trans_9 | The worms crawl out...

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The worms crawl out...

Give it up. You lost. Get out of my head.

"No."

Really. Be reasonable. You have to climb out every three days and hang out in your swimming pool, or you're going to die. It's been two and a half already. Climb out like a good little slug-thing, and maybe I'll talk Brainy into building you a nice Habitrail.

"Maybe. I'm not taking that chance."

So--what? You're going to use my greymatter as your deathbed? Gross. Do you things rot in there, or do you ooze out when you die. Because rotting slugthing in my brain is just not something I want to deal with.

"I'm about to starve to death, and this is what you're worrying about?"

Don't expect me to be sympathetic. You took me over with no intention of ever giving me control of my own body again, and tried to kill my friends. I'll probably do a jig on your sluggly little grave.

"And here I thought you weren't going to turn into that psycho in your future."

I'm not--I won't.

"Delighting in the slow and painful death of another sentient creature? I don't know--sounds a lot like him to me."

...Why yes. Tim is strapped down to his bed, and it really does look like he's talking to himself.

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It doesn't take long after that. It's distant, but Tim can see the pain his Yeerk controller is in, and he doesn't have anything like the amount of cruelty it would take to mock it now. But he can't bring himself to feel sorry for it either. Instead, he just waits, silently.

The Yeerk's mind starts to go, finally, and Tim sees flashes from the--hundreds--of beings it's possessed over its life. Creatures Tim has never seen, and probably never will see. He can feel the pride the Yeerk had felt at crushing each of the minds its memory flashes through, and it makes Tim want to be sick.

But some of the imagery... It's beautiful, and Tim tries to focus on that part.

Turquoise sunsets.

The feeling of actually flying.

"Seeing" through sound.

So many different suns...

And then it's over, and something comes out of Tim's ear, making him wish for Q-tips. He shudders slightly, and looks around. It's almost a wonder to have control of his own body again, and he sees Kon still sitting there. Kon... who he had tried to kill. Nausea hits him again. "Hey."

"Hey."

As soon as the thing is out and shriveling up into nothing, Kon is up and tapping the controls on the bed to for the weird bug-leggy restraints to release him.

"Really dumb question, but you okay?"

Tim pushes himself up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He's taking physical inventory, but it doesn't appear that the Yeerk's stay in his body has harmed him at all. Everything still works. Good.

He nods and stands. "Yes, Kon. I'm fine."

"Yuh huh."

Tim gives him a faint smile. "I am. Really." He takes a breath and lets it out, but he's not really getting any calmer. "I'll be right back, okay. I need to go wash up." He tries for another smile. "Still feel all sluggish."

Kon threads a hand through his hair, making a face like this: :\

"There's that one bathroom in the city that has actual water. City's all cleared out now."

Tim nods. "Thanks. I'll be back in a few." He leaves to find the bathroom or--something. He just knows he has to be elsewhere.

It's not a matter of sneaking. You can't out-sneak a Bat.

It's a matter of timing. Waiting for him to get down there, to get in the bathroom in the city, and then following then, knowing what's probably going to happen...

Tim eyes the "Out of Order" sign warily, and then locks himself in one of the other stalls. For a few moments, he just stares at the wall.

Then he's suddenly--violently--sick. Oh God. The things he's done. The way his thoughts and memories and ideas have been used. He throws up again. And again. And eventually he's just heaving, because he can't stop being sick with himself.

Finally, his stomach stops heaving enough for him to be able to stand again. He closes his eyes and bangs his head back against the wall. Again. And then he's lashing out with fists and feet, destroying the stall around him.

He's just so... angry. And sick. And angry.

When he's done, when his rage has subsided just a little, when the stall is trashed, and he looks up at the door to the bathrooms, he'll see his best friend standing there, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"You're fine, huh?"

Tim grits his teeth briefly, and takes a few breaths, trying to calm down. It doesn't work any better than it had before.

"Yes, Kon," he says finally. "I'm fine."

And he does know how ridiculous that sounds when he's standing in the wreckage of his own temper tantrum.

"Because everybody trashes a public bathroom when they're fine."

"I think it will catch on."

"I think you must think I'm an idiot if you think I'm gonna buy that you're fine after you went through that."

"I don't think you're an idiot. I'm all right. I'm managing, okay?"

And if managing usually involves destruction of property, then that's even the truth.

Except that it doesn't.

"You're not managing. You're lying. Maybe it's just to me, maybe it's to me and to yourself, but you're lying."

No one is okay after that. No one.

Tim glares at him. He's trying to be okay. He is. And Kon is not. helping.

"I'm coping. Just leave me alone and let me, okay?"

Pfff.

"Pfff. You're not coping. You're venting a bit and then you're going to stuff it down with everything else you pretend didn't happen."

"...Yes."

Kon rolls his eyes.

"Because that completely works for you. That works just as well as me running off to hide and lick my wounds, avoiding all my friends and giving up the most important part of my life."

"It's not--" And then Tim has to shut his mouth, because it absolutely is the same. Or--close enough to it.

"That's not what I'm doing," he says finally, glaring at the floor.

"Then what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to take a moment to myself to deal with everything I did Kon," Tim snaps, looking up again and scowling. "I think it's allowed."

"Until you just stuff it away again, in one of your little Bat-boxes, where you stuff away everything. Just like you would've done with your dad, if you hadn't cracked around Raven," he says, uncrossing his arms and stepping towards him.

And the--true--words hit Tim like a physical blow. He clenches his fists to stop his hands from shaking. "That's not what we're talking about right now."

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