[Private][2/2] Poor Little Robin Red Breast in a Cage

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Robin dreamed of fire and flowers.

He was running, the glow of the fiery destructive force illuminating his path and yet blocking it with the smoke that stung his eyes and scratched at his nose and throat. It was just so hard to breath. Coughing he would put an arm over his nose and mouth, tears streaming down his face. Everything hurt. Head spinning, body screaming to stop he wouldn't dare slow down. For some reason, he couldn't stop, only continuing on his path.

It was only when he saw something ahead of him that he realized why he was running. His friend...his friend was in trouble! He had to help! Up ahead a blur of white and gold appeared in his eyesight, a familiar smile forming on the person's face. Robin would bring his arm from his mouth to yell out for his friend's name and reach out for the other. However, the closer the little bird got, the harder it was to see the other person in the field of smoke, fire, and flowers. It was only when Robin was within arm's reach of the other that the white haired man disappeared into the smoke, dissipating right through his fingertips. He stopped, not only because his friend was not actually there, but for the fact there was a giant wall blocking his path and no other place to run.

The world spun, his body shook, eyes wide as the echoing sound of laughter rung through the birdie's ears.
"Poor little Birdie...all alone in a cage," a voice bellowed, tone mocking, crawling underneath Robin's skin with each word. Robin whipped his head from side to side, trying to find the source of the sound, but to no avail. "Poor little Birdie...all they wanted was to be friends." Robin ran his hands through every pocket, but the familiar feel of his pocket knife wasn't anywhere to be found. "The Little Birdie is nothing but a cockroach though...crowding around his friends to protect him--"

"SHUT UP!" Robin would scream, turning around and trying his best to not to step back. There stood a figure in black, feathers lining it's head and the ends of it's coat, a cold, white mask that reminded the child of a bird staring at him. It was the one...fighting Fran back then. Robin's blood ran cold, anything else he was gonna say caught in his throat. No..nono he...he couldn't. He would step back, one foot...then two, not even looking behind him. Leaning back to take another step, Robin's eyes would widen as he would just fall back, the last thing he saw was the black feathered figure's mask and the sound of the man's laughter before he felt a familiar cold wetness engulf him.

He was sinking

Robin remembered this feeling. The coldness of the water running straight into his bones, his body feeling so heavy and so tired. The birdie would first try to struggle, arms failing and trying to hold his breath, but soon he couldn't hold his breath any longer and the cold water flooded inwards. He was screaming, begging for help...for his friends, for his teammates, anyone. It felt like an eternity, but soon his arms became too tired and his lungs too full of water, the currents around him choking him, robbing him of air. He was gonna die, again, wasn't he?

The birdie closed his eyes, waiting for everything to just drift away into unconsciousness.

Instead, Robin opened his eyes to blinding walls.

Gasping for air, the birdie would realize he couldn't open his jaw and start to panic. This wasn't the familiar red and wooden walls and smell of metal and rustic wood. What was going on? Why couldn't he move his jaw? Where was he? So many questions filled the birdie's head much like the water that filled his lungs in the dream...no..nightmare. Eyes darting around body sweating and heart pounding as he inhaled ragged breaths through his nose. He would soon realize he remembered these walls. He was here earlier, Fran brought him here...he was..hurt. But it all felt like one messed up blur, something he couldn't interpret at all whatsoever.

But that didn't matter. What did matter was the fact that he was in incredible amounts of pain. His mind felt sluggish but his jaw didn't care, pulsating sharp jabs of pain in a constant rhythm, making the child place one hand against his lower jaw. He just...wanted to go home, back to his teammates and the rustic smell of iron and wood, and he wanted the pain and dreams to go away...to drift away like the waves on the shore. But instead, they keep coming back, and he couldn't help but let tears fall onto his cheek, squeezing his eyes shut and letting himself silently cry.

It made him feel better, if only for a little bit.