Whatever it is that he needs, he's getting it now. Finally, after so long of fighting it, of staving down the hunger, starving himself of it, it fills him. He could weep. He might, a little. He's barely aware of it, or of anything except the sensation of feeding, like fresh water to a parched and dying tongue, like warm soup tipped into a belly howling against its own emptiness. And yet— it's nothing like those sensations, nothing like he's ever known for all of the ways it's similar (hadn't he wept when he'd first arrived to this place, stumbling to the community center and finding himself smelling real food and warm drink after— countless, endless days without them? He was rotting away.)
But this is... different, too. What he's feeding on is... different. He keeps his eyes closed, keeps the jaws of his mouth and of his spirit wide open. He doesn't stop.
Then something hits him. It's hard and fast and at first he barely registers that it even knocks him backwards from Kate, lost in the fog of his own hunger, of the nightmare whirlwind that numbs him even now to the reality of this situation. He doesn't know the term dissociation but he's no stranger to it, to losing the connection between himself and the world around him in the throes of an impossible situation. It's impossible that he should be bringing harm to the precious life of someone who holds his heart. It's impossible that he should feel her try to pull away, to cry out his name. None of it is real. He isn't anything at all.
Then the pain hits, nerves torn open raw as something hooks into him, and that makes it all real again. He doesn't even see the grappling gun, doesn't understand it, thinks in one sweeping flash of panic that some huge animal's teeth have clamped down on him.
He falls hard and heavy, and then someone's on him, and he doesn't realise until Tim's right there against his ear, whispering in a hiss. Edward's eyes, pupils still blown out big and black from adrenaline and hunger and now alarmed stun, lock onto Tim's. Panic hasn't quite hit him, but he finds his body moves of its own accord, one arm lifted and swiping as he gasps for breath, fingers scraping against the boy however he can.
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But this is... different, too. What he's feeding on is... different. He keeps his eyes closed, keeps the jaws of his mouth and of his spirit wide open. He doesn't stop.
Then something hits him. It's hard and fast and at first he barely registers that it even knocks him backwards from Kate, lost in the fog of his own hunger, of the nightmare whirlwind that numbs him even now to the reality of this situation. He doesn't know the term dissociation but he's no stranger to it, to losing the connection between himself and the world around him in the throes of an impossible situation. It's impossible that he should be bringing harm to the precious life of someone who holds his heart. It's impossible that he should feel her try to pull away, to cry out his name. None of it is real. He isn't anything at all.
Then the pain hits, nerves torn open raw as something hooks into him, and that makes it all real again. He doesn't even see the grappling gun, doesn't understand it, thinks in one sweeping flash of panic that some huge animal's teeth have clamped down on him.
He falls hard and heavy, and then someone's on him, and he doesn't realise until Tim's right there against his ear, whispering in a hiss. Edward's eyes, pupils still blown out big and black from adrenaline and hunger and now alarmed stun, lock onto Tim's. Panic hasn't quite hit him, but he finds his body moves of its own accord, one arm lifted and swiping as he gasps for breath, fingers scraping against the boy however he can.