Chapter Text
The sound of thunder jerks him awake two hours later.
He looks out the window and sees a torrential downpour.
Okay maybe it was a good thing that Kon brought him home, he hates patrolling in the rain.
He scrubs sleep away from his eyes and blindly smacks a hand over to his nightstand to grab his phone.
Only when he opens his eyes he sees it’s not there.
Fuck he swears if he left it in his suit, instead of in his utility belt, and washed it he will kill himself.
He starts the trek down to the Batcave and when the elevator door opens he heads straight for the laundry.
He opens it up and starts going through the multitude of pockets on his suit. He only makes it to the third one when he feels it.
Well isn’t that a nice surprise.
He pulls out his soaking wet phone.
He tries the button and nothing.
He proceeds to throw it into the nearest wall.
It shatters on impact and sends glass a foot in every direction.
Tim doesn’t pick it up, doesn’t check if he dented the wall, doesn’t switch over his suit.
He walks out of the room and decides that yeah training sounds like the perfect thing right now.
What’s better than beating things up with his bo staff?
So he grabs it, and starts up the combat simulator.
Ignoring that Bruce mentioned when Tim started moving again that he was only to train with someone else so that they could monitor him.
He doesn’t need to be monitored, he knows his limits.
He sometimes simply decides to break them.
He starts up level 3 of the simulation and beats it with ease.
He starts up level 6 and he nearly gets hit, but he doesn’t, he clears it with a perfect score of zero hits to himself.
He starts up level 7 and gets hit within the first couple of seconds, which pisses him off.
He tries it again and flawless.
Level 8, 100%.
Level 9, five stars.
Level 10, he gets a hit to the back of the head, if it were real he would be dead.
He tries level 10 again, same thing, hit his healing back, cut him open and he bled out. Dead.
Again. He trips and his hand gets stepped on crushing all bones inside of it. Not dead, but close enough, he tries again.
He passes it. Not with a perfect score, but no debilitating injuries.
Level 11.
Gunshot to the heart. Dead.
Burned alive. Dead.
His head gets stoved in. Dead.
Sword through the spinal cord. Dead.
A laser slices him in half. Dead.
He gets overwhelmed by to many opponents. Dead.
He inhales a deadly gas. Dead.
Someone stabs and injects him with an unknown substance. Dead.
He chokes on a nail, a press on nail, that gets shoved down his throat. Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
He dies a couple more times and by the end really he’s more experimenting.
He threw his staff to the side and in a sense of morbid curiosity he sees in how many ways he can die.
It’s a lot.
When he pulls up his score to see how many times he’s failed he lets out a laugh when he sees 63. Some of those times are duplicates, but wow about 30 different ways to die.
He doesn’t doubt that there’s lots more. After all there are still four more levels after this one.
Also he’s not counting all the plain ways he’s talking more about all the fun ways.
Like being waterboarded or full on decapitated.
The pushed off of the side of a building was a doozy.
Or the one where he got his own staff shoved through the back of his throat.
He lets out another laugh and takes a step back.
Or getting blown to smithereens is always fun.
Or perhaps getting choked out slowly is the best way to go.
Tim trips over his bo staff that he tossed to the side earlier, abruptly cutting off his laughter.
He ends up bashing his head up against the wall and he slides down to the floor.
He sits in the quiet, his whole body buzzing, blunt force was never his favourite.
Was he seriously considering what way was the best?
The concept wasn’t that crazy.
After all he’s had intrusive thoughts like this before.
How he could simply not use his grappling hook one time or he could let Bane punch his lights out, but this was different.
He’d never categorized them, never allowed himself to actually truly think about it.
He drags his nails down his forearms.
How jumping might be the best because for a moment it might feel as if he were flying.
He knows that’s how it feels.
His nails bite into his skin.
How drowning is definitely not the way he wants to go, to much panicking involved.
Distantly he feels something underneath his nails.
How letting himself bleed out from some attack would be ideal. An accident right?
His arms aren’t enough, he starts trying to scratch his legs.
Pills, while not a way he died in the simulation, they could help him fall asleep. It would be nice for him, probably not for who finds him since theirs a good chance he chokes on his own bile.
He can’t get through the pants, to thick, not enough. He claws at his chest.
Injection then. That could work better than the pills.
Down his neck, through his hair, over his cheeks.
It’s not enough.
His face is all wet and it’s making it harder to claw.
“Tim!-“
He can’t feel it, it isn’t helping. Why isn’t it stinging at all? It should hurt more than this. His nails are sharp, he keeps them long so that he can-
His arms get reefed away from his body and for a brief second his brain stalls.
Then he kicks his legs out and hears an ‘oof’ and one of his arms come free and he tries to claw at his eyes.
Yeah that’ll hurt, he’ll feel that.
He doesn’t feel it, his hand stops a millimeter away from himself and then is suddenly torn away.
“What the fuck!-“
“Drake!-“
Tim lets out a cry as he’s pull forward and shoved to the floor.
He writhes around trying to get free, trying to push himself away from whatever this is, but he’s very effectively being pinned down.
He starts gnashing his teeth and manages to sink them into something.
He rips his mouth away filled with liquid and a chunk of he doesn’t know what. He barely tastes the iron before his head is being forced to the ground as well and his hands are being put behind his back rather than beside his head.
He tries to spit out the stuff in his mouth out, he doesn’t manage too as he feels a needle being jabbed into the side of his neck.
His body goes completely still as he feels the fluid enter his body.
A moment later his eyes droop.
So much for feeling something.