This voice, though-- of all the voice he'd heard between these walls, this voice he recognised.
Warsman froze.
He'd dreamed of Robin, of course; he'd understood his presence even when the sounds and images had reached a crescendo of confusion, and even if he hadn't been able to make sense of the gleaming helmet (mask, he wants to say, but that doesn't make any sense at all) he'd known it was Robin behind it and it had been a comfort. Now he wasn't so sure. When everyone in the house knew that he was closest to him, it made it all too easy for someone to trick him with the man's voice. And, more than that, how could he even guarantee that he wasn't still dreaming? He hadn't been dreaming the others, but maybe this time-
He took a tremulous step forward. "R-Robin...?" He didn't have the strength to resist. His voice quivered in the steamy night air and for a moment he thought he saw it create ripples, but his eyes remained steadily fixed on the source of his voice- on the man in the doorway. He could just see the edge of his nose, the strong line of his jaw...
But that wasn't right, and for some reason he was back to the image of the knight's helmet, a helmet he couldn't see and whose absence only frightened him all the more. "N-no... no, I'm dreaming..." Russian now. Warsman didn't care. He put his hands to his mask, pressing hard against the glassy eyes as if breaking them might free his sight.
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Warsman froze.
He'd dreamed of Robin, of course; he'd understood his presence even when the sounds and images had reached a crescendo of confusion, and even if he hadn't been able to make sense of the gleaming helmet (mask, he wants to say, but that doesn't make any sense at all) he'd known it was Robin behind it and it had been a comfort. Now he wasn't so sure. When everyone in the house knew that he was closest to him, it made it all too easy for someone to trick him with the man's voice. And, more than that, how could he even guarantee that he wasn't still dreaming? He hadn't been dreaming the others, but maybe this time-
He took a tremulous step forward. "R-Robin...?" He didn't have the strength to resist. His voice quivered in the steamy night air and for a moment he thought he saw it create ripples, but his eyes remained steadily fixed on the source of his voice- on the man in the doorway. He could just see the edge of his nose, the strong line of his jaw...
But that wasn't right, and for some reason he was back to the image of the knight's helmet, a helmet he couldn't see and whose absence only frightened him all the more. "N-no... no, I'm dreaming..." Russian now. Warsman didn't care. He put his hands to his mask, pressing hard against the glassy eyes as if breaking them might free his sight.