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    Dick comes around to stand fully in front of him, keeping a steadying hand on Tim’s arm. “Just because you know you’re safe intellectually doesn’t mean you always feel safe,” he says softly. “It’s okay if you don’t feel safe.”

    “But it’s not okay!” Tim bursts out. “Because if I don’t feel safe, then how is Jason supposed to feel safe? He shouldn’t have to feel uncomfortable just because my brain is screwed up!”

    There’s a faint sound by the door, barely more than an intake of breath, and his eyes snap to the no-longer empty doorway.

     

    Day 28 - IT’S NOT JUST IN YOUR HEAD
    “Good. You’re finally awake.” | nightmares | panic

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    09 Jun 2026

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    Sometimes you need to utilize a…creative method of shutting someone up.

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    09 Jun 2026

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    Bruce wakes with a snort and a crick in his neck.

    Wincing, he picks his twinging neck up slowly, blinking grit out of his eyes. The tv is still on, flickering in the otherwise dark room.

    “Is it possible… that aliens are responsible for the tragic wreck of the Titanic?” a narrator is asking.

    Tim is still dead weight across his legs. Bruce can feel a damp patch on his sweatpants where he’s drooled on him.

    Bruce digs his phone out of his pocket, careful not to disturb him.

    4:32am.

    Fuck.

    Tim was due to be woken up for a concussion check over three hours ago.

    “Tim,” he murmurs, rough with sleep. “Wake up, bud.” He shakes him gently.

    When he doesn’t stir, he shakes him again, harder, sighing softly - Tim always is dead to the world on the rare occasions he actually sleeps. “Tim,” he repeats, louder, a normal speaking volume.

    He tugs on his shoulder, rolling him towards Bruce.

    There’s no resistance.

    Tim’s head lolls.

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    08 Jun 2026

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    “Look at you, baby bird,” Jason knelt over him, large hands spreading slender thighs apart to settle himself between them. “All drugged up and sad.”

    Tim tried to twist away, attempting to bury himself into the sheets below them, but his head remained motionless. He hiccuped quietly, ribcage quivering at every inhale, fingers tangling into dirty cloth.

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    07 Jun 2026

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    Jason clamps down on the panic bubbling at the base of his sternum with a practiced hand and exhales all of his air, intending to settle into a meditative breathing pattern that should help him focus more on his other senses, except-

    His breath comes out hot and humid, clouding the space around his mouth and nose and reflecting back on his cheeks, causing his skin to prickle uncomfortably. And when he inhales, it doesn’t quite fill his lungs, the air stale and wet.

    It’s recycled air.

    Jason involuntarily jerks in place, wobbling back a step.

    He counts down five minutes in his head before he starts trying to break himself out – clings to the meager hope of rescue for those 300 agonizing, too-still seconds as he does his best to breathe shallowly and calmly to preserve his air supply. In the end, all it does is make him weaker, make the digging take longer.

    Jason’s heart thunders in his chest. Dirt dribbles down onto his face.

    OR: When an EMP goes off and Jason's powered-down helmet gets stuck on his head, he realizes a fatal flaw in his design - there's no way for him to breathe inside the helmet without power. Dick and Tim have to resort to desperate measures to save his life.

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    03 Jun 2026