Trapped

[toastysocks]

Trapped In A Box Together Meme



You're not sure how, you're not sure why, but suddenly you're in a box. What's worse, is that there's another person with you making quarters less than perfect.

Rules:
①: Comment with your character | series | Preferences if any
②: Reply to others as if you're trapped in an tightly sealed non-open-able box that is rather cramped. Feel free to add more than two people to a box
③: Every now and then, the box will shift and roll to one side furthering awkward times
④: Play nice - Doesn't have to be shippy
⑤: Eventually you'll get out of the box but usually after you stop struggling

Comments

Re: Tim Drake/Red Robin | DCnU

[diedonthejob]

[When Jason wakes up he does so slowly, haltingly, his awareness coming and going in waves. Instinctively, he starts taking stock of his situation even before he's fully conscious - it's pitch black, the air is stale and thin, his hood is gone and so are his guns. All pretty bad signs, not even counting the concussion he's pretty sure he has. He reaches into his jacket pocket, searching for his lighter or a glow-stick or whatever the hell he finds first, only for his elbow to collide with something soft off to his left.]

[He pauses, wondering just how bad he got hit over the head for it to take him this long to notice somebody lying next to him, before deciding the splitting headache must be from some sort of drug, not blunt force trauma. Even concussed, he shouldn't be this groggy and off his game. He must have gotten dosed with something, gassed maybe.]

[His fingers close around a glowstick, which he activates with a solid crack. It takes Jason's eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness, but once they do he finds himself wishing he hadn't opened them.]

...Fuck.

[The word is quiet, said under his breath. He repeats it, this time with urgency, his voice breaking slightly in the middle.]

[He tries to sit up, but there's no room. He pushes against the ceiling, the walls, but they won't give. He looks to his left, to the person next to him, and distantly he recognizes that he's trapped in this tiny fucking box with Drake of all people. He's not sure whether to consider himself lucky or not.]

[He reaches over, not that he has to move his arm very far, and roughly shakes Tim's shoulder.]

Hey - Hey, Replacement.

R.R.

Baby bird.

Drake -Wake the hell up!

[Shut up he's not panicking you're panicking.]

[success_story]

[ It's hard to say if the sluggy way his brain moves comes from being drugged or just from being asleep for more than four hours. This is so going to jack up his sleep schedule. It's already fucked up his sleep. Exhibit A: he doesn't really dream, and yet, here he is, dreaming about his own name being called. Jason. He sounds panicked. As if it isn't bad enough to have stress dreams, he has to have Jason's stress dreams, too. Absolute bullshit.

[ It isn't until he tries to adjust his head and finds his neck sore--his head sore--everything's pretty sore and Jason is shaking him--it isn't until he tries to move that he realizes with a sharp breath in that he isn't in bed. Tim shoves an arm out to push Jason back-- ] Red. Stop-stop it. [ --but he doesn't go back. Tries to sit up and can't even get far enough up to bump his head. ] Christ, Red--I'm awake, I'm awake--

[diedonthejob]

[Jason's not the sort of person who asks for help. Even when he was a kid living on the streets, he never asked for handouts. Being self-reliant, not needing anybody, it's sort of his whole thing. But, y'know, as much as he'd literally rather die than admit he's out of his depth, he's not willing to let his stubborn pride to take somebody else out with him. He doesn't know how long they've been trapped in this fucking box but he knows that whatever oxygen they've got left isn't gonna last long if he starts hyperventilating, so for Tim's sake he's gotta try not to completely lose his shit.]

[Unfortunately, in order to do that, he's gotta ask the little beanpole for help.]

About time, Sleeping Beauty.

[He stops shaking Tim's shoulder, but he doesn't let go of it. He's pretty sure if he doesn't keep his hand anchored to something he's gonna start beating the hell out of the ceiling even though he knows his fist isn't gonna do anything against solid metal.]

Now that you're up, why don't you call up one of your fairy godmothers to come crack this box open?

[Tim's comm has got to still be online. He's gotta have a phone or a tracker or something on him. He has to.]

[success_story]

Okay. [ His hand claps to Jason's wrist cursorily, just a little check-in there before he goes for his belt to--grab--to grab-- 

[ Tim is dead quiet as he scrapes his hand around his suit where his utility belt is supposed to be. Where he can find his phone. Anything that can call out. He comes up with nothing. Jason gets to hear him curse under his breath before Tim reaches for the waist of his pants, fishing fingers into his front pockets, dart around to get his back pockets. ] Bring your hips forward? 

[diedonthejob]

[Tim hesitates for a second there, when he's feeling around his belt, and Jason does not like that shit at all because it means he's not finding what he's looking for and that is not okay. That is the precise opposite of okay.]

[Then Tim goes and swears under his breath - actually swears - and he may as well have punched Jason right in the chest for how hard it knocks the air out of him. For a second he actually forgets how to fill his lungs back up again, and it's only when he feels Tim trying to rifle through his pockets that he remembers how to breathe.]

Not gonna buy me dinner first?

[It says a lot about just how Not Okay Jason is with this whole situation that he actually complies with Tim's request without being obstinate or deliberately obtuse. He just moves without even thinking about it, at least until hindsight catches up with him and he realizes there's no good reason for Tim to be checking his pockets unless there's something in them that he doesn't know about.]

Wait - did you bug me?

[Normally he'd be royally pissed off that someone tried to pull that shit on him, but this is one of the few circumstances where he's willing to overlook the egregious breach of his privacy. Of course, it also begs the question of how Tim managed to slip something into his pants without him noticing, but there are so many answers to that question that Jason's not even going to bother trying to narrow it down.]

[Instead, he's just gonna look down and try to follow Tim's hands, wanting to see just what kind of shenanigans he's about to pull.]

so sorry about the wait, my game got really busy this month!! feel free to ignore! OTL

[success_story]

No, I'm checking your blindspots. Maybe they left something and you just--can't reach-- [ It's a stupid last gambit. Of course, they'd check Jason's pockets, where Tim's fingers dive and skim now. Of course, they would have frisked and unequipped anything in the back lining of his jacket, where Tim runs his palms now, leaning forward to reach up and back. 

[ Of course, they checked--but it's better to make sure that they are absolutely, positively screwed here before they start freaking out. Not that they're going to freak out. They're not going to freak out. His breaths come plain measures and steady, very much not getting worked up. ] Okay. This is fine. 

Who, um. Who knows you were out on a mission?

No worries, it happens!

[diedonthejob]

[Tim can speak for his tiny calm self, because Jason is most certainly going to freak out. He doesn't want to, but the universe has literally never given a shit about what Jason wants, ever, in his entire life - either of them.]

I'm looking at him.

[Yeah, he's not exactly in the habit of telling other people his business, and if any of the Bats are keeping tabs on him, he sure as hell doesn't know about it.]

[He reaches out to thump Tim's chest with the back of his hand, just for the physical reassurance that he's actually there, that he's not just a voice in the dark, that Jason really isn't alone this time.]

What about you, Big Guy still keeping track of his toys?

[He might actually stop talking shit about Bruce's relentless paranoia if it saves their asses right now, hand to God.]

[success_story]

[ Tim's hand bats Jason's down when it settles on his chest, pins his wrist to the floor of the box. Not a very soft way of assuring he's there, but there's no missing it. ] B knows I'm in the area. There's a GPS tracker in my suit, so when I don't report in after a certain amount of time, he'll know. We just have to wait. I'm not sure how long. We just have to be patient. 

But if you call me his toy again? [ A thin, sharp finger jabs at Jason's chest. Definitely here. ] We'll see if knocking you out helps your patience.