Chapter Text
The last thing Tim remembered was red stained sand. His hands pressed into Pru’s neck, blood spilling through his fingers—in Iraq.
He wasn’t in Iraq anymore.
He was in Gotham. It was hard to forget the smell of Gotham Harbor, and as soon as it hit his nose, Tim knew he was at the docks. That meant he was missing time, a lot of time. Shit. He’d been so close to finding the answer, to finding Bruce .
Now he was laying on his back in an almost abandoned strip of the docks. Yellow light flickered from a lamp post fifty feet away, and he could hear the waves crashing against concrete and wood. The ground beneath him was wet, soaking through his shirt.
He pulled himself into a sitting position, and sucked in a sharp breath as pain flared in his abdomen. It felt like he’d been stabbed—which was entirely possible. It wouldn’t be the first time.
He was in his Red Robin pants and boots, but from the waist up, all he wore was an oversized linen shirt. It was so big, it hung off one shoulder. He carefully lifted the hem of the shirt, revealing a bloody bandage across his stomach. Great.
He let his head fall against the building behind him. He needed to piece together whatever had happened during the missing time, but first he needed equipment. In order to get equipment, he needed to stand up, which was easier said than done.
After five minutes of procrastinating, Tim managed to drag himself to his feet. Every step he took aggravated his wound, and by the time he made it to the lamp post and nearly collapsed against it, it was clear this was going to be a long night.
“Hey!”
A very long night.
Tim turned to face the voice carefully. A man, hoodie covering his face, leveled a handgun with his head, “What are you doing here? This is Two-Face’s territory.”
That didn’t sound right. When Tim left Gotham, this area belonged to Penguin, but he hadn’t used it for much. Something must have happened while he was gone. “Answer me, kid, or I’m going to have to tell somebody you’re here.” The man sounded urgent. He didn’t actually want to turn Tim over to Two-Face. He saw an innocent kid who stumbled into something way over his head.
Tim could play that part. “I’m sorry,” he said, and he didn’t even have to fake his shaking voice, “Please don’t tell anyone, I just—” He hitched his breath, “There were men, they were trying to hurt me, and I ran, but I ended up here and now I’m lost—”
“Hey, hey, slow down,” The man lowered his gun, came a few steps closer, “That’s alright. We’ll figure something out. Where were you trying to go?”
“Dr. Thompson’s clinic.” Leslie would help him, discreetly. Nobody needed to know he was in town.
The man nodded, tucking the gun back into his waistband, “You’re a smart kid. We’re nowhere near there, though.”
Tim sumpled against the lamp pole, “Fuck, that’s not good. I just panicked, I didn’t even think about what direction I was going. Is there any way—” Tim clamped his mouth shut. He couldn’t ask a random man in Gotham to help him across town. That carried the weight of too many implications.
The man, bless him, seemed to understand. “How about I call the clinic and see if they can send someone to pick you up? We can meet them at one of the main roads.”
“I don’t think they do that.”
“Not usually, but you’re in luck today. I volunteer there once a week. Dr. Thompson knows me, I’m sure she’d be willing to pull a few strings.” He reached out, but dropped his hand when Tim flinched back, “Sorry. I’ll call the clinic.” He stepped back and pulled out his phone.
“Put it—” The man looked up at Tim with raised eyebrows. Tim swallowed, “Put it on speaker.”
The man watched him for a couple seconds before nodding. He put the phone on speaker and held it up. It dialed for a couple seconds, then a woman picked up. “Thank you for calling the Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic, this is Sarah, how can I help you?”
“Sarah, this is Marco.”
“Oh, hey, Marco. How you doing, everything okay?”
Tim blinked. Honestly, he was surprised the man was telling the truth. Marco smiled, “I’m fine, but I have a kid with me who really isn’t looking great. I’m…working right now, so I can’t drop him off.”
“Oh. Yeah, of course. Um. Let me go ask Dr. Thompson, see what we can do.”
“Thanks, I’d appreciate that.”
A jingle played, signaling the receptionist had put the call on hold. Marco glanced up at Tim. His eyes scanned over him, and Tim shifted uncomfortably. Marco frowned, “What are you wearing, kid?”
“Um. I came from a costume party.”
Marco raised an eyebrow.
“I was a pirate.”
Marco shook his head, “Yeah, whatever. None of my business.”
The phone clicked, “Marco? I hear you have a situation.” Tim let out a sigh of relief at Leslie’s voice.
“Yeah, Dr. Thompson. I have a friend here who needs some help, but I can’t drop him off at the clinic. I thought maybe you could help?”
“Of course, I can contact a friend. I