) Correct me if I'm wrong, but - Timmy, I don't think we're in Blüdhaven anymore.
( timmy, toto, same thing.
regardless, nightwing's pulling the fur around his shoulders with a shudder because - yeah, there it is. the "oh, i'm cold" that comes with finding oneself awakening in - hell if he knows yet. )
no subject
The last time Nightwing had been so casual about Bludhaven, Kon had still been alive. The last time Tim had met one of his family in this snowhell, he'd desperately wished he hadn't.
Tim can hear his heart louder than a jackhammer inside of himself. It makes it hard to stay in the present. But it's not impossible. For Dick (and for Dick's sake), few things are ever truly impossible.
Tim forces air out of his lungs in a huff; he doesn't reach out to connect with his brother. (He can't bring himself to do that to him--)]
I thought Hell was an improvement to The Blüd. Welcome.
[If he reaches out to his brother, he'll never let go. And even Tim can see how deranged that'll be. (See? He's learning. He's learning he can't, shouldn't, trust himself at all. Not around... the people he loves.) With no way to scrub the frown from his expression, or return vibrancy to the mauve and steely blue of his light, Tim heaves to stand.
Dick Grayson, you're supposed to be dead. (But not in any world worth living in.)
Tim gestures... around. Says, to get to the point, to distract from the way things should feel when he's been wanting to have his brother here for so long-] This is Canada. There's a town of about eighty people not too far away. It's called Milton. That's where most of us Interlopers have holed up. And that's gonna be your first stop.
no subject
How long was I out for? ( is the first question that comes to mind, because blüdhaven to canada is quite the distance to nap through. but it doesn't take more than a few seconds to connect the word interlopers, to tim's - scruffy appearance, and everything else to note that maybe oz is a lot closer to where they ended up than - )
You mind debriefing me on the way? You look like you've dropped a good twenty pounds since I saw you about ten minutes before I'd passed out.
( he can tell something's up. multiple something's. and even if he had been out for a while on his way here, tim wouldn't look all that different. and given how beaten up he is, he knows it isn't that. dick remembers getting whacked in the head in the exact spot that's still aching and likely turning into a massive goose egg as they speak. )
no subject
is the lingering smell of smoke.
Tim's frown is steady though somewhere between 'Milton' and 'pounds' the tension of it has left and the gesture is wholly involuntary. Faraway, uninvolved. Tim can't even know the effect something so small has on him, not without a mirror to look at. He's pulling at his sport coat to free himself of it too; Tim feels like he's burning up in the sunlight anyway.] First of all... [He pushes this onto Dick too. He's careful not to make contact with Dick now too.]
There's the Darkwalker. It wants us dead. You heard its voice in your dream.
[Tim is now cold, wrapping his arms against himself as he trudges ahead. He's purplepurplepurple-- there's nothing but love around him as a second skin.
He'll measure the distance between them, just a step or two, to... to see if Dick can keep up. Catch up without much trouble. (Sure. Let's go with that.)]
We're in a fight against... the supernatural. And the... environment.
[Tim... stalls. Turns and offers a tight and strained attempt at a grin, rueful and impish (and right st home when he's chatting with Dick).] And against ourselves. [It being cliche as fuck doesn't make it any less true.]
I'm not from your world. Or time. I don't know. [--frowning, thinking of fire and Robin, Tim says,] Neither is B.
You'll want to change before you meet him.
no subject
So, just another ordinary Tuesday on our side of the tracks. Right. ( it's over simplifying it, because there's nothing ordinary about suddenly finding oneself in canada fighting a supernatural beast called the darkwalker, but dick's still getting his bearings, here, and he doesn't want to throw more onto tim's plate than he's already doing by existing in a less than ideal state out here.
another deep breath in, and he's pulling himself up to his feet to follow alongside his little brother, but not without extending the jacket out to try and wrap it back around tim's shoulders. the nightwing suit isn't meant for this kind of weather, but he'll make it as far as he needs to with what he has. dick has the advantage of more muscle mass to pad him out a little better than tim. and it's partially because - it's not difficult to notice how tim is avoiding touching him. he may not be a very touchy teen to begin with, but he's generally been alright with being in dick's space: having an arm thrown over his shoulders, knuckles digging into hair in gentle noogies, or dick just generally leaning right into his space. the lack of that right now is concerning. )
Left my other pants back in my apartment, but we'll see what we can find in town. ( we, because he's not so sure if he wants to find his way without tim right now. dick is fine, a few bruises and a concussion never slowed him down any, but tim - well. look at him. ) Is there a reason you're going to share with the class, or am I going to find out when I get there?
no subject
(Maybe: Dick is here, now.)
