Sometimes, when it came to these special meetings, Tim's usually-stellar-if-he-did-say-so-himself ability to do the math was a bit skewed. Usually, it had to do with counting time. Usually, something that should have taken five seconds felt like it took five hours, or something that would take ten minutes happened in the blink of an eye with Tim not even able to remember parts of the event or of the time passing. Usually, it happened once the pain started.

Usually, it didn't involve Tim being taken away by the Red Hood.

And yet, just like that, the math went sideways, and time acted weird. Tim blinked, and he and Red Hood were walking toward the door. Tim blinked, and he and Red Hood were out in a hallway. Tim blinked, and he and Red Hood were dismounting from a motorcycle.

Tim blinked, and he and Red Hood were standing facing each other. Red Hood was taking his helmet off with one hand, but his other hand still had a grip on Tim's own hand. Well. The word "still" might not be right. Tim thought he vaguely recalled Red Hood letting go of his hand to open a door, and probably Red Hood couldn't keep a hold on him in the same way while driving a motorcycle. So it was a grip on Tim's hand still, it just wasn't the same grip as before. It was a looser grasp now, not even painful, and that was probably even more terrifying, because that means Red Hood had a different way in mind to cause Tim pain.

Red Hood probably had many different ways in mind to cause Tim pain, having taken him to a different place, a place of Red Hood's own choosing. Even without looking around, Tim could tell they were in a room Tim had never been in before.

With a deep ache, Tim missed the secret meeting room, agonizing contents of the wardrobe and all. At least in that familiar room, Tim knew what to expect.

He guessed he knew what to expect here, too: pain. Lots of pain. Probably so much pain that he'd eventually die, here in this unfamiliar room, at the hands of Red Hood.

The thought sparked something in the mix of calm and panic and everything-nothingness of Tim's brain.

Tim…

Tim didn't want to die. But Red Hood probably wanted Tim to die. Tim was Robin, after all.

Tim was Robin. He should… He should do something. Twist out of Red Hood's grasp. Kick Red Hood in the knee. Fight or strategize or manipulate or prepare, or something. Anything.

Tim couldn't do anything. The math for everyone and everything else in the situation made sense, even if it was in a twisted way, but the math for what Tim was doing and was not doing right now was nonsense. Tim wasn't supposed to panic, he was smart. Tim wasn't supposed to be passive, he was Robin. Tim wasn't supposed to fight back, he was a good son. Everything was wrong, the sharp edges of the parts of the problem all scraping up against each other to make an awful cracking sound in Tim's brain, like something was breaking.

Maybe that something was Tim?

Tim needed to not be here. Tim needed to be Robin. Tim needed to be a good son. Tim needed to be both Robin and a good son. Tim, Tim needed…

Tim needed Bruce.

The realization hit him like the final part of an equation snapping into place.

Tim needed Bruce there to stop Red Hood and help Tim. But Tim was supposed to be the one helping Bruce. What a failure he was. A failure of a Robin for Bruce, a failure of a son for his parents, a failure at existing.

Bizarrely, a parody of a meme came to mind: Tim was going to get a bad grade in existence, something that was both normal to not want and possible to achieve.

Unable to help it, Tim snorted a little at the thought.

"This is funny to you?" Red Hood's drawl cut through the moment of almost-levity. Tim was pretty sure he could hear pure rage in the tone, much more clearly now that the helmet was off and the voice modulation wasn't in effect. Tim imagined Red Hood's eyes squinting in anger behind his red domino mask, as Red Hood said, "What, this is normal?"

'Normal to not want and possible to achieve,' Tim barely managed to keep himself from saying hysterically.

"I'm sorry," he said instead, then hesitated over whether that was the right thing to say. Some business partners wanted him apologetic. Some wanted him defiant. Some just wanted him silent, while others wanted him to scream. It was always best to do what they want, but it could be hard to tell what it was they want, especially at first when he was with a new business partner.

Besides, Red Hood wasn't exactly a business partner, was he? Not anymore. Not after having his henchperson point her guns at Tim's parents, not after promising never to see them again, not after taking Tim away.

Right, Tim's sluggish mind remembered. That, that had to be the end of that potential business partnership. It was over. So maybe Tim didn't have to be making up for his mistakes anymore, at least not in this scenario. Maybe Tim could do something.

Tim swayed a little, trying to get Red Hood's guard down, trying to appear more affected by the situation than he was.

Apparently it worked, or maybe it didn't work, because Red Hood cursed and shoved Tim backward.

Tim fell back, but only a little bit, because he caught himself halfway and spun into a kick, driving his foot right into Red Hood's crotch.

Okay, it was a dirty move, but it tended to be an effective one, even through armor. Red Hood cursed more and stumbled away.

Tim readied himself for an attack.

Which, oddly enough, hadn't come before then.

And, even more oddly, still didn't come.

Red Hood mumbled angrily and indistinctly for a moment, then he made a twitchy motion toward something behind Tim. "I was just trying to get you to sit down!"

Tim didn't look behind himself, knowing better than to take his eyes off of his enemy.

Red Hood stalked forward.

Tim kept his ready stance.

Red Hood jolted a fist toward Tim's face, which Tim leaned to avoid-

Which was his mistake, because it had been a faked punch, as Red Hood's fist changed direction at the last moment and grabbed Tim's shoulder, at the same time Red Hood's foot swept Tim's own feet out from under him.

Tim started to go into a defensive roll so he won't be put all the way to the ground-

But he didn't make it through his roll. He didn't make it to the ground either. His back and butt hit the cushions of a couch, and Tim awkwardly fell into a sitting position.

