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Tim looked around the near fully run down room, struggling for what seemed the hundredth time against the ropes holding him to the uncomfortable wooden chair he was stuck in. If he had known this was where his night was taking him, he would have canceled his plans for that morning.
Or he wouldn't have jumped in front of Red Hood. He thought it was a regular bullet, and he knew his armor was bulletproof. He didn't expect the bullet to explode into a smoke bomb, and for someone to throw something directly at his head, it was hard enough for him to pass out. Looking at the small boarded up window, a few hours had passed at least. The sun had started to rise, clouds going past the morning sun and causing the room to be filled with a dull, grayish natural light against the otherwise dark room.
This was more of a mild inconvenience for him, being uninjured aside from the bruise on his chest from where he had taken the bullet and a strong headache due to most likely dehydration and sleep deprivation(not the concussion, he didn't have one, he liked to tell himself). He was fine for at least three days, and knowing the others, he would be out in two. He was too important to them for him to be lost for too long.
—
Okay, maybe he overestimated how important he was to them. It had been four days, he had been moved to a cell and was untied, yes, but he hadn't gotten food and only had a drink of water in those four days. He hadn't spoken a word. The only times he was talked to were for the ones keeping him hostage to ask him questions about who the ‘batman’ was.
His mask had been removed, his identity revealed to only who was in the room. He took note of the camera in the corner, light on top blinking red indicating it was on. He made sure to always be facing away from it.
That was until now. His hands had been tied to his back as fists met his face as he was sure his nose was broken and his jaw fractured. He was strewn on the floor, facing the camera now as he tried to just bear down and take what he was given. It was a gruesome sight. Blood and dirt stained the concrete floors as well as his Red Robin costume.
A few kicks to his back and punches to his face later, he felt the room start to spin, a loud ringing in his ear as he heard muffled talking. They were talking about him, no doubt, about what they should do with the bird they had caught in their trap. Talking about ‘clipping his wings’ or something of that nature. What Tim didn't know was that there was some form of magical object in their possession. One that, if used correctly, he didn't know what it could do.
It was in one of the man's hands when there was a crash, a boom, and then the sound of the door getting kicked in by none other than Red Hood.
Tim heard muffled yelling, something about him being stupid for getting caught and ‘how could you be so dumb as to let them know who you are!’ Tim admittedly wasn't listening that well. His ears weren't ringing anymore, but everything was quiet. His eyes were unfocused as he heard the loud bangs of guns going off, whose gun was a different question entirely.
A question quickly answered as both men who had been holding him dropped to the floor beside Tim. He lifted his head as best as he could, looking for Red Hood. He got his hands out from behind his back, and Hood was thinking he looked a little too much like himself when he was in that wearhouse.
As Tim was lifted to his feet, he placed an arm over the shoulders of Hood to stay upright. He focused more on his hearing, finally tuning in the angry words from who was supposed to be his brother.
“How could you be so stupid as to get caught and then exposed! Where's your mask?” his voice was harsh, but just a hint of worry was laced in with it, something Tim wasn't used to.
He couldn't even speak, his words stuck in his throat as he just made a small, wounded sound. Pushing off of Jason, he stood on his own, looking at the small item on the floor. He kicked it, and it shattered. He thought little of it as he walked to the door to leave.
What he hadn't seen was how it started to smoke. He did notice his head go woozy. The last thing he saw before falling was Hood rushing over to him, and then everything went dark.
When he awoke again, he was lying on an expensive feeling carpet. A soft light flooded the room as he heard someone rushing around looking for something. When he sat up and had fully adjusted, he froze. What he saw he didn't believe, it was his room at Drake manor, and who was running around was an 8 year old Tim drake. Why was he seeing himself in front of him?
When he stood, he felt nearly weightless, and he didn't take long to realize he was living through his memories now. He watched as he ran around the large room. He didn't remember this. He didn't remember much of his early years.
He watched as the younger boy tore up his room, finally pulling out what he had been looking for, a small portable camera. Tim remembered that he didn't have it long, his father had taken it after something had happened, he didn't exactly remember what he had done though.
