Tim had heard Dick leave the room early in the morning. At some point during the night, the burn dressing on his leg had been replaced and a cooling salve had clearly been applied. But besides that, there was no trace of anyone but himself in the room. He'd known Dick had stayed with him all night. But that had made him uneasy instead of comforted.
When he'd finally woken from his nightmare, Junior had been laying on the pillow beside him, sandwiching him between it and Dick.
"Now we can have some real fun," it had said, and since, Tim could not wrap his head around what that might mean.
In his dream, Junior had fought for control. Had that just been a dream, or did it really means something? Did Junior really want to take over his body? It became the one subject Tim could not just shake his head and forget about.
Tim decided early that he'd sleep in. He felt like he'd been hit by a bus. His throat was sore from being choked in the woods. He was congested. His nose was stuffed. His head hurt and vertigo hit whenever he moved.
Taking a dip in the harbor and walking home in the cold for days was finally catching up to him. He'd finally gotten himself sick.
"What's a little cold? If you can fight Bane on a bad day, you can fight a cold on a good day."
Tim jumped at the voice that spoke from the foot of the bed. Tim wished, desperately, that just the sound of Junior's voice was not all it took to make his hands clammy and shake. To make his throat go dry and heart beat wildly. He wished Junior didn't scare him and make him feel like panic attacks were always imminent.
"We should go out again. See the town. Paint it red. Really red. The whole shebang. Dick's fussing over the brat, and no one else is coming to check on us. We should gooo."
It seemed like forever since Tim's most pressing thought was whether he should shower before bed or in the morning. When his most pressing thought was what to eat for breakfast. When his most pressing thought was trying to make good with his older and younger brother. When trying to make Bruce proud was his only goal.
Exactly when did Junior show up? When was the first time Tim had lost track of time, and woke up having done something he didn't remember doing? When did his most pressing thought become figuring out how to keep himself locked away in solitude, for his family's safety? When did his one and only goal become trying not to hurt anyone?
"Let's play a game…"
If Tim could just focus for a moment, he might be able to think of a solution. He just had to concentrate and get through a solid thought, for a change. If he knew when it all began, maybe he could figure out what had caused it. And maybe, how to fix it.
Truth be told, he hadn't quite felt the same since-
"The old man died. Haven't been the same, right?"
Yes, since his father had died he'd been different. It was probably because-
No. No, that wasn't what he'd thought. His father's death was a significant change in his life, but it hadn't really changed him. Though… maybe it should have. He was an orphan now. Wasn't that important? Why hadn't he cried about it?
What had been thinking about?
Something about… Junior. That's right. When did the illusion first appear? When did everything shift and change? Was it after he'd been kid-
"Kidding around with Dick, probably. Why'd you hit him with that book?"
The book. Why had Tim hit his brother in the face with a book? That was so horrible. Dick was such a good person. He didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve a lot of the things Tim had done to him recently. Though Dick tended to shake Tim's clear blatant disregard of Dick's feelings with a laugh, it was no laughing matter.
It's Funny. It wasn't funny.
Funny. What was funny? Who was laughing? Joker. Joker was laughing? And he laughed, and he laughed, and he laughed, but nothing was funny. It never was. The world was fire. Every breath burned. His lungs contracted and he couldn't breathe. He was drowning. And it wasn't funny, but all he heard was laughter and buzzing and jokes that made no sense… Jokes. Jokes that didn't mean anything. That didn't distract him from the burning. From drowning. From the laughter. From-
From…
From…
From…
What had he been thinking of? 'From' what? 'From' who? He'd lost his train of thought completely, and he closed his eyes tight in frustration.
He'd been thinking about something… something important. He was remembering a point in time that he'd forgotten. That he'd blocked from his memory. That he tried his hardest, even subconsciously, not to prod and relive. But… maybe he needed to. Maybe he needed to go back. Back to those thoughts he'd had. Back to the month he'd barely endured. Back to being held hostage. Back to…
Back to… back…
"...to life. Back to reality."
Yes, back to reality. Reality. And reality was… this. This was reality. But… how could Tim be sure? After what happened at the rink…
The door opened slowly, suddenly, and Dick poked his head in.
"You up, Tim?" he asked, and Tim sat up wordlessly.
Was this reality?
"I know you aren't feelin' well," Dick said, entering, "You had a high fever this morning."
"I feel a bit better, I guess," Tim lied, looking down at his blanketed legs.
"Good. I was just down in the cave, Luscious brought those prototypes over. I was gonna let you sleep in this morning, but, I need you're help."
Dick held up what looked to be a thermal gun. From the report Tim had read a while back, this gun had high res imaging that could take readings up to four miles away. And with precise targeting and a powerful centralization system, it could even see through some materials.
Tim had been waiting weeks to get his hands on the small gun. Technology. Weapons. Gadgets. Computers. They drew his attention like bats to the dark. Tim lived and breathed unbreakable firewalls. He spoke in arithmetic. He dreamed in code. He saw ciphers, and keys, and cryptograph, and programming in the back of the cereal box. It was his life.
Or at least, it used to be.