Dick is close and Tim can't look at him, and he doesn't know what to do about the smell of smoke clinging on to his brother.
Tim is stalled. (Processing.)
He's got a split lip- healing but not healed. The scratches across his face and down his chin are healed, but there's a lingering scab or two. He's favoring one arm over the other, even now when he's still got them crossed against him like some impenetrable wall. Not to mention-- oh, and there it is.
The aura. Courtesy of Enola: a window to the soul that nobody asked for. And Tim thinks about Bruce and he feels like someone who shouldn't get Dick Grayson's generosity; Tim flashes that florescent eyesore yellow, and copper-red and green. And white. And... purple. And the purple wins out, dominant after its brief power struggle. Sick of witnessing his own-- vulnerability, Tim... frowns.
He starts forward again; the costume won't keep Nightwing safe for long, not in the freeze.]
Do you really wanna know?
[Tim figures, if Dick hears it from him... it can't possibly be worse than having to hear it from Bruce. But maybe Bruce wouldn't even... tell.
(Of course Tim frowns when he finds his older brother alive and well and here-- he frowns because he has a fucking headache the size of Canada that is never gonna go away. And he also maybe wants to cry. So what.)]
no subject
if it wasn't so cold out here, if he weren't in danger of possibly losing a few toes and fingers, they wouldn't still be moving. he'd pull tim around, place a hand on his shoulder and ask him what's wrong, what dick can do to help. maybe he'd just gotten here, maybe he's missing a lot of information on why tim is thinner, scratched up, almost avoiding him, but he's here now. )
Tim.
( dick stops in his tracks, still holding onto the fur with one hand but the other extends out. an offer for the hug that he's pretty sure tim desperately needs. maybe they're not from the same time, or same world, but dick's still got a pretty good idea of how to read him. )
Come here for a second. Please?
no subject
Tim has the nagging suspicion (certainty) that Dick knows it isn't.
He can will himself as far as searching through the brush ahead for either signs of wandering eyes, or Laelaps. He finds neither. There's the open wounds of the earthquake though- to their right is a line of downed, strong trees, uprooted because the ice and ground broke right from under their roots. If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?]
I'm going to have to stick you in a big tub to thaw you out.
[More of Tim attempting to delay the inevitable because Bruce isn't the only one who will have nightmares and aches in his chest because Nightwing smells like fire. --but. Nightwing also smells like himself. Tim's crashing into him with a bone-deep exhaustion. He's like a mangy cat, or some sickly wolf that can't stick around a pack, his head butting squarely onto Dick's chest and his hands and arms-- disengaged.
There's aches in his chest but Tim is not crying. There will be time for that later; his brother is real. Tim's not sure if he's grateful. Doesn't that make him terrible-? He has family here, again, and he's not grateful. With the low droning of disuse, Tim explains.] I didn't want to touch you because I'm scared I'm going to hurt you.
[And now he's not sure he'll be able to pull himself away.]
God, I missed you.
no subject
when tim shifts forward to press against his chest, dick lets go of the fur (it stays against him, he's not moving enough to dislodge it, just-) and wraps both arms tight around tim's midsection, pulling him in close. holds on even tighter and presses his chin against the top of tim's head when he mentions the bit about being scared he's going to hurt him. )
Hey. You're not going to hurt me, and I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. ( it's soft, soothing, meant to offer comfort in a time when tim clearly needs it. he doesn't know everything that's been going on yet. doesn't know what happened to tim to make him both worried about harming him and what was it that caused him to get so much smaller. time, he imagines. the do you really want to know? hasn't been forgotten, but for this moment, he's focused on what's in front of him. )
I've got you.
no subject
Tim needs the stretch of silence on his end. Not even the reflexive disagreement has space to bubble up and become whole by leaving his lips. Instead he's hearing his heart so loud that he can swear Dick can feel it hammering against him too, reverberating.
Tim sucks in a breath, bracing.] Robin was here. And Red Hood.
