A/N: Sorry for the late update… :(
Last week's trivia question was a little tricky. The answer was Zatara, but since Zatanna was also featured in the episode, it could technically be either. Winners are FantasizeDayDreams, Chaos Is Order, Shredding Skylight, kittymitten, Lakeshine, and Ooo-shiny! Nice job!
Much to my delight, the votes for last week's survey are in and the winner has been chosen! The official ship of this fanfiction will be Tim/Steph! Don't get too excited, though… I'm not guaranteeing an appearance yet. Well, maybe.
Ready to find out who took Tim? (Even though you've probably already guessed)
Warning: A lot of emotions. Some fluff. ;)
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Chapter 8: Breaking News
Unknown Location
October 23 2017 [Unknown Time]
The lingering darkness had become second nature to the third Boy Wonder. Swallowed inside the night, he drifted along the open space.
The brief separation from reality was revitalizing. His mind was finally at peace.
Beep.
The silence was shattered.
Beep. Beep.
Tim could feel himself being lifted from the depths of unconsciousness. He urgently tried to grasp unto its presence, but it slipped from his fingers. A subtle light seeped through his eyelids. He could feel a soft pillow under his head and sheets beneath him. Once he felt he could no longer hold onto the black, he opened his eyes.
'No…'
At first, he could not process the sight. Though the dim light was not blinding, it was too absurd—too preposterous—to even consider what he was laying his eyes on was anything but a dream. A nightmare. It was only logical that he was entrapped in a simulation fabricated by the Reach. None of this was real.
Nightwing and Batgirl weren't there, staring at Tim with open eyes and faint smiles.
"Look who finally decided to wake up."
And if these were only illusions, he had to show the Reach that they did not affect him.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Tim lurched forward in the medical bed, wrapping his left hand around the female's neck. His right arm, however, seemed to be restricted in a ring of fabric looped around his own neck. He cringed at the pain prickling through the broken bone.
The girl screamed when Tim found the pressure point nestled in the crook of her neck. Eying the bewildered Nightwing-look-alike to the right of the redhead, he released his grip to throw a left-handed punch at his direction. Still absorbed in shock, the male dodged too late, and stumbled backwards with the hit.
Tim felt two hands grip his left arm and force it back towards the bed. Memories of Dick and Barbara already floating back into his mind, he struggled against the female's hold. One of the male's strong hands pinned his shoulder to the mattress, while the other rested on Tim's chest.
"Tim, calm down," he pleaded with the boy, "It's me, Dick."
Robin shook his head. It wasn't Dick. It was a simulation.
Tim screamed, thrashing against their hold. Every move he made, however, seemed to weaken him. His muscles were sore and his body was damaged. The restored energy he woke to was quickly draining.
The subtle beeping he surmised was monitoring his heart rate became shrill and rapid.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
"Please, Tim! You're only hurting yourself."
His eyes flashed towards the girl. Her blue eyes sent bullets into Robin's heart.
"No," he told her, "You're dead… You're DEAD!" He was sure he had spoken, but the voice was far too raspy and broken to be his.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Their looks of pity went unappreciated. He needed to get out of there. Fast.
Tim wished his arm would go numb and his head would stop spinning. The Reach would be disappointed by his performance.
"Barbara, get the sedative. Now," the male ordered, pressing harder against Tim.
Robin suddenly noticed his sharp breathing pattern. Every time he inhaled, his rib cage would flare in pain.
"Slowly Tim, breathe slowly!"
By the time the female had returned, Tim was in a state of seizure. His eyes were wide open and his body was unresponsive to his brain. The shrill beeps made his head spin. He tried to focus on one object, but the sight he was met with only amplified his anxiety.
"Please don't, no… NO!" Tim screamed, fighting the two heroes' hold. Again, the same hoarse, unfamiliar voice was apparent.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
"It will make you feel better, Tim, I promise," the male's attempt at comforting only spurred Tim on further. The man's voice was thick with emotion. His face did little to conceal his inner pain. The real Nightwing would have learned to hide his feelings, as like Tim did, under the Reach. This was only a game.
When he felt the sharp needle insert into his arm, the world finally ceased its spin. Peace swept through his body in relaxation. As if turning off a television screen, the colors died and returned as shadows.
Beep … Beep …. Beep ... Beep
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Unknown Location
October 23 2017 [Unknown Time]
A cool breeze brushed over the thin layer of fabric draped over Tim. A chill ran through his spine as his fingers stretched and prodded around to pull the sheet up to his neck. Confused by his lack of findings, he opened his eyes once again.
Hours had passed since he first awoke. The bats had migrated from the far right of the cave to the back corner, on their usual hunting hour. Their screeches echoed through the cave in mad vibrations.