"I've got all the coding programmed right, I'm sure," Dick said, looking the thermal gun over, "But this thing is-"
"Backwards," Tim said, laying back down.
"What?"
"You've got the polarity backwards. The positive side of the battery should touch the negative side. Right now it's backwards."
Dick switched the battery direction and immediately, the thermal gun hummed to life. Dick laughed at the simplicity of the error and smiled at Tim.
"Timmy, you're a genius."
"I try," Tim shrugged, and a gentle swoosh of the gun sounded when Dick pointed the gun at him.
"99.2," Dick read, "Small fever."
"I've worked through worse."
"You should come down to the cave," Dick said, putting the gun in his back pocket, "All that new gear from Luscious... You love putting it all together."
Tim stared up at his ceiling. He did usually love it. But instincts told him he should stay in his room. It was safer for everyone.
"Come on, Tim." Dick said, "It's Bruce's last night here, let's all be together for once. He goes off world in the morning."
That was an even more frightening thought. As long as Bruce was around, Tim knew he couldn't kill or hurt anyone. With Bruce gone, who would make sure he stayed in check?
"There's a frequency scrambler," Dick teased, "Damian'll probably put the boosters on crooked."
"Stop it," Tim said, just the thought of such fine equipment being mistreated hurt his heart.
"Jason will probably choose a stupid password for the new signal booster, and he won't dust the screen, or wear gloves so his fingerprints'll be all over it…"
Tim's nostrils flared, but Dick smiled. He actually laughed when Tim flipped the covers off and grabbed a pair of socks from his drawer.
"There we go!" Dick exclaimed, "Now we're mobile."
"I'm doing this for the efficiency of the equipment," Tim said, "Not because I want to."
"You're an ally to the cause," Dick joked, and Tim rolled his eyes.
Tim would be safe with Dick. He would. As long as he kept close to the older boy, what could hurt him? Who could he hurt? Everything would be fine.
"We'll still probably put something on backwards or upside down," Dick shrugged, "but that's why we have you. You make sure Bruce doesn't know, so now he won't crack down and make us train about it."
Packages from Luscious were like graduation gifts. The neatly secured boxes had everything but a bow on top. But it didn't matter to any of the boys.
Down in the cave, Jason was climbing the wall with gloves that used the moisture in the rock to create an adhesive that gave him a grip strong enough to support his weight twice over. Damian was looking through a pair of goggles that could detect the amount of iron within a person's blood. He was currently studying Alfred. Bruce looked on the computer at a new security code Luscious had advised him to implement into the cave.
Dick skipped down the steps, eager to get back to unboxing, but Tim trailed behind. Junior was not present at the moment, but that did not mean he wasn't nearby.
"Tim, come here!" Dick called, motioning the boy to move faster, "Check this out."
Tim didn't bother moving faster, but he did breathe a little easier when Dick grabbed a box and took it away from the main area and towards one of the work stations that was separated. No one bat an eye when Dick did it, but if Tim had grabbed the boy and moved it, he was pretty sure World War III would break out.
He wondered briefly what it would be like to be as accepted and trusted as Dick. To be able to shrug off problems and smile in the face of adversity. To have loving parents to look back on. To show emotions so easily, and speak so freely, and laugh so openly, and care for people so unreservedly.
Dick really was a bird, wasn't he?
"Look at this," Dick said taking parts out of the box and laying it on the table when Tim approached, "All the parts to a mini drone. It's camouflage is supposed to be six times better than the one we have. The triple propellers and air thrusts give us more control and the padded blades make this thing nearly as silent as us."
Tim couldn't help the small flip his stomach did. The sleek black parts, the smell of new metal, the exposed wires that needed welding… this was what he lived for.
"Well lend me a hand, Lazy," Dick said, moving over, "I called you over here to help me with this thing."
Tim didn't hesitate before diving in. He took the part out of Dick's hand and set to work getting the hardware set up. Dick just shook his head, beginning to attach the propellers to it's base.
An hour passed. Maybe two. Maybe only a half hour. It didn't matter to Tim, because for that silent length of time, he found himself lost to his work. Lost in wires and circuitry. To coding and programming. But it felt like a fleeting blessing. A fading paradise. The scattered and fractured thoughts from the morning were sneaking back into his mind no matter how hard he tried to push them away, and it felt surreal.
He did not know why he thought he'd be safe with Dick. Dick could not protect him from his own thoughts. Dick could fight Junior and save him. He was alone. On his own. Fighting his own demons with no aide and… and… and that was wrong. That wasn't how a team worked...
Even if Tim did not feel apart of the family, there was no mistaking that he was apart of the team. And teammates helped each other. Why… why did he fight this alone? Why didn't he speak up and ask for help…? Because Junior said they didn't care? Because Junior suggested it was a bad idea? Why listen to Junior, when he was the enemy? When he clearly didn't have Tim's best interest in mind? Why-
"You know you can tell me anything, right?" Dick said suddenly, his voice too quiet for anyone besides the two of them to hear.
Why did Dick always read his mind?
"Right?" he repeated, when Tim stayed silent.
