just_muse_me | 14.8.1. A Case of Need

14.8.1. A Case of Need

Co-written with itwontstopme

[Follows THIS, THIS and THIS]

Jason parked himself beside Tim’s hospital bed and locked the brakes on his wheelchair. He could feel Tim watching him but hadn’t made eye contact yet. When he finally did, there was a slight moment of awkwardness where he pulled his lips to the side and cleared his throat. But he soon just laughed and shook his head. “Fuck,” he commented and scratched his temple.

“Ya’ know, it’s almost like ya’ just came in here wavin’ a little warnin’ flag with ‘Caution: D an’ M in progress’ on it,” Tim drawled, his eyes still heavy from the lethargy of dealing with the illness. “S said ya’ were wantin’ t’talk. I… think ya’ kinda right.”

( Jason nodded. He sat forward and rested his elbows on the edge of Tim’s mattress... )

No linked to, or binding on, any Lyla muses in existence


Word Count | 1,297

RP with supermarketsam | More pointy things

Before Jason had some to see him, Tim had been having a bad morning. He spent the night awake with bad stomach pains and then spent the morning throwing up again, though thankfully not blood this time. Enough for them to declare he had a mild fever, though, and enough to hook him up to another IV with antibitoics this time... just in case, but they seemed more of the opinion that he was now showing signs of alcohol withdrawals. Tim hadn't taken the news well, especially when they told him there wasn't much they could do for him but wait for them to ease out. Heavy sweats, racing heart, headache from hell, puking, and restlessness. Why the hell couldn't they just give him a beer? That would help.

Seeing Jason and having their talk had actually help distract him from how crap he was feeling but once his (thankfully still) best friend left to go to his coaching session with his junior team, Tim was left alone again. He still couldn't see the actual IV lines in his skin, which seemed to help, but the sensation that they were there distrubed him a little and he held his hand up to look at the bandages around the lines with a rough sigh. He wanted to go home. He wanted a beer. "Fuck it," he moaned and put his other hand up to wipe the sweat from his forehead.