It came over him all at once. One second, he was fine and the next-
The manor kitchen transformed from domestic bliss into an archaic torture chamber, with Tim caged into an iron maiden crafted from his own body.
The sound of knives on chopping boards became the steady hacking of a guillotine on his neck.
Clattering porcelain, glass on marble, collided like a ten car pile up against his eardrums.
Voices- his family's voices -once white noise, suddenly suffocated him in a wall of incoherent, jarring sound.
Tim's fingers twitched, fumbled, lost their grip on the pen he'd been writing with.
Midday sun beat through the windows, all raw fire against his irises. Pulses of sheer agony cut across his nerve endings and drummed a war march against his brain.
He wasn't conscious of his own movements, only aware of the incomplete darkness his folded arms provided. Tim whined, curling in on himself, reduced to pathetic noises in the face of his unexpected suffering.
Damian was the first to notice.
"Oh, habibi."
Activity in the kitchen slowed to a halt at his tone. They'd learned to read Damian when he was a child and far less open with his emotions than he was now. The concern lacing his words was troubling.
"Oh dear," Alfred murmured, the first to spot Tim's hunched and twitching form.
Jason frowned, lowering his knife slowly onto the chopping block.
"When's the last time he slept?" he asked, voice lowered as far as it could go.
"Couple days," Duke whispered back. "Been a while since he's gotten like this, though."
Damian touched his fingertips to Tim's shoulder and winced when his lover flinched. He adjusted the touch, laying his palm over the nape of his neck.
"Habibi," he repeated gently. "Let's go to bed. Come on, up."
Tim obeyed sluggishly, swaying when he stood. Damian took this as a sign that he couldn't be trusted on his feet and swept him easily into his arms. He remained still, momentarily, to allow the slighter man to shift and squirm until he could press his face into his neck.
"Go," Alfred shooed gently. "I'll prepare something light for him to eat when he wakes up."
Damian mouthed his thanks to the butler, not daring to speak so close to Tim's ears, then departed with his debilitated cargo.
There was no good way to avoid patches of sunlight as he ferried them back to their room, or the inevitable thunderous boom of their door closing. Still, Damian did his best to minimize Tim's exposure to light and sound when he could.
Unlike his beloved, he was prone neither to migraines, nor to denying himself sleep so long he suffered the same symptoms. He'd always been sympathetic, though. Tim once described the effects of his symptoms and while they sounded horrific, nothing could've prepared Damian for the reality of them. One run in with a nasty psychic left him with the equivalent of a three day migraine and he didn't leave bed once.
He'd seen Tim fight with a migraine. Damian still had trouble imagining the kind of strength that took.
Finally across the threshold of their room, Damian was quick to lay his beloved on their bed, coaxing the arms around his neck to relinquish their grip with gentle touches.
Once freed, he swept around the room, shutting down electronics after carefully saving any files or data left open on them. He drew the blackout curtains carefully across the windows, meticulously checking each of the corners to be sure no light could peek through. Their bed had a canopy for that same reason, and was the last set of curtains to be closed.
By the time Damian slid into bed beside his lover, Tim had burrowed his way under the thick covers, wrapping them around himself in a plush cocoon. Only the top of his head was visible, his face buried in the lavender aromatherapy pillow he'd insisted was silly, but refused to be parted from. He was still too tense to be asleep, whining every now and then as some phantom pain dug into the space between his eyes.
Damian shifted closer, until he could wrap himself around the smaller man, welcoming him to cling as tightly as he wanted. Tim took the offer, enveloping him in his nest of blankets and cushions, wriggling and nudging until Damian was where he wanted him.
Usually, when his beloved had trouble sleeping he would hum to him. Nothing fancy, just whatever song came to mind. Tim would never tell him if it was his voice or the low vibrations, but something about it sent him straight to sleep.
At times like this, though, the best thing Damian could do for him was lie still and breathe. So he did, counting the seconds as Tim's heartbeat slowed and his posture went lax, until sleep finally took him.