Denial can be experienced in many ways, but as his senses observed his environment, his mind faced a blank wall. He didn't want to read the words scrawled across its surface he freshly painted white. They would only corroborate what he already knew—what he told himself to cease the lingering hope.
'They're all gone.'
Someone in the room cleared their throat. Tim's ears perked to the new sounds, suddenly invigorated. The monitor beeping had subsided, but the lasting hush of the Bat Cave ever so remained enveloping the air.
'The Bat Cave,' thought Tim, startled by his discovery. 'Every Reach induced simulation requires preset imagery to supply the setting.' He focused on the dark ceiling of the cave. 'But the Reach is unaware of the whereabouts or appearance of the Bat Cave. Unless they had access to my memories… this is isn't the Reach.'
Tim turned his head to inspect the cave further, but was startled when he was met with two blue eyes and a lopsided smile.
The man took a breath. Tim hadn't noticed it in the panic earlier, but the appearance of the male was initially startling. His eyes were sunken into his face, highlighted by dark circles. His hair went every direction, as if he hadn't combed it in a week. His arms hung between his legs and his elbows rested on his knees in the black chair he sat in. Tim was wondering if his own appearance was similar when the man began to speak.
"Tim," his smile grew into a disbelieving grin, like if he, too, had questioned if the supposed reality was actually a simulation. "It's been a long time. We thought we had… had lost you," he shook his head in thought, "—had lost another one."
The male stood from his chair, cautiously eyeing Tim's heart monitor as he neared. Tim didn't want him to walk closer, in fear of experiencing a lapse of emotional instability, but he didn't stop him.
"How do you feel?" When the man asked, his left eyebrow lifted inquisitively.
It was an odd question. Unable to comprehend, Tim drew back into his pillow. When he tried to move his good arm, however, it remained stationed to the bed post. Confused, his eyes met the spot of interest.
'Restraints,' Tim confirmed with a faint moan. Had he performed so inept that he was reverted back to the beginning of the H.A.R.D. program? He shook his head. He couldn't do it all over again. Not after all the progress he had made.
His wrist bound in metal shackles, he shifted his legs in the medical bed. They too, he discovered, were restrained.
He looked at the male, wildly. He could have sworn the heart monitor accelerated.
The man read Tim's face like a book. "You have to understand, Tim. It's for your own protection."
'Restraints. Restraints. Restraints.'
"My protection?" Tim whispered lowly, to prevent the retched voice from returning, "or to ensure my captivity?"
Robin tried to break loose, but the bonds were too strong. The endeavor only heightened his heart rate and sent his rib cage on fire. The wires connected to his chest pulled at his skin with the scramble. He was glad his broken arm had gone numb in its sling.
"Tim, you're safe now. You're home. Barbara left to check up on Gordon, but we're here for you."
He was in pain, restrained, and confused. Frustrated by his weak state, he squeezed his eyes shut to escape the dream.
"You're not real," he told the man.
But it wasn't a dream. It was the Bat Cave. He was home, so why couldn't he accept it? Had he slept on the thought of the team's death for too long?
"Yes, Tim, I am. Me and Barbara and Alfred—we're all real and here. You have to open your eyes, buddy. Look into my eyes and feel my heart beat."
Tim breathed, his eyes firmly shut. "My name's not Tim. It's Subject 1-02."
There was a silence. Tim hated the silence. He had felt its presence for too long. What he needed was answers.
"No, it's not," replied the male, "your name is Timothy Jackson Drake."
'My name is Timothy,' he told himself, but it didn't feel right. Tim is a name for a good boy that wears ties on Sundays and spends his time on homework and working on his next speech for a debate team. He, himself, was a killer.
"Now open your eyes, Tim. And say my name," the male's voice was stern, like an order. And Tim knew what would happen if he didn't follow orders.
He knew what he would be seeing before he was staring at it. Blue eyes. Dick's blue eyes.
He couldn't lie to himself any longer. This was home.
"Dick," the boy smiled. His eyes blinked away collecting tears. "It's you."
Dick smiled too. A wisp of hair fell over his eyes. "It's me." He drew back and sat at the foot of Tim's bed. "Now how do you feel?"
Honestly, he felt a lot of things, but he wasn't about to be weak. The Reach had instilled in him more than to indulge in self pity.
"Like I've been lied to."
"We think you have." Dick leaned forward to grab a clipboard off of a near side table. Flipping through the first few pages, he read off a list. "But you also have a partly shattered arm, a minor concussion, four fractures, recent bruising, damaged tissue, and a broken rib." He looked up at the boy, "The last one's my fault," his smile faltered, "but your heart had… stopped beating, Tim. You're lucky to be alive."