Red Hood stepped back. "There. See? Sit down before you fall down. Wow, what has he been teaching you, kid?"

'Sit down before you fall down,' Tim mouthed to himself. Also… This part he couldn't stop himself from saying out loud. "Kid?"

"Kid. Teen. Juvenile. Youth. Whatever you kids call yourselves these days," Red Hood said with a humorless laugh.

Tim. Tim did not know what to make of that. He ignored that, and he faced the main part of the problem. "What do you want with me?"

Red Hood scoffed. "Oh, I want nothing to do with you, Timothy Drake. Or should I say Robin?"

That doesn't faze Tim. He already had been certain Red Hood knew he was Robin. That had been the whole reason he'd gone on the attack against Red Hood as directly as he had.

"You could say Robin," Tim said. "You could also say I'm clearly not Robin right now."

"The groin shot would say otherwise," Red Hood said quickly.

"Well, I wasn't Robin when you apparently tracked me down to make a deal with my parents to hurt me then backed out while also not backing out," Tim fired back, then immediately regretted it when Red Hood's nose flared and his teeth bared in a terrible grin.

"Oh, right, of course, because that's what matters," Red Hood said sarcastically. "Because you weren't Robin, you let them sell you off to get tortured for no reason and terrified me."

Tim sputtered for a moment, not sure what part of that to address first: the apparent doubt that Tim wasn't being Robin, the accusatory tone evidently and bewilderingly focused toward Tim's parents, the use of the word "torture," the use of the word "terrified…" "They- I didn't- You didn't- It wasn't for no reason!"

Red Hood basically sprinted forward, towering over Tim's spot on the couch, the couch being another thing Tim just didn't know what to think about, so he didn't. Red Hood leaned down over Tim and spat out, "Do you know any good reason for a parent to sell their kid into torture?"

Tim didn't answer. Instead, he headbutted Red Hood in the nose.

Red Hood staggered back, cursing and clamping a hand over his blood-spewing nose as Tim leapt up from the couch.

Feeling a tiny bit more in control, Tim decided to change the subject back as he took a careful defensive stance. "I wasn't Robin!"

"You are Robin!" Red Hood snarled, although it was a little dulled by his hand clasping his nose shut. "That's the whole problem!"

"I know, you've got a problem with Robin, big deal, so do most other villains," Tim retorted.

Red Hood let go of his nose (which, somewhat to Tim's disappointment, had stopped bleeding) and growled, "More like I've got a problem with Batman!"

"Big deal, so does every other villain!" Tim said.

Red Hood full-on roared, "I've got a problem with Bruce!"

Silence reigned for a moment, but Tim couldn't let that sentence go. He'd realized Red Hood had figured out Tim was Robin.

He hadn't realized Red Hood had figured out Bruce Wayne was Batman. That changed things.

Tim launched himself at Red Hood, trying to surprise him and get the upper hand enough to change things back into Tim's favor (as if they'd been in Tim's favor at any point during this whole encounter).

But instead of Tim tackling Red Hood down across the messy coffee table behind him, Red Hood dodged, then he grabbed Tim by the still-extended wrists and heaved Tim's arms into the air, twisting their two bodies and walking the two of them back until Tim's hands were pinned into the wall behind and above him.

That wasn't what Tim meant by the upper hand, Tim mused briefly, and then promptly scolded himself for listening to Dick's puns enough that a pun was the first thing to come to mind. He squirmed and jolted and kicked out, but Red Hood had him pinned solidly.

Then, when Tim paused his struggling for the shortest of moments to reconsider other options, Red Hood scowled, sighed, and stepped back, letting go.

"Just. Just stop, kid," Red Hood said, sounding tired.

Tim was more filled with confusion than ever, but he refused to stop fighting. "Robin doesn't stop!"

"Robin stops. He did stop, right when the Joker beat him up and blew him up until his heart stopped with him," Red Hood said tiredly.

No more confusion filled Tim. Now, he was filled with rage. "Don't talk about him like that!"

Red Hood scoffed again. "Who, Jason Todd? Oh, I'll talk about him however I please."

Subtly, Tim readied himself to launch at Red Hood again.

Red Hood must've noticed, because-

Huh. Red Hood put his hands up in the near-universal sign of surrender. Maybe he hadn't noticed Tim's readying stance?

"Cool it," Red Hood said.

Okay, so he had noticed. That meant Tim was rapidly losing the ability to surprise him, not a good sign for Tim's chances in this fight.

Not that it had been much of a fight to this point. After all, Red Hood hadn't really been fighting back. Or fighting much at all. In fact, as Tim thought back quickly through the events in that room, which bizarrely enough seemed to be a full-on living room, with the couch and the coffee table and even a stupidly-old-looking TV in one corner as Tim looked around carefully for clues as to what this entire weird situation was about.

Tim looked back at Red Hood all the way, having not taken his eyes off of him fully while looking around. Tim revised his earlier question, asking more quietly this time, "What do you want?"

Red Hood paused. He sighed. He grabbed a small tube off of the mess on the coffee table.

Tim tensed, expecting a bomb or a gas or a toxin or something like that.

Red Hood squirted a bit of something slimy-looking out of the tube, rubbed it around his domino mask, and started to peel the domino off. "I want a lot of things, kid, but most of what I might want, you can't give me. Nobody can."

"What?" Tim pressed, watching closely.

The domino mask came all the way off.

"I want things back the way they used to be when I was Jason Todd."