Quote the Raven

King of the Porcoline Throne

As Beast Boy's eyes shot open, bloodshot tendrils surrounding his irises of green, the only thing he was able to think was to thank God it was only a dream. An awful, terribly realistic dream. A shiver ran down the boy's sweat soaked spine as he tiredly squeezed his temples in a desperate search for relief from his pounding headache.

Was it even possible to feel this horrible when he had slept for who knows how long? Sleep was supposed to cure all! But on that note...how long had he been catching z's? Tiredly squinting at the seemingly light years away wall clock, his was able to derrive from its face that it was somewhere around ten or ten thirty. But was that AM or PM? Either way, he had slept for an unreasonable amount of time, enough to where he had probably thrown off his entire sleep cycle. What a pain in the neck.

It was hell, but he knew one special gal that could always make the bad things go away. She was as bright as the sun and his one true love, sure to evaporate all his worries like the morning dew. Softly, Gar smiled. Maybe he and Terra could stop by an ice cream shop later, and-

Suddenly, he froze in bitter realization, detecting the warm sensation of vomit on the back of his throat. He could feel himselfee pale considerably as his features twisted into those of pure sickness, unable to mask how he was coping with the shock. Terra wasn't going to be there to get ice cream with him, or anything else, because Terra was... Unable to comprehend the rest, he sprinted to the bathroom, hands clapping over his mouth in a desperate attemt to keep down bile.

This wasn't real, this couldn't be real, this had to be some kind of sick practical joke! He repeated those same words to himself over and over as he sprinted through the lightless halls, but in the depths of his mind, he knew the deep, dark truth. He had seen things, done things that he knew to be true...and as the jokester he was, it was exceedingly clear this was not an experiment created for kicks and giggles.

In the middle of his strewn together thoughts, he gagged, pulling the door ajar. It's knob made a metallic click as it was tampered with, and that was the last thing he was able to reason before his sickly state took over.

Haphazardly lifting the lid, Garfield proceeded to vomit into the toilet for what seemed like forever. The newly remembered broken soul assumed he was done on several occasions, but upon lifting his head and seeing the room still spinning in circles, the poor thing was sent back right where he started. He emptied the contents of his stomach multiple times, until there was nothing left to empty, and all he could mange was to dry heave, soon wearing out the muscles of his overworked abdomen.

Wiping his foul tasting mouth on the back of his hand, Beast boy scowled in disgust, standing ever so slowly to retrieve a cup of water. If he didn't get this taste out of his mouth, and get it out fast, then he was going to end up with his face buried in the porcoline throne once more. When it came down to this case, second time was not the charm, and he would much rather be gulping liquids by the gallon than spewing those liquids out as if his mouth were Niagra Falls.

Greedily, he sucked the water down, glass after glass evaporating on his parched tongue. It took chugging three fairly sized cups, but eventually, his needs were met, and he tasted vomit no more. Panting heavily, Beast boy slid to the floor in utter exhaustion, the cool tile shocking his bare skin.

Absentmindedly, he shivered. Crap, was he still in his boxers after all this? One glance down and his suspicions were confirmed, explaining why he was in such discomfort at the moment. That, and it was quite possible he was running a fever of sorts. Sweating buckets with how cold he was just wasn't a normal bodily function.

How high could your fever get before causing permanent brain damage? Wasn't it one hundred and something? Was he going to cook himself in his sickness? Tired of facing the unknown, Garfield let loose a grand sigh, and continued to tremble. Life was the most confusing thing he had ever done.

If only he were able to hide in the bottomless dark circles surrounding his eyes, or perhaps simply disappear without a trace. That would be nice; superb even. Everyone at Titans Tower would get over it, as they had lived through many tragedies in their days on this earth; including he himself...but he wanted this to be the last tragedy.

It is said one man's sunrise is another man's sunset, and well...maybe this sunset was his very own. A sunset that would leave the world open for someone else's prosperity. With the way Gar was currently living his life, it brought him a sliver of joy to think someone could live it better in his place, possibly with less casualties along the way. Man, that would be something.

Wearily, he shut his eyes that he had not long ago opened. It seemed now recently that the only thing that brought him any satisfaction in the first place was sleep, so perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps it would heal his fractured mind, allowing him to mend the scars that had been etched there... Probably not, but who knew?

As he drifted into an uncomfortable, feverish rest, he felt something cool plant itself atop his head, as if to bring him comfort. What was it? A wash cloth? A hand? But who's hand, if any? He no longer had enough sense to tell what was what, and he soon gave in to sleep's strange seduction, breathing shallow puffs of air out his slightly agape mouth.

Really, though, it was quite odd. The assumed hand that now soothingly ruffled his hair was cold to the touch, yet inside made him radiate with a divine warmth. Garfield could think of no explanation for this, for he was soon out cold and limp as a rag doll. The gentleness he had previously received followed him into his usually wretched dreams, and for the first time in a long time...they were pretty wonderful.