"I think they had me on a life support shield. To keep me alive while they…" Tim stopped, not wanting to concern Dick. When Killer Croc had once crushed his arm under a boulder, Barbara had to stop Dick herself from Nightwing taking the mutated crocodile's life. After that experience, Tim knew what he could and couldn't say around him.
"While… what?" Dick's eyes burned into Robin's.
He ignored the question. "How did you find me, Dick?"
The older hero seemed to let the previous inquiry go after hearing the one on the table. "It's a long story, Tim. One that I hope I will never have to tell you."
"But I need to know, Dick. How did you find me?"
There was a moment of silence between Nightwing and Robin. Tim never thought it would end.
"Master Richard, I see Master Timothy has awoken." Alfred's voice rang through the cave, backed by a thousand bats. He walked down the long stairway. "Master Barbara has returned."
Dick let out a sigh of relief as Batgirl hopped down the steps. His eyes flashed back towards Tim, who stood determined on his question.
"There are a lot of things in my life that I wish I had not been told of. Things I would have been better off… happier… without knowing."
Robin felt Barbara's stare nearing. Her presence was enough to shift the mood of the cave a full 180 degrees. Maybe that's why Dick had always said she was a great addition to the team.
The rattling of Tim's restraints broke the awkward silence. The current Robin turned his head to look at the redhead, as if she was prepared to pop the key from her back pocket and unlock the chains.
"Sorry, Tim. Maybe we should wait until we tell you the full story."
"Or," interrupted Nightwing, "we should wait until he's eaten."
Tim narrowed his eyes in a combination of thought and disgust. He hadn't eaten in… what? Over a month? He had been kept alive only by injections of nutrients.
He cringed as he wiggled his broken arm back and forth to remove the sheet over his body. He was afraid of what he would be met with, but blatant curiosity was burning inside him. Had he become a pile of skin and bones?
He was close to lifting the sheet when a pair of hands pulled the corner of the blanket away from the sling. Its new position revealed little, however, as it merely created a bare circle around his arm, in which a fresh blue t-shirt was exposed.
Robin looked up to Dick's face close to his once again. "All in good time, Tim."
His ears perked to a soft clatter as a plate was placed on the tray over Tim's lap. Alfred lifted the cover, revealing six thin apple slices. Tim could not have honestly been less grateful, but he reverted back to his familiar, "thanks, Alfred," as the butler disappeared into the manor.
Barbara was at the left side of Tim's bed, unwrapping the chain from the post, allotting Tim room to move his hand a radius of two feet from the initial position. He used his new freedom to push the plate of food away. His stomach was already turning at the sight of it.
The plate, however, was immedietly returned.
"We performed some x-rays while you were sleeping, and discovered that your stomach had shrunken to half its size. You need to eat, Tim."
"I'm not hungry." When he coughed, blood splattered over the white sheets.
"You don't feel hungry, but you're actually starving to death," Barbara stressed.
"Let's make a deal," said Dick, catching Robin's attention, "Every apple slice you eat, we'll answer one question."
Robin, considering this a fair deal, slowly picked up one slice of fruit and brought it to his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see both heroes staring at him. He wished they would stop, but he was afraid that if they left, they would never come back.
'Just one slice,' the young hero told himself. Hoping the ordeal would last but a moment, he stuffed the entire piece into his mouth and began frantically chewing.
It stuck to the inside of his mouth like paste. Its mere presence was enough to make him choke. He wasn't sure what to do when chunks of the apple fell down his throat and stopped his air flow.
"No, Tim! One bite at a time, one!"
A small trashcan was held under his chin when he opened his eyes. He pulled at the restraints as he choked on the apple. Once he felt the majority of apple leave his mouth, the trashcan was taken away and he graciously accepted the glass of water he was handed.
The cold water hit his dry tongue and sore throat like a cascade. Its sudden rush of moisture had become too unfamiliar. It was far more enticing, however, than the sick and hollow feeling deep inside his gut. He drank the clear liquid down in gulps, beads of water running down his neck.
He must have been doing something wrong, because while one hand was immediately laid over his mouth, another pulled the glass from Robin's fingers. He felt cold water stain his shirt. Swallowing the water remaining in his mouth, he looked up at Dick, who stood over the medical bed like a hawk, with a thin line for a mouth and slits for eyes. His voice erupted in a similar manor to lava escaping a volcano.
"They didn't feed you, did they, Tim?" He shut his eyes and breathed. "When was the last time you ate?"
Tim didn't answer. His hollow eyes said enough.
"I'll grab another shirt from the manor," offered Barbara, eyeing his soaked top. By the time she had returned, Dick had already begun removing Tim's sling. Slipping the strap over his head, he peeled back the Velcro tabs and removed the core. Barbara unlinked the metal cuff on his wrist.