"I know," Tim told him, quietly.
"We've always been like that," Dick said, "You and me."
"I know."
"Remember when I accidentally let Man-Bat out of jail, and I woke you up, and we chased that thing around all night? We make a good team, me and you."
"I know…"
"Tim, you're always the first person I run to," Dick mused, "I get myself into trouble pretty often, but you're always there to help me get out of it."
"I know."
"I know you know," Dick snapped, before sighing, "I just… I just need you to feel that. Don't just know it, Tim. Believe it, it's true. I know you understand me, and that you understand my words on every level that there possibly is to understand them on, because you're smart. But sometimes I don't know if you really get what's going on around you. I don't know that you… that you care enough to get invested. You're emotionally constipated."
Tim had a feeling the phrase 'I know' would upset Dick more.
"You don't want to talk about it," Dick went on, "But you haven't been the same since we got you back from the Joker. You changed, and I'm not sure why or even how, exactly. I know you don't remember-"
"I do remember," Tim said, before mentally slapping himself.
He hadn't meant to tell… But then, why not? Shouldn't he tell Dick about what he knew? Or even what he thought he knew?
"You remember?" Dick asked, in shock, "But I thought-"
"I only remember some," Tim clarified, "Images. Sounds. Feelings. Nothing cohesive. I think my nightmare last night… shook the memory up."
"You dreamt about it?" Dick asked quietly, putting the drone down and turning to him, "What about the dream made you remember?"
Dick was a master of people. His simple questions could make a person remember more than even they'd thought they knew. His soft tone and quiet voice made even the most traumatized witnesses and victims confide in him their hardest secrets.
Tim had seen Dick use that tone a million times, but he'd never imagined the tone directed at him.
Tim shrugged at Dick. They were teammates. They were brothers, but, he did not know what confessing everything to Dick would lead too. Junior did not particularly like Tim sharing secrets.
"Bingo, Timmy. I like to think me and you have a bond, you know. It's against bond code to talk badly about each other. Especially to cops."
Tim shook his head. Yes, that was why he always hesitated to speak up. He'd forgotten, Junior was crazy. And crazy people were not to be trusted.
"Tim?" Dick asked, turning Tim around and making them face each other, "Tim you can trust me."
Dick knew Tim knew more than he said he did, and Tim blamed his scattered memory and thoughts. He couldn't think through his actions like he normally could. He couldn't think ahead and plan and prepare, and the crumbling results around him were testimony to that. Sometimes he gave too much away and pissed off Junior, sometimes he didn't give enough away and worried Dick.
This was one of those times when both scenarios were happening.
"Tim, it's important that you explain to me what you know," Dick said, looking over Tim's shoulder to look briefly at Bruce, "Something is wrong, Tim, I know it is. But I can't help you if you don't help me."
"I want to help you, Dick…"
"Don't start acting like me now, Tim-bo. You mine as well throw him a bone. Tease him with something horrible to keep him up at night. That's fun, right?"
"Then give me something, Tim." Dick said, "What do you remember? Give me a sound. A voice. A joke. What did you feel? What did you think?"
Tim opened the small canister of dehydrated compost, which served as fuel, and poured it into the fuel tank of the drone. It had solar charging abilities, but would not be out during the day so the environmentally friendly alternate fuel would be useful. The drone was almost finished now, and it sat on the table, shiny and sleek and beautiful. But without the motherboard that Tim had yet install, the drone was useless. Beautiful, but useless.
The exterior of even the most expensive and beautifully crafted equipment could hide broken and ineffective insides.
That was how Tim felt. Like a weakly smiling shell hiding the shattered remains of a once whole human inside.
"Tim…" Dick insisted, and Tim sighed.
"I don't know..." Tim began slowly, pausing in his work and staring at his hands absentmindedly, "There was… pain. I thought I was dying. Everyday, all day, I felt like I was dying."
Tim could not see with his mind's eye or remember the room he'd been in. Or the smell. Or even if there had been darkness or blinding light. But he remembered the thoughts. The pain. The feelings of remorse, and anguish, and confusion. Drowning. The inability to breathe.
Dick said he was emotionally constipated. But maybe it was because he'd had and felt and lived through every emotion he could ever possibly possess back when he'd been with the Joker. He'd given more feeling and more emotion than he'd had and now, he was left with nothing.
He hadn't wished to die. He hadn't thought to die.
"I wanted to die." Tim said, his voice bitter with remembrance, "I begged him to just kill me. Everything would be different if he had..."
"How do you mea-"
"Dinner!" Alfred called, "We'll stop here for now, and go up for some pizza. I think we've earned an easy night, don't you?"
Pizza was such a rarity that Damian typically lost his mind when just the word was mentioned. He may have been raised by assassins, but he was still a child, and children loved pizza.
"Grayson, Drake," the boy snapped, grabbing Jason by his jacket and pulling him to the stairs, "Pennyworth said 'now', so come on."
Bruce thought Damian's love of pizza was amusing, and followed behind the boy, throwing pizza toppings he knew Damian would disapprove of. Jason like sausage and bacon/chicken on his pizza. Dick liked anchovies and olives. Bruce liked what Dick liked and Alfred liked spinach. Tim, himself, liked Hawaiian pizza. Damian accepted pepperoni and nothing else.
