Overdose Tw - Tumblr Posts
nerdybirdboy:
“Likewise, Dr Thompkins,” Tim replied, a pleasant smile on his lips. Ok, Timmy, you can do this. Give her enough to be happy, but not enough to let her know any of your true thoughts and feelings, then it risks going straight back to Bruce and then he’ll definitely not let you be Robin anymore.
Sitting down, he was very conscious about keeping a fairly open body language, hiding the fact that he didn’t want to be there at all. “How does this work?” Tim’s voice was calm and steady, all of it through iron will. Which was also the only reason he wasn’t fidgeting. “If you want me to talk about the accident, I’ll do that, but it really was an accident. I wanted to sleep and in my sleep deprived state I took a couple of pills too much. That’s it, there’s nothing more to tell.”
What had happened was that Tim having not been able to sleep more than a couple of hours for quite some time and when Bruce and Alfred were going to be gone for the weekend, Tim had seen it as his chance to get some good sleep. He hadn’t really thought about what he was doing and had just taken some of the pills, which had been more than a person his size should take. Not dangerously much, but not good either. Okay, maybe a little dangerous, but the risk of him dying had been very low. Thankfully, Alfred had felt something was wrong and Bruce knew to never doubt Alfred’s senses and they had turned back. Instead of going away, they had spent the weekend monitoring Tim. Once he was awake and conscious enough to speak and drink, Bruce had been very very angry. Just as angry as when he’d run off to handle those thugs that first time before he became Robin. Alfred believed Tim when he said it had been an accident, Bruce hadn’t been sure.
It was true though. It had really been an accident, however, accident or not, Tim shouldn’t have had sleeping pills or benzo, but he had (not anymore though). Black market medicine, so he hadn’t stolen them from Alfred or anything. Tim didn’t think he’d done anything wrong besides worrying Bruce and Alfred.
Oh he was going straight into it? Okay, she could meet him there. But Leslie really ought to slow him down first. Get him comfortable. Or more comfortable at least.
Closing the door, Leslie went about rummaging through the mini-fridge she had built into the cabinet against the wall. “Sure, we can talk about what happened if you want to Tim - do you want a drink? Snacks? I’ve got a stash of them here, you’re welcome to them anytime.”
Tim had clearly rationalised what had happened down to its finest points. Frankly, Leslie was fairly certain he was telling the truth, but even so, it was a symptom of what she feared was a much larger problem.
“So, you wanted to sleep? Okay, can I ask why you were sleep deprived in the first place? It sounds like you had a hard time getting sleep despite that - I presume that’s why you took the pills, but feel free to correct me.”
Whumptober: My Spidey-Sense Is Tingling
A/N: !!!TW FOR THIS CHAPTER: Medication/Drug use and accidental overdosing!!! Also, today’s chapter was inspired by Careful by tiredRobin, check it out! https://archiveofourown.org/works/26849536
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In the lab, Donatello was hard at work.
Over the past couple of weeks, none of them had been sleeping right. Either it was nightmares or just downright fear, but they could never get a full night’s rest from terrorized dreams. Medications didn’t always work for them, not being entirely human, so he was working on something for that. He hoped that when he was finished, he would have something that would finally bury nightmares and cause dreamless sleep.
Of course, he was trying not to keep his hopes up. After all, it may end in failure.
But over the past week, he had been working so hard, it had to work. He had been messing with the dosages of ingredients for a while, and finally found something he thought would work.
Just in time, it was ready. A full bottle of the pills he hoped would work. Was it excessive to make a whole bottle, knowing full well that they might not even be the right dosage? Maybe, but, it wouldn’t hurt to have it on hand, right?
He set the bottle down before going to clean off his desk, just in case they worked a little too well. He wasn’t stupid, he didn’t plan on taking experimental medication with sharp or hard items nearby that could risk injury. On top of that, it was late and he was tired.
Donatello paused before taking the pill, then moved to his room. It was safer there, anyway. And softer. And easier to sleep in, at that.
After his short trek to his bedroom, he sat on the bed, opened up a water bottle, took the pill, then got comfortable and waited.
