Omi Tsukiyono (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oneblackcat) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
synergetic2014-12-20 12:41 am
oneblackcat) wrote in synergetic2014-12-20 12:41 am
[KBF] Waking
It didn't work.
This was Omi's first realization as he opened his eyes to a sterile, bright room. He was awake, and that meant he was alive, and that meant he'd failed.
It was his only thought for several minutes. He was confused and tired, and kept thinking about going back to sleep. A couple of times, he did.
When he finally did come to more fully, his mind was blurry except for that one thought: he was supposed to be dead. He wasn't.
It seemed like a horrible irony. Of all people to fail a suicide attempt-- a boy in the business of making things die? Of course, he'd known going into it that there was only a chance of the drug being strong enough. He missed the obvious implication that to be in a medical room and not an interrogation one, it had been a close enough call for intervention.
He thought he was going to vomit. He curled his arm around his stomach, not registering until a good half a minute later that he'd been able to move it. His hands and feet weren't tied.
He almost tried to fumble out of the bed, to find a scalpel, a pair of scissors, a syringe, anything sharp. But when one's vision was a dizzying spin, leaping out of bed was just not in the cards. It was maddening: here he was with no restraints and apparently no guards, and neither one was needed to keep him planted right there on the bed.
He blearily tried to take in more of his surroundings. A bed with white sheets. Wires and beeps from equipment monitoring his vital signs. An IV taped to the top of his hand. And, unsurprisingly, an incredibly tender sore on his tongue. As his vision cleared, Omi tried, shakily, to push himself to sitting upright. His muscles didn't seem to want to cooperate, though, and after a couple of seconds they gave out, putting him right back against the mattress.
He lay alone, watching the nothing, and wondering, vaguely, where he was. And what the heck time it was.
This was Omi's first realization as he opened his eyes to a sterile, bright room. He was awake, and that meant he was alive, and that meant he'd failed.
It was his only thought for several minutes. He was confused and tired, and kept thinking about going back to sleep. A couple of times, he did.
When he finally did come to more fully, his mind was blurry except for that one thought: he was supposed to be dead. He wasn't.
It seemed like a horrible irony. Of all people to fail a suicide attempt-- a boy in the business of making things die? Of course, he'd known going into it that there was only a chance of the drug being strong enough. He missed the obvious implication that to be in a medical room and not an interrogation one, it had been a close enough call for intervention.
He thought he was going to vomit. He curled his arm around his stomach, not registering until a good half a minute later that he'd been able to move it. His hands and feet weren't tied.
He almost tried to fumble out of the bed, to find a scalpel, a pair of scissors, a syringe, anything sharp. But when one's vision was a dizzying spin, leaping out of bed was just not in the cards. It was maddening: here he was with no restraints and apparently no guards, and neither one was needed to keep him planted right there on the bed.
He blearily tried to take in more of his surroundings. A bed with white sheets. Wires and beeps from equipment monitoring his vital signs. An IV taped to the top of his hand. And, unsurprisingly, an incredibly tender sore on his tongue. As his vision cleared, Omi tried, shakily, to push himself to sitting upright. His muscles didn't seem to want to cooperate, though, and after a couple of seconds they gave out, putting him right back against the mattress.
He lay alone, watching the nothing, and wondering, vaguely, where he was. And what the heck time it was.
no subject
"Beyond that, I don't know. I do know," and here he leveled his best Batman glare, which was usually diminished by his smaller stature, but still got the job done, "that giving you what you want is not a priority. Right now, I don't trust you to do the right thing under pressure, and that means you're not getting thrown into any situation that would require you to make that right decision until you prove otherwise."
He held a hand up.
"And don't go playing the 'I've changed!' game with me. You have not. We've barely talked and while I am extremely persuasive, you're brainwashed and I'm not dumb. You haven't come around to my way of thinking just because of one heart-to-heart."
no subject
It was all fair enough, what he specified in conditions, of course. It was reasonable that he wouldn't be trusted right off. It was reasonable to operate from the idea-- the true idea-- that he wasn't that much different already. Maybe the difference was that Omi had assumed such things to be obvious. It was quite the unpleasant shock to discover Robin didn't consider him already possessing such basic understanding. Did Robin really think he felt so entitled?
Omi realized now that he was continuing to make the same mistake over and over with these two. Their images and reputations as forces for good had lent them favor. Every time, he had tried to cooperate with Batman or Robin, and every time, it left him in a worse off position. He'd tried to warn them out of the mansion, to help them fight off Schuldig. He'd tried to avoid making trouble when confronted with Batman. He'd tried to show a willingness to work towards some alternative lifestyle.
He'd acted on what he thought was the right thing to do.
It seemed he was wrong, though. This wasn't a relationship open to reciprocity or understanding. This wasn't the way someone who really wanted to help talked. Most likely, they were just trying to squeeze more information out of him to use against Kritiker. It was probably the only reason they had stopped him from killing himself, too. What other value did he have to them, after all? Nothing was going to change here. It was time to shut them out. Both of them.
Completely ignoring Robin was rude in its own right. However, beyond his resolution to offer no further inadvertent help, Omi was not any more interested in engaging condescension now than when Robin had first entered the room. He closed his eyes and turned his head away, his voice as soft and quiet as ever but with an unshakeable firmness.
"I'm done talking. Please, leave me alone."
no subject
With the very glaring exception of what Batman might say about it, he stood with the basic intent behind the words. Maybe Omi could use a second chance, but would he be using it to escape punishment or to do right?
Really, only the fact he was already going to be explaining himself to Batman kept Robin from the comeback that was forming as he stood to leave, shaking the wrinkles from his cape.