Relieved at the sudden change in atmosphere and subject, Tim put a cover over the drone to protect it from dust and bat droppings (that did on occasion fall and hit someone), and turned to follow the others.
"Let them go," Dick said, grabbing Tim's arm, "Finish talking with me first."
"Yeah, let's finish talking to Dick. When the others are all upstairs, we'll tell him all about how screwdrivers can stop hearts."
The array of tools spread out on the table suddenly looked threatening and obvious and dangerous. Tim couldn't beat Dick. He knew that. But could Junior?
It was that thought that made him snatch his arm back from Dick.
"What else is there to say?" Tim asked him, looking at Bruce's retreating shadow still climbing the stairs, "I told you, I don't remember much."
"You said you wanted to die," Dick spoke, his voice taking on the monotone one it always did when he tried not to let things affect him, "Why? What hurt to the point of wanting that?"
"I don't remember," Tim said, backing up.
Alfred was last up the stairs, and he was already climbing through the clock.
"Tim, it's me," Dick tried, "We were doing good just now, let's keep that up. Think hard, what hurt? Where? Was it a throbbing kind of pain, or numbing? What caused the pain?"
"I don't know, Dick." Tim said, backing out of Dick's reach, "But I'm hungry."
Tim made a run for it up the stairs and stopped only when he reached the top. Dick hadn't moved or made to chase him, but he was watching on from beside the table, his eyebrows knitted and his shoulders tense, like they were when he lost a fight.
Tim turned away, going through the clock and into the darkened hallway. He could hear Jason and Bruce telling Alfred where to order the pizza from, and he knew Dick would be up to interject his own opinion.
But Tim turned on his heels and went the opposite way. He went up to his room where he could be alone.
Folding and unfolding and folding again, Tim rearranged his closet. It had already been the pinnacle of neatness, but now, for some reason, it just wasn't neat enough. His jeans hadn't previously been the exact same size, and his shirts hadn't been quite flat enough.
Tim was setting those matters straight. Armed with a measuring tape, he could now make sure every item of clothing was the same diameter, width, and height. That done, he went into his bathroom to fix his medicine cabinet.
He couldn't help but pull open the glass shower door in the bathroom. He looked inside quickly, before closing the door back and going to his medicine cabinet.
Though Junior had been very present a few hours ago, Tim could not find him now. Not in the dark corners, like he usually was. Not sitting or lying across the bed. Not following him around silently. The smiling illusion had hardly left Tim's sight since he first showed up, but now he was missing.
It put Tim on edge. Made him jumpy. Paranoid. Where and when would Junior pop up? Was he angry at Tim? Was he still around without Tim, causing problems and mayhem elsewhere? Was he gone for good? Or could this all be just another illusioned scenario that he was living through with no knowledge that it wasn't real?
Tim grabbed the edge of the sink quickly with shaky hands. Vertigo was back.
He groaned, staring at the cool white porcelain beneath his hands. There was dried toothpaste there, and it bothered him. But not more than the spinning room.
The late night runs, the lack of sleep, not eating. It was starting to take it's toll on him. If he felt any weaker, he'd be unconscious. He tried to focus on his breathing, but every breath burned in his lungs. It felt like he was breathing fire.
"Calm down, Tim." he whispered to himself, "It's just another panic attack. You've got to relax."
Tim had had many panic attacks in his life, but this one was unlike any other he'd ever had. In fact, he didn't truly believe this to be a panic attack. But giving it a label made him believe there was a reason, and reasons had explanations, and explanations had answers and formulas.
That was something Tim could understand. Numbers. Formulas. That stuff made sense to him. It made his situation seem not so intense. Not so scary. Not so unusual.
Tim's legs buckled, and before he could comprehend the situation fully, he found himself on the floor. His head lolled back and forth slowly on the white bathroom tiles. He gasped in a painful breath of air, his right hand going to his chest as he tried to suck in oxygen. But it was like trying to breathe underwater. It hurt, and it burned, and his head hurt, and the world still spun, and he was drowning.
"You're… you're overreacting…" he gasped to himself, "You've just got to calm down."
He closed his eyes tightly, tensing and relaxing his toes, forcing his body to slow down. It was always mind over matter to him. Emotions. Pain. Life. Just mind over matter. If he could get his brain on board, his body would follow suite.
That made sense.
Someone was banging on the door.
Hard.
Loud.
Obnoxious.
Tim groaned, his hand going to his head as he blinked slowly, opening his eyes. He tried a few times to sit up unsuccessfully. His body felt heavy, his muscles were tense and almost unresponsive.
The bathroom was dark, and Tim had no idea what time it was, whether he'd passed out or just fell asleep, or who was knocking on the door with such intensity.
"Give me a sec," Tim called out, putting every effort into making his voice sound firm and strong.
But he couldn't even fool Damian with that attempt, so he tried to quicken his pace in getting up. He rolled onto his stomach slowly and managed to get to his elbows. In the darkness, he didn't feel so dizzy. At least he didn't think so. But he fell over like a drunk the moment he tried to get to his knees.