"I can do it myself," insisted Tim, ripping the wires from his chest and yanking the blue shirt off. He clenched his jaw at the sharp pains through his broken arm.
The two heroes ignored the comment. Dick carefully removed the sleeve of the wet shirt from Tim's broken arm, and discarded the wad of fabric. Tim tried to catch a glance at his bare chest, but the red shirt was pulled over his head before he got the chance. Once his arm was guided through the sleeve and the sling and wires were back in place, Tim looked back at his wrist, which had been chained to the bed, once again. He looked at Barbara, appalled.
"I won't hurt you," he promised with large eyes.
Barbara looked away, and the discussion was dropped.
Dick picked up another slice and handed it to Tim. "Small bites, this time. Okay?"
The boy's frown was faint, but noticeable. Heat rushed into his cheeks as he accepted the apple. How pathetic was it that he could not even properly eat or drink? He stared at the apple slice with distant interest.
"Tim suspects they kept him on a life sustaining support shield," Dick explained to Barbara while Robin began nibbling at the fruit.
Barbara nodded. "That would explain his arm's x-ray. It's like the bone was shattered, then underwent speed healing to mend itself back together into two parts."
Dick turned back to Tim, who had finished the first apple slice. His question was already rolling off of his tongue.
"How did you find me?"
Nightwing averted his eyes to the floor and ran a hand through his hair. "We followed the bodies." It wasn't a shock to look back and see Tim's stunned expression. "The Reach ship you were on was on a constant route through the East Coast. After we had determined that you were in fact captured by the alien organization, all we had to do was look for the dump sites." Dick saw it in the boy's eyes. There was a lot more to know about the dead bodies in dumpsters than both Nightwing and Batgirl knew. "Tim, we weren't going to assume that… that it was you. We knew they were performing experiments on teenagers, and… and some of their subjects aren't compatible with certain metag-"
"No," interrupted Robin, whose focus was now on the white sheets over his legs. "You were right to assume what you did. But I can assure you, I didn't kill anyone" he lied.
Tim suddenly wished he hadn't drunken so much water. He could feel it in his stomach, and this conversation was only making his appetite more unstable.
He wanted to change the subject. He needed to. His emotions had been stolen from him, but the subtle tug at his heart when he felt nothing for the ones he had murdered killed him inside.
"Was anything real?" he asked. If the people he swore were simulations had transpired to be human, then what else had blinded him from the truth?
Dick's eyes flashed toward the plate, then back at Tim. The boy sighed.
A millennium and one apple slice later, Tim's stomach was turning at the thought of any edible substance.
"Well," Dick looked at Tim seriously, "that depends what they told you."
Tim decided to start from the beginning. "The Reach have taken over, like what Blue was saying. It's over. Every member of the Team is-was either dead or in captivity. Apparently, their energy drink had greater effects than they could even imagine. Except some people, they said, were immune, and needed to be handled. That's where I came in, I guess." Tim didn't want to talk about the H.A.R.D. program, so he let his voice trail of in search of an answer.
Dick looked hard into Tim's eyes, "Tim, what date is it?"
"Late October sometime."
"Er, Tim," there was a short pause, "You're tired. You need to rest."
He pulled away, but Tim grabbed the older hero's arm with his good hand. "I don't need to rest, Dick. I need answers."
Dick shot a sympathetic look at the young teenager. "Barbara, we need to let Tim sleep."
"No!" shouted Tim, watching Dick and Barbara stand and walk away. "You can't leave!" Tim swore he heard a soft sob from the female, but the two heroes were silent as they walked up the steps. He thrashed against the restraints, "let me go! I need answers! Answers!"
The heart monitor was beeping again. His breathing erratic and his ribcage throbbing, he gave into his sore throat as the door was shut. He sat a moment, in disbelief. When he looked down, he noticed the sheet had moved from its original position in the tangle, exposing what lay beneath.
Thin, transparent tubes ran down both sides of his legs and across his knees. Inside them, a vibrant blue liquid flowed. They linked together with silver bolts impaling deep into his skin. When he managed to pull up his shirt, the same tubes were apparent, lining the muscles of his stomach and chest.
His arm stretched for the trashcan, and suddenly he was aware of his imperative need for rest.
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A/N: I don't want you to think that because Tim has returned, that the story is ending. The Reach is still out there… and I don't think they're too happy that their favorite subject was taken from them…
It might be a couple of weeks before I update again. My in-depth story outline ran out last chapter, and I'm running on improve at this point. I need some time to sort out how the next few chapters should play out, but the next chap should be up within the next two/three weeks.
Trivia Question #5: Finish the famous Batman quote: "I am [?], I am the night, I'm Batman."
Enjoyed the chapter? Review! Help me reach 100?
