Notes and disclaimer in part one.

Author's Notes: I want to say thank you to those you gave feedback for the last part. A writer doesn't write for feedback, but the stuff never hurts so thank you again. Also, I'm glad to see that people still seem to remember this story and are willingly to give it another shot. Like I said before, posting will be better this time and no more months without any word.

Masquerade

Part six

Tim was getting sick of waking up from unconsciousness. Three times in roughly three days was a ratio he didn't like. This time, at least, waking up didn't involve disorientation or searing pain. His leg, although still throbbing horrendously, wasn't as all encompassing as is had been before. A part of Tim's mind knew he was in shock, or at least close to it, and the chill that seemed to be buried in his bones, only further proved this point. But, the other part of Tim's mind, knew that this shock was a good thing because the pain, that had over-taken him twice before, wouldn't be as large of a factor. With that thought in mind, the young man took a deep breath and tug hard on the binds that held his hands hoping they would be looser.

The jarring motion caused to the bed shake and Tim suppressed a moan of pain.

Okay, so the pain may be lessened, but certainly not gone, Tim realized and then pulled a bit softer on the binding. He was satisfied to feel them give way a bit. Concentrating solely on his left hand, he twisted until there was enough room to slide his hand out. Although rubbed a bit raw, it was freed and, within seconds, his right hand was free as well. Sitting up, the young man worked on his good leg and, before long, sat in the bed unbound.

Now that he was able to get a close look at his knee, Tim felt sick to his stomach. The leg was swollen nearly twice as large as his good one. It was almost black with bruises and where it was not black, it was colored a grotesque yellow. Knowing it was a bad idea, but having to do it, Tim gently placed his hands on both sides of his knee. He could feel heat radiating from it and, clenching his teeth, Tim prodded softly. A wave of nausea passed over the young man and he quickly removed his hands, falling back on to the bed. Even though the touching was soft, Tim felt particles of bone shift under his hands. Now his knee ached horribly and Tim's mind was clouded with terrible thoughts of being lame forever.

Nearing tears again, the young man balled his hands into fists at his side. Enough was enough! He was not going to lie here feeling sorry for himself while some crazed men sat in another room probably planning some other kind of torture. It was time that he started acting like the Robin he once had been.

With new determination, Tim sat up again, but this time paid his knee no heed. It was messed up, he knew that, but wallowing in the pain would do nothing to help him. He needed to get out and find medical attention. So, Tim looked around the room. Due to his failed attempt at escape from earlier, Tim now knew how close he was to Gotham, although now he doubted he could make it there on his own. He needed another plan, something that would get him help.

Something like that cable line, Tim thought with a smile as he spied the thick black cable on the floor leading out of the door. If that cable line connected to a computer, in thirty seconds Tim could send a message to the police.

Tim shook his head. Or better yet, to Oracle. The police could bring unwanted attention and who knows how these guys would react to that.

Scooting forward on the bed, Tim ignored his knee as best he could. He also knew that he had to be able to move if he wanted to make it to wherever that cable began. Not seeing anything of real stability, the young man twisted his body around and hung his good leg off the bed. Steeling himself, Tim placed his weight on it and slowly stood. His bad leg was unforgiving to the movement, but before he could go back, or pass out, Tim slid his leg off the bed. The rush of blood to his shattered knee almost made the young man collapse, but taking deep breaths and remembering every calming technique he'd ever learned, Tim found himself able to stand on his good leg and let his useless appendage hang weightlessly.

I can do this. I can. Feeling reassured, Tim bent over and removed the single sheet from the bed. Sitting on the now naked bed, Tim tore the sheet in two and gently wrapped half of it around his knee. Although it was not as tight as he'd like it and would offer very little support, it was better than nothing. The sheet-bandage at least seemed to cut off some blood supply and cause slight numbness. Tim stood and this time, placed some weight on the leg.

Whoa, bad idea, Drake! Tim thought as the leg nearly bucked under him. Righting his balance again, the young man looked at the door. He had no idea if the goons were out there, but there was no way he'd be able to accomplish anything just sitting in the room. It was now or never, and all he could do was hope luck would be on his side this time.

What Tim didn't know was, as he slowly made his way towards the door, the forty-eight hours were now up.

……

Jack and Dana sat in their kitchen with a pot of coffee situated in front of them. It had been forty-eight hours. There hadn't been a word from Gardenee yet, but both were certain it was only a matter of time. There also hadn't been word from Bruce. Jack wasn't sure what either of these things meant and if they were at all related. Jack prayed that no word from Bruce meant he had a trail and was in the process of saving his son.

When the phone rang, Jack nearly jumped out of his skin and rushed to the phone.

"Hello?"

Please let it be Bruce!

"I was patient and now your son's time is up."

The line went dead.

Jack wasn't even aware that he had fallen to the ground until he felt Dana sit next to him. With tears in his eyes he looked up to hers. "I failed him, Dana. I failed my son." The young woman pulled her husband into her arms as he began to weep.

"I killed him. It's all my fault. I should have gone to the police, and not Bruce. He obviously doesn't care enough. "

Dana pushed Jack away from her, changing from the comforter to attacker in an instant. "Don't you dare blame Bruce for this," she scolded as tears ran down her cheeks. "Don't you dare do that! I am certain Bruce has been investing as much time and effort into this as if Tim was his own son. Don't you try to blame anyone for this other than yourself, Jack Drake!" With that, Dana stood and ran away from her husband. Jack watched her go and then laid his head down on the cool kitchen floor.

He had killed his son.

…….

Although Jack assumed Bruce cared little for his son and hadn't done the proper investigating, the opposite was true. Bruce, and Batman, had worked diligently over the past forty-eight hours, and if Bruce couldn't work, then either Dick or Barbara or both were covering all possibly leads. There had been no word and no amount of scourging had done any good. Tim disappeared someplace that even the Bat Family couldn't find in two days.

Nightwing's hope that Gardenee would give something away fell through also for the man hadn't returned back to his home and simply disappeared like Tim. Not even Batgirl had been able to find the man again. Obviously, the interaction with Nightwing caused Gardenee enough worry to play it smart and not show his face.

Now, it seemed, everything was up to Tim. Mistakes had been made which, in the end, left the young man alone. He would have to save himself. Little did anyone realize, not even Tim could fulfill that order now.

TBC…

Yup, like I said: a tiny post. The next part will be the climax so to speak so get ready for some fun. Well, Tim might not think it's fun, but hey, he doesn't have much say right now :-)