Really, it should have been more alarming how fast he fell asleep.
%%%
Donatello blinked a few times, swallowing. His head was swimming, why did he feel so sick?
His body screamed that it was wrong, something was wrong and it was bad. Bad, bad bad bad bad-
There was light coming from underneath the shoji, but- He could barely see it, everything was blurry and the colors and lights were muted in the haze. Why did he feel like this? Why did his head hurt? He felt sick, so he should stop moving. Right, not moving, resting, that was good when one was sick.
Could he even move in the first place? He didn't feel like he could, he felt frozen to the spot. He felt scared. Why couldn't he think? He was fairly certain he had been fine before, what was-
Oh, was that his name? It sounded like his name. Who was calling him though? He didn't recognize the voice. He felt sick. Maybe he should stay laying there.
...His breathing shouldn't be that slow, he realized. His chest moved up and down sluggishly, taking in air far too slow to be normal. He needed help, he needed help, maybe that was why he was sick.
Sitting up was a struggle all on it's own, but trying to stand was worse. Donatello's legs buckled out from underneath him, his body refusing to keep him even sitting up, and all he could do was gasp, completely and utterly helpless.
The panic was cutting through the fog, his struggles growing by the second but only taking his breath away. He didn't know how long it had been since this started, didn't know how long he had left at this rate, why was this-
The medication. He took that before bed, but it should've helped, what happened to make him like this? What had-
You put too much, said the little voice in his head, before unhelpfully supplying: It's an overdose.
If it was an overdose, he would die without assistance. His own work would kill him, he'd be found dead in-
Somebody called his name, sounding concerned and growing closer. Hadn't they called earlier? There might still be hope for him.
But breathing was hard, leaving him gasping like a fish out of water, he could barely see anything, and he couldn't even move, he was helpless, he was helpless-
The murk got brighter, as if the door was ripped open to allow more light in. Somebody swore rather loudly, followed by a gasp, and his world kept flashing in and out of darkness before he realized that there was the same person who swore beside him, giving out orders. When did they get there?
They sighed and said something he couldn't hear before sitting him up and leaning him against them. Something was pushed against his lips and poured into his mouth as his head was tipped back, and, by reflex, he swallowed, flinching at its bitter taste and the fact that it just kept coming. When it was done, his head got pushed back forward, a bucket pushed under his beak, why-?
Before he knew what was going on, he was throwing up, heaving and coughing, unable to breathe for a long moment before he finished.
The person beside him rubbed his shell, waiting until he was finished to move it away, tilt his head back again, and poured something else into his mouth. He was sure it was water, but it still tasted a little odd to him.
Slowly, his sight and sense returned to him, but not without a splitting headache and-
His whole family was in his room.
Leonardo was the one holding him, Michelangelo taking dishes and the bucket out of the room and Raphael sitting on his bed, looking the pill bottle over as if it held all the answers to every question in the world.
Donatello blinked a few times as he realized what had happened. Shoot.
"Oh-" he began, speaking softly, "Oh, I'm so sorry, this was-"
Leonardo nudged him to be quiet and started talking, voice low to avoid hurting Donatello's ears, but definitely concerned. There was no way he hadn't seen the bottle.
"What were you thinking, Don? You could've died. If we had been any later, you probably would’ve!"
Donatello's cheeks burned with shame as he lowered his head, going to explain.
"I'm so sorry, really- I was just testing a sleep medication for us, I must have messed up the dosages-"
"'Must have'? You overdosed, Donnie. You got really sick, so sick we had to pull out the ipecac. Why in the world did you think it was a good idea to test it on yourself?"
"I- I just couldn't think of anything else, and I thought it would be alright. I- Sorry…"
Leonardo heaved a sigh. Not one of his exasperated sighs, though. It was his worried "I'm-Going-To-Have-A-Heart-Attack-At-This-Rate" sighs.
"Just-" Leonardo said after a long moment of consideration, "Just don't try it again, okay? You really scared us, and I'm sure you can find some other way to test it without risking death. Just head to bed for now, without the help of some pills."