Jay watches Tim watches them. Babybird is still scrambled to all hells, several days later after they took him back (and every time Jason thinks "scrambled", he thinks "egg" and it seriously makes him wonder about his brain). Tim can't sleep without them, or without help, he gets panic attacks, among others.
He's not the only one scrambled.
So Jason is currently watching Tim watching Steph paints her nails some terribly purple shade and threatening D with it, and he's trying to not pay attention to the taste of blood in the back of his throat and the way his breathe bubbles behind his sternum and it's neither here nor there - and Dick walks back into the room, drags the attention to him.
Jason slips away.
As a general rule, he tries not to think too much about O and her network. But he wonders, here. There's a garage, a large one, two cars parked there, a bike and parts of one around here, some tools. Not enough tools, he thinks, but good enough for now. He wonders how she knows, how she knew.
He picks up the tools and put them on the ground, around the bike. The bike's a wreck, missing some pieces, needing oil and pretty much everything. He spends a while just cataloguing the work needed, imagining it, feeling the missing bits in his head.
He can breathe more clearly, can put the half memories away, with the coffin and the pain and all he doesn't share with the class.
He can't fix Tim, he can't fix himself -there's no magic fingers clacking all of it away because it doesn't work like that and he'd refuse it. But the bike under his fingers, he can fix. He can replace the broken parts, and change the oil, and put a new coat of paint on it, and it will look like new.
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branchandroot
(untitled) Will need reworking. So much reworking.
Date: 2010-07-27 07:54 pm (UTC)Jay watches Tim watches them. Babybird is still scrambled to all hells, several days later after they took him back (and every time Jason thinks "scrambled", he thinks "egg" and it seriously makes him wonder about his brain). Tim can't sleep without them, or without help, he gets panic attacks, among others.
He's not the only one scrambled.
So Jason is currently watching Tim watching Steph paints her nails some terribly purple shade and threatening D with it, and he's trying to not pay attention to the taste of blood in the back of his throat and the way his breathe bubbles behind his sternum and it's neither here nor there - and Dick walks back into the room, drags the attention to him.
Jason slips away.
As a general rule, he tries not to think too much about O and her network. But he wonders, here. There's a garage, a large one, two cars parked there, a bike and parts of one around here, some tools. Not enough tools, he thinks, but good enough for now. He wonders how she knows, how she knew.
He picks up the tools and put them on the ground, around the bike. The bike's a wreck, missing some pieces, needing oil and pretty much everything. He spends a while just cataloguing the work needed, imagining it, feeling the missing bits in his head.
He can breathe more clearly, can put the half memories away, with the coffin and the pain and all he doesn't share with the class.
He can't fix Tim, he can't fix himself -there's no magic fingers clacking all of it away because it doesn't work like that and he'd refuse it. But the bike under his fingers, he can fix. He can replace the broken parts, and change the oil, and put a new coat of paint on it, and it will look like new.
He tries not to think about it.