As he watched himself run out of the room, he was pulled to follow. Walls and floors mashed together like watercolors as they both walked down the flight of stairs to his parents. There were suitcases near the door, they were dressed up, they were leaving. He looked at his father's face. He seemed stressed and annoyed, and Tim didn't like that.
He watched as his younger self walked to his father, tugging softly on his sleeve, as if wanting to show him something. Jack didn't look. He barely acknowledged the kid, who was pushing the camera up at him. Finally, he spoke,
“Dad, before you go, look at the photos I took!” He had a bright smile, one quickly wiped off as his father pushed him away,
“I can't look now, Tim. I'll look when I'm home again, okay? We're already late.” he picked up one of his bags, “the nanny will be here soon to take care of you. ”
“But I want you to look at them now!” he pushed his camera back up, not gaining the reaction he hoped for, though.
His father grabbed the camera, “I won't look, and now you don't get it.” He put it into his jacket pocket, “now, the nanny will be here in twenty minutes, behave for her.”
Tim watched from the window as his parents drove away. He looked at his younger self then, but before he could see anything colors flew by him in a tornado, nearly blinding him, he was lifted off the floor as it changed rapidly under him.
When the colors stopped and Tim's dizziness had subsided, he looked around. He realized he was back in his room a year into the future. It was dark, raining outside. Tim remembered this. He looked to the corner of the room where he knew his younger counterpart would be.
He was curled up. Every flash of lighting or boom of thunder caused him to curl in more on himself and shake, his sobs quiet, but audible.
He remembered too much of this night, a week after the nanny had been let off, three days after his parents left for another trip, and a couple hours after Jason Todd, who he thought of as his robin, was confirmed dead.
As he watched himself cry into the night, his head started to fuzz. The colors of the room washed together, swirling in the most unpleasant way possible. Then, he was shoved into a new memory. He was outside, and it was nighttime.
He looked to his left, and he saw himself, dressed in the red yellow and green he knew as robin. Beside him was Bruce, batman, and he looked dead. His cowl off, showing just the pale he was, the dark bags under his eyes, the grief and tiredness showing in his eyes and posture. He didn't remember this night, but, in his defense, he didn't remember much of his robin days.
“You did good tonight, Jason,” the words cut him like a knife. He could see the confused look through the domino mask on his younger self, “I'm, I'm not Jason” his voice sounded so small, so hurt. Bruce didn't seem to realize. He just put the cowl back on, “let's get back to the cave.”
He remembered the pain he felt. The first praise he had gotten from Bruce, and he had ment it for Jason.
It solidified in his mind that he was just a replacement. He wasn't the first, or the best, or the favorite. He wouldn't get love like Jason had, or like dick did. He wouldn't ever get that.
After they both grappled off into the nighttime air, the world around him passed together, ugly greys and browns passing his eyes as he felt nauseous, tears going down his face as voices passed his ears and faces popped out of the tornado of colors. He brought his hands up to cover his ears, squeezing his eyes shut, he didn't want to see anymore, didn't want to be reminded of his worst days, his worst nights, of any of his past.
When he screamed, it took a moment for him to realize it was his broken voice filling his ears, shooting pain through his brain as he fell to his knees, and for the first time in a few hours, he felt arms wrap around him. Bigger that his own, more toned, he assumed it was Jason, he still fought against him, pushing away, punching and reaching for his bō staff that was missing, ears ringing again as he heard muffled yelling his breathing spead up, his suit was too tight on his skin, the person holding him was too close, the room was too bright, the smell of blood overwhelming.
When he was set down, his knees gave out on him again. He crawled away from who was in front of him, not wanting to be close to anyone. He sat in a sticky puddle of brownish red. Opening and focusing his eyes on, yup, Jason. He assumed that he had seen it all too, and once he heard himself, he could only hear himself muttering ‘make it stop,’ and ‘help me.’
When he focused again, he saw Jason kneeling in front of him. For the first time in four days, he accepted the touch. Exhausted, he collapsed into Jason's outstretched arms, sobbing freely into his chest.
He passed out before they even left the building.