Distressed, Tim suddenly jolts up in bed, breathing roughly. He can feel the sweat on his forehead, momentarily confused. 'Where- oh…the manor.' He remembers coming home after the nights patrol instead of going back to his own apartment, due to Dicks pleading.
Still taking deep breaths, Tim tries to calm himself down. Closing his eyes, visions of his nightmare flicker in his mind.
He's in a room, stiff air making it hard to breath. No windows, no doors- the utter and complete darkness makes him feel claustrophobic. A weak, yet familiar, voice comes from in front of him.
"Why, Tim? You just…stood there. Useless.. Why didn't you stop them?... You could have saved our lives..." a bloody, beaten, too-pale Nightwing says to him, the used-to-be blue bird on his chest coated in red. He just stands there, staring at him, a clear look of disappointment etched on his face.
Appearing beside him, Batman looks slightly more disgusting, cuts in his costume pouring with blood. "You've always let us down, Tim… No matter how hard we tried… A disgrace. Get out of this family, Tim. You don't deserve to be here."
Tim tries to remind himself that it was just a nightmare, opening his eyes to get the images out of his head. His mind, though, refuses to let him escape that easily, forcing them back into his vision.
Turning around to leave, Tim finds his path blocked by Damian, standing with his arms crossed in the way he always does when talking to 'Drake'. Except, his head seems to be cocked just too far right, and there's a hole where the "R" on his costume should have been... "Tt. Why didn't they listen to me? I always told them you were useless, Drake. They never believed me. Look who's right, now."
Behind him, Jason comes out, holding his helmet, which is split down the middle, in his left hand. In his right, a small hand gun. There's a small hole, right in the middle of his forehead, dripping blood. He grins at Tim, which in and of itself is creepy, since Jason never smiles… "How does it feel, Replacement? You've let us down one too many times… But don't worry, I'll take care of that." And suddenly he raises his right arm, pointing his gun right at Tim's face, pulling back the trigger then-
"STOP!" Tim yells, shaking and gripping his head. At some point, silent tears had made their way down his cheeks. He wanted to sob, when a sudden urge to vomit forces him to the side of his bed, making him lose the contents of his stomach all over his floor. Lying there, Tim only wishes to get up and leave but finds he has no energy left. After not sleeping for three day, and patrols that always went too long, the exhaustion finally hits him, making him tremble.
Only a few seconds later, he hears his door burst open. A hand appears, rubbing the small of his back. He hears someone say "It's okay, Tim. You'll be okay. We're right here, Timmy," he just doesn't have the energy to open his eyes to see who the voice belongs to.
A reminder of all his failures- things no one else blamed him for, but himself- made their way to the front of his thoughts. Shaking, he managed "I'm s-sorry… I'm s-so- so s-sorry…"
Every word seemed to make him lose more and more energy, until he can no longer hold himself up on his elbow. Before he slams his head onto the stand beside his bed, arms wrap around him quickly and pull him back into a comfortable embrace. "Hush, Timmy, it's okay. I'm here for you, little brother. I'm always here for you" is whispered into his hair.
And even though some small voice in the back of his head tells him it's a lie, Tim finds himself just glad that someone's there…
A/N I know I should be working on my other things, but this one just kinda popped in my head.. I dunno, I like it. Well, R&R! Suggestions always welcome! Oh, and the song "A Bad Dream" by Keane is kinda what I wrote this piece about, so… I hope you enjoyed it!