"Yo, Replacement," Jason yelled, "Why's the light out? What're you doing in there?"
Nothing. Nothing. Just trying to breathe.
Grabbing hold of the sink, Tim shakily pulled himself to his knees, and finally to his feet. He reached and flicked the light on, putting a hand up to cover cover his eyes when the light burned them.
"Replacement?" Jason called again, banging on the door.
Tim took a deep, painful, breath, looking around and trying to get his bearings. On the floor, where his head had lain, was a puddle of blood.
Looking up at himself in the mirror, he noticed his intense nosebleed for the first time. The blood had run across the side of his face and into the floor, so his clothes hadn't been stained, but the sink was quickly taking on the blood color as it continued to drip from his nose.
"I'm coming in…" Jason said, and suddenly, Tim found his voice.
"No," he said firmly, "I'm fine. I'll be out in a minute."
"A second, a minute," Jason said, "You've been missing all day. What've you been doing?"
All day? Had Tim been on the bathroom floor since the night before? Last he remembered… Dick and he had been working on… something. Something from Luscious Tim remembered screwing a screw into something shiny and black, and Dick had been there, and so had Junior. but Tim didn't not remember anything after that, but it only bothered him slightly. What was one more missing memory? Right now, he had Jason to worry about.
Tim ran the water on full, grabbing his rag and trying to wash the dried and fresh blood from his face quickly. Luckily his nose bleed was slowing. Pinching his nose and holding his head back should have it under control soon enough.
The door rattled and it made Tim jump. If Jason was going to pick the lock, he'd of done it silently. No, Jason just rattled the door to let Tim know he wasn't playing, and that in a minute, he'd pick the lock and come in anyway.
Tim was still scrubbing his face as he grabbed his towel off the rack and threw it over the puddle of blood on the floor. He pulled his spare towel, wrapped his bloody rag in it and stuffed it in the sink, hiding the rest of the evidence. He'd clean it up when Jason wasn't badgering him right outside.
Using the wall for support, Tim made his way to the door. He made sure he turned out the bathroom light before he opened it.
Jason was leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded. He'd clearly been assigned to find Tim, probably for dinner, but now it seemed like he didn't plan on leaving anytime soon. Instead, he stared at Tim silently, his eyes squinted.
"I'm out," Tim said, closing his bathroom door and carefully walking around Jason and towards his bed, "You can leave now."
Jason said nothing, looking at the bathroom door Tim had just closed, and then back at Tim.
Tim swallowed as he sat on the edge of his bed slowly. He felt horrible. He felt weak and tired and dizzy and cold. Dick would pick up on that right away, and it would be all he concerned himself with. And that would be fine, because it took the attention off of any of Tim's other suspicions.
Jason was not like that. He was less in tune with Tim and more likely to notice Tim's behavior rather than his health.
Wordlessly, Jason pushed himself off the wall, opened the bathroom door and went in.
"Jason-" Tim tried, standing up too quickly and falling to his hands and knees.
Jason was only in the bathroom for a second before he marched out holding the bloody towel Tim had shoved in the sink. The bloody rag that had been folded in it fell out, soaked in water and blood and sploshed on the carpet staining it immediately. It was all so much bloodier than he remembered seeing it, and to Jason, Tim was pretty sure this looked pretty bad. He could do nothing but stare speechless at the older man.
"What is this?" Jason asked, irrationally calm, storming up to him.
Tim winced as Jason grabbed him by his forearm and heaved him up onto his feet.
A familiar chuckle came from behind Jason, and Tim noticed Junior in the corner for the first time. The illusion shrugged his shoulders, as if the situation was out of his control, but entertaining all the same. Tim jumped a bit in surprise at seeing the missing hallucination.
Jason turned around to see what Tim had reacted to. Upon seeing nothing, he looked back at Tim with squinted eyes.
"Jason!"
Tim and Jason looked up to see Dick march in from the hallway.
Jason rolled his eyes, dropping Tim onto Dick when the eldest got close enough.
"What's going on?" Dick demanded, and Jason shook the bloody towel at Dick.
"Ask him."
Dick let Tim use him for support as he sat back on the bed. Just as he suspected, Dick was more concerned about Tim than he was about the bloody towel. He pulled Tim's blanket up over Tim's shoulders and brushed his hair out of his face absentmindedly, then felt for a fever.
"His bathroom looks like a crime scene." Jason said, "There's blood everywhere."
"Tim?" Dick asked, "What happened?"
"It was just a nosebleed." Tim confessed, "I'm fine. He's overreacting."
"I am?" Jason asked, turning on his heels and going into the bathroom.
Dick stood up slowly, staring after Jason. Then he looked down at Tim. Dick seemed confused. Upset. Definitely worried.
Tim ducked his head. He was failing so hard at keeping the boy happy. At hiding all the things wrong with him. At hiding his emotions.
"Come 'ere, Dick." Jason called, and Dick went without hesitation.