[It's not fair to Dick. He tells himself it had to happen, because it wouldn't be fair for Dick to find out from anybody else, and Tim is, for the first time in a long time, grateful he's not carrying the gun. Or holster. (He'd feel so ashamed to be so unrecognizable.)
His arms feel so heavy.
He throws them around 'Wing. And Tim feels so light with such a heavy plea to someone who only just, literally, got their feet under them. (He doesn't want Dick to be like the others- it's shameful, it's positively disgusting.)]
They left. Sometimes Interlopers leave. Sometimes they come back. Like Bruce did. But now he doesn't know who I am. [And now? Tim's eyes water; his aura dies to its rolling off-white. Sea foam. Remnants of a wave crashed into unforgiving, immovable rock.]
He'll recognize you though.
[Tim tugs, hands wandering to Dick's forearms. They should move. Get going. But Tim's head is still ducked, he's still so very close. He very much doesn't want to move. Not from where it's so warm.
His brother's a lifeline. Tim hears his voice waver, something full coating his words.] He'll be so glad to see you.
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his head's still swimming a little, but it's not terrible. what is awful is seeing his little brother in this state, desperate for contact but afraid of it. afraid to hurt him, likely afraid of being left behind again even if he won't say as much out loud. he sounds like he's drowning, threads fraying while he tries to hold himself together. tim has always been resilient, stubborn to a fault, often pushing through on sheer determination alone when most would have given up eons ago.
which means this? was likely a long time coming. dick will need to find bruce later, yes, but bruce is batman and he'll hold himself together as long as he has to. tim is right here in front of him on the verge of breaking apart. )
I'm not going anywhere. ( he repeats, but does let tim tug at his arms. it's firm, but followed up with a much softer, ) And definitely not right now. Someone whacked me in the head with my own escrima and everything's still swimming a little. Mind letting me lean on you?
( he can walk fine. might need a decently long nap soon, especially given all the hits to the head he's been taking lately. but it also gives tim an excuse not to let go of him, which is what he's aiming for. )
Might need a spotter for a few days.
( need, no. but if tim takes the excuse to stay close, it'll give dick extra time to figure out what's up. to help before tim boxes everything up and tries to file it away in a cabinet dick knows is already jam packed with other things he's filed away to deal with later. )
arrival
You’ll risk frostbite if you stay out for too long.
[ The dwarf looks up at the sky. It’s getting dark soon. ]
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but okay. he gets it.
this isn't the time or place to get in his beauty sleep. )
Ugh. I guess I do still need all my fingers and toes. ( instead of just rolling over onto his side, he rolls over until he's face-down in the snow and shoves his hands down under him for some leverage so he can push up onto his knees, then to his feet.
it's not the showy method he'd go with if his head wasn't still spinning, but he's up. ish. )
I'm up. Thanks for the warning. ( probably hadn't needed it, but the existence of another presence was enough to encourage him to get himself up, so. )
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In many ways it is. ]
I woke up in a cave a few paces away before I found you. I was traveling with a couple of folks, I’m hoping if you might seen anyone.
Suffocation
He almost doesn't when he sees him in town, face panicked, hand pressed over his heart. The sight of him almost steals Bruce's breath. But it doesn't stop him. Neither does the sun-sick feeling he's had since he left the gas station only moments earlier. He moves in close, has to stop himself from just yanking the man into a hug. This is Dick Grayson, but not his Dick Grayson. He's years dead. He can still hear the Joker laughing about it.
Instead, he reaches for Dick's arm, hoping to help him get steady. ]
Easy, easy.
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pressing a forearm into bruce wayne's chest as he leans into him, gasping for breath. there are spots in his vision, ringing in his ears, his body feels weak in a way that spells trouble and not the kind he can just - find a way out of. but when that moment of contact with bruce happens, it begins to lessen. air fills his lungs as he sucks in a few desperate breaths, he's dizzy and unsteady but it's coming back to him, he's - he's fine. he'll be fine. it may take him a moment, but he's getting there.
his head's still swimming, and dick hunches over to rest his forehead against bruce's collar. he's still gasping, a little, but it sounds less like he's dying and more like he's just resurfaced for air after spending time under water.
bruce has an arm in his grasp, and it's that hand that he raises, giving a thumbs up which is supposed to translate roughly to i'm fine probably. )