Tim bit his lip, not sure what Jason saw that warranted Dick's personal eyesight. Jason had only been in the bathroom for a second, what had he seen that required Dick's attention?
Dropping his blanket, Tim stood up slowly, and made his way back to his bathroom. Immediately, he knew something was wrong.
Jason had his hands on his hips, looking around slowly, but Dick was running his hands through his hair, like he'd seen some gruesome act right before his eyes.
Both boys looked to Tim at the same time, and Tim inched away from them. Even from outside the bathroom, Tim knew the bathroom seemed different. Aside from the tiny pool of blood on the floor and few stains in the sink from his nosebleed, nothing had been wrong with his bathroom.
But now, he could seen the mirror was shattered, glass littering the floor, holes were in the walls, the shower door was off it's hinges, blood was everywhere.
But he'd just been in the bathroom, and it had been fine… When had that happened?
"Guess we didn't clean up so well from our last little game." Junior said, and Tim jumped, hearing Junior right behind him.
"What do you keep jumping at?" Jason asked.
Dick rushed out the bathroom, kneeling in front of Tim and gripping both of Tim's arms hard.
"What did you do?" Dick asked, his voice borderline hysterical.
"Nothing." Tim said, shaking his head.
Dick shook his head, too, and suddenly, he was pulling Tim's shirt off of him. Jason was rummaging through Tim's medicine cabinet, and suddenly, Tim felt like a prisoner. This was his room, yet, it was being invaded; he was being invaded, like he were a prisoner. Like his words were no longer trusted. This was not Dick and Jason in his room anymore. This was Nightwing and Red Hood. Tim could tell by the no-nonsense, determined, unwavering attention and stern looks they wore.
"Dick-!" Tim exclaimed, his voice muffled by his shirt.
Dick said nothing. He pushed Tim hard on his shoulders, knocking him down easily, and stood up, pulling Tim's pants off of him.
"Dick, stop-" Tim protested, but Dick ignored him as he ran his fingers up and down Tim's arm.
Tim understood now. Dick was checking for signs of cutting. They thought he was hurting himself or abusing medicine, by the looks of how Jason went though his cabinet. Tim was smart enough to know how not to overdose on anything. But with the knowledge he did have, Tim could kind of understand why Jason and Dick were so shaken. There were countless ways Tim could think to hurt himself without major or visible damage being done.
"I'm not abusing," Tim defended, snatching his pants up and putting them back on, "So you can get out of my bathroom, Jason."
"Where'd all that blood come from then, Tim?" Dick asked, "It's yours, isn't it?"
"Tell them how funny it all is. Tell them you passed out for a whole day."
Tim said nothing. Of course it was his blood. He'd be in bigger trouble if it weren't. But if he said no, it wasn't his, either one of the older boys could take any sample they wanted and analyze and prove that it was. Lying about that was useless.
"You've lost weight," Dick said, holding Tim's arms up.
"Lost weight?" Jason asked in disbelief, "Kid looks like the poster child for anorexia. He's a skeleton."
Tim snatched his shirt up from the floor and put that back on, too.
"They know, Tim. They know, they know, they knoooow we're insane."
"Haven't you been eating?" Dick asked, standing up, "I feel like… like I've seen you eating..."
"I haven't." Jason said, folding his arms, "He just cuts his food up every night."
Dick gave Jason a look, and Tim assumed it asked Jason why he'd never said anything.
All this time, Tim had been so worried about Dick and Alfred noticing. He'd been so worried about them finding out about him, and about their feelings. He'd never stopped and thought about how Damian and Jason felt. He'd never thought to try and hide much from them because frankly, he didn't think they'd care.
"Tim, what's going on with you?" Dick asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, "I know losing your dad is hard and life lately has… well, it's sucked. But you changed before that. What is it? We can help you, Timmy, with whatever you're going through."
"Let me get rid of these, two. Their asking too many questions."
"Stay away from them." Tim told him.
"Who're you talking to?" Jason snapped, grabbing Tim's arm roughly, and Tim shook his head frantically.
He hadn't meant to speak aloud. He was used to it just being Junior. He was used to being alone. Just that fast, he forgot Jason and Dick were present. His eyes were wide and he felt like a deer in the headlights.
Tim looked up to where Junior had been, but he was gone now, and immediately, Tim began sweating. What did his disappearances mean?
"Tim, look at us." Dick said, worriedly, "You're going through something right now-"
"I'm not." Tim denied, "I'm fine. I'm just tired, is all. I don't feel well."
"Bathrooms a bloody mess," Jason counted off, "You hide in this black hole all day. You're talking to no one."
"Good, good. I think Jason's getting really close to the truth, don't you?"
Tim whipped around behind him. He heard Junior's voice, but he couldn't see him.
"Timmy, calm down, it's alright." Dick said, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders, "There's no one here but us. We're alone."
"Rude."
"I'm getting Bruce." Jason said, spinning on his heels.
"No Jason, wait." Tim said, "Don't. I'm fine."
"You're not fine, kid." Jason snapped, whipping around, "You're sitting there sweating, but under a blanket. Your hands are shaking, you're jumping at nothing, you've got towels of blood in the bathroom, and you've got to weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. That's not fine."
"Maybe if you just told Bruce about what's been going on…" Dick tried, but Tim couldn't help a laugh.
"He doesn't want to talk to me, Dick."
"He'll want to hear about this." Jason said.
"Can I kill them both, now?"
Tim sat up, his eyes wide.
"What Tim?" Dick asked, frantic, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Tim said, standing, "You guys need to go."
Jason scoffed, and Dick put his hands on his hips.
"We're not going anywhere." he said.
"I said set the table, master Timothy." Alfred repeated, and Tim blinked.
Then he blinked again. And again. And he stared at Alfred hard, the world sharpening into focus, but the scene around him was strange and unfamiliar.
He'd just been in his room. A second ago he'd stood by his bed. Talking with Dick and Jason. Panicking. Trying to convince them that he was fine, though he knew he wasn't. And now he was in the kitchen?
Hesitantly, he grabbed the stack of plates from the counter and walked down the hall to the empty dining room. He waited for the moment he'd blink and be back in his room, where he knew he ought to be.
He did not remember leaving his room. Or getting to the kitchen. Or changing into… jeans. And why didn't he have socks on? He always wore socks outside of his room.
Where was Dick and Jason? The last thing they'd told him was that they would not leave him.
"Promises are just guidelines. They're meant to be broken."
Junior sat in Tim's usual seat, balancing on the chairs hind legs with his arms stuck out at his sides.
"How did I get down here?" Tim whispered, setting the plates down, "What did you do?"
"I just got your butt out of a bad situation, that's what. You're welcome."
"You shouldn't have done that," Tim said, looking over his shoulder while he folded napkins, "You can't just… you can't just block me out like that. This is my body. I have the control."
"That's a cute thought: you in control."
So Junior had done this. Made him blackout to stop him from confessing too much to his older siblings.
He sighed. This wasn't good. It was possibly the beginning of the end. Junior could literally control Tim, and Tim would be none the wiser. What would happen when he went to sleep? When he took naps? Would Junior have control then, too? This was bad on a whole new level.
"Hey, look at all these knives here. We should grab a few extra."
Tim grabbed the pile of knives from the middle of the table. There were a few extra knives after Tim had placed them and for some reason, they appealed to him.
"What if someone breaks in? What if Jason loses his mind and tries to strangle you? A knife is a handy thing to have."
All of that was improbable and unlikely, and if Jason did decide to attack him, Tim would not use a knife to subdue him. Still, he hesitated, his hands beginning to shake before he put the extra knives beneath the napkin at his seat. He didn't know why he did it, and truly, there was no reasonable explanation. But when it was done, he breathed out the breath he'd been holding.
Why was he hiding knives under his napkin? Why was the decision to do so, so hard? Maybe it didn't matter and this was just another thing he was over thinking. Maybe he was freaking himself out for no reason. Maybe…
Bruce came into the dining room, then, with Damian on his heels. And before long, everyone had gathered at the table.
Tim was relieved to see Dick and Jason, for once, glad Junior had not hurt them in some way. Dick seemed his usual self, humming excitedly to himself as he made his plate and one for Damian. Jason, on the other hand, was quiet. Which was not unusual, but, he stared hard at Tim, and that was uncommon.
Dick was easier to fool in this regard. That or he was hiding the worry he felt. He could hide his emotions well. Whatever Junior had said to make them believe he was alright did not sit well with Jason. Jason didn't trust anyone easily, and without question, he had his own doubts about whatever was said.
Tim had quietly been pushing food around his plate and pretending to eat. But though he had no appetite, he took a few bites when he felt Dick watching him closely. Despite the tense air Jason gave off, and the nonchalant one Dick was trying to push on everyone, Tim could almost pretend like he felt completely normal. Which was weird because he knew he oughtn't.
But then, he got that feeling, and it filled him with dread for more than the fact that this was a quiet, mostly uneventful moment. He bawled up his shaking hands under the table and curled his lips in. A laugh was pushing at his chest, and his stomach muscles clenched as he tried to contain it.
It felt like ages since his last laughing fit, but he knew the feeling unmistakably. It was like remembering a joke told ages ago, and laughing about it alone in the bathroom. It felt stupid. It felt unnatural. That uncontrollable, building, bubble of laughter began deep in his stomach, and there was no somber thought or amount of self control that could stop it. A slow smile grew on his face and he quickly grabbed his water and began drinking to hide it.
"Y'know, sometimes I laugh for no reason, too."
And then the water was gone, and he had nothing to occupy his mouth with. He bit his lip until it bled, staring down at his plate, but it did no good. It started with a small hiccup. And then a bigger one. And before he could stop it, he broke and his entire body was rid with hysterical laughing. His sides hurt, his stomach ached, his muscles clenched. He didn't laugh that hard for anything, and everyone knew it.
It was over before he could get up and escape to his room, so he sat there, trying to catch his breath with tears in his eyes as everyone stared at him.
"They already know we're insane, Tim. Let's tell them nothing is funny. "
"I… uh, thought of a joke." Tim said, suddenly shy as he looked around at all the eyes on him, "You guys probably wouldn't laugh, though…"
Dick barked out a nervous laugh, "You're so nerdy Tim. Always up in your own head."
"That's probably his problem." Jason said, waving his fork around as he chewed, "Kid's an airhead. Can't think straight if your heads full of air."
"I'm thinking fine, thanks." Tim said, cutting up his steak, though he knew he wouldn't eat it.
"An airhead couldn't fix the broken arithmetic operation that had you stumped last week." Dick interjected, his voice factual, instead of protective.
"HA! Jason, HA!"
"Any competent person can use a calculator," Jason said, rolling his eyes, and looking back at Tim, "You're not special, Replacement."
Gone was the concerned Jason that wanted answers. Gone was the man that cared so much about Tim's health. Gone was the man that knew Tim did not eat his meals. Back was the man who cared only for himself and saw Tim as unworthy to wear a mask. Now, Jason smirked, kicking Tim's shin under the table.
Jason knew everyone knew when he kicked someone. But usually, it was only Dick or Alfred to speak up about it. Bruce usually gave a warning glare. But this night, it seemed like Jason had gotten away with it.
"You know, I don't think Jason likes us very much."
Tim looked up to see Junior sitting in a chair beside Jason. Never mind where the chair came from, Junior had a plate, cup, and napkin set in front of him as if he were an expected guest. And though Tim knew no one but himself saw Junior, he couldn't help the cold sweat that now run down his back.
"He needs an attitude check."
"Shut up." Tim muttered, grabbing his cup.
Jason barked a laugh, leaning into the table, "I'm sorry, Replacement, what did you say?"
"Jason…" Alfred warned.
"Wanna get Bruce's attention? I know a way…"
"I just wanna hear what he said," Jason said, sarcastically nice, "I didn't hear him, that's all."
"Let it go, Jason." Bruce said sternly.
"It'll be fuuunny..."
"Go away…" Tim muttered, and Jason pushed his chair back in response.
"You wanna run that again?" Jason asked, "For clarity purposes. Stop muttering to yourself, coward."
Gone was any playfulness Jason had had before. Now, he was ready to fight, which was the last thing Tim wanted.
"Let me remind you why I'm the most feared guy in the streets." Jason spit.
"Let me handle him."
Not even Bruce anticipated Tim reacting the way he did. Not even Tim anticipated the reaction he had. But faster than was typical for him, he'd thrown his knife across the table, aimed straight at Jason's neck. Jason caught it, of course, which Tim had expected.
It was why he'd also thrown one under the table. Jason lurched forward, grunting, and Tim knew he'd nailed him right in his side.
But something in Tim drove him forward madly, and for some reason, that already cruel act wasn't enough, and he launched himself across the table with practiced ease and perfected grace.
Midair, he grabbed the knife by Jason's plate and before Bruce was able to pull him off and get him in a hold, he'd somehow managed to get two more stabs into Jason's stomach.
He was acutely aware of Alfred running off to prepare the medical bay. He was acutely aware of Dick's screaming (at Tim, for Jason's sake, and at Bruce, for Tim's). But oddly enough, it was Damian that caught Tim's full attention. He'd stood and stepped back from the table, watching on in curious silence, but never quite looking ready to engage.
Someone was stabbed in front of him three times, and his face hadn't changed from an hour ago.
That was impressive to Tim, but it angered him all the same. He'd of loved for one of those stabs to have gone in Damian's skull…
Like he was shocked or electrocuted, Tim jerked involuntarily. He gasped, suddenly breathless and struggling to breathe, as the realization of what he'd just done descended on him. That dark and violent thought he'd had of Damian had shocked him back to reality.
He'd stabbed Jason. He'd stabbed Jason!
He'd stabbed Jason… but he hadn't meant to. Not honestly. There were a million times he'd wanted to stab Jason, but it was never something he'd ever planned to actually do. Like putting a firecracker in the microwave, or ripping his mask off in front of his old high school - it was something he'd like to do, but knew he'd never.
Bruce let him go after a moment, and Tim fell to the floor, suddenly too weak to stand on his own. Bruce quickly knelt beside Dick who was putting pressure on a cursing Jason's wounds. They made a quick plan to get him down to the cave, and in moments, Tim was left alone in the dining room. Lit candles and half eaten food his only company.
He curled himself up into a ball and simply stared at the pattern in the hardwood floor. But as he looked at the floor, he began to realize he couldn't find a pattern. The floor was made from real wood, and real wood did not repeat itself.
It made Tim hate trees.
"I can't believe you did that." Junior laughed, sitting down next to him, "Bruce totally noticed you. He even touched you! Progress or what?"
No, Tim hadn't done that. Junior had made him do it. Somehow, he had. Just like destroying his bathroom, or locking him in the gala closet, or making him blackout and wake-up somewhere else; it all just happened too fast. Without his knowledge. Somehow, Junior had taken over him. It was the only explanation, because he would never stab Jason.
That just wasn't him.
Tune in next time, guys.
Same Bat-time, same bat-channel.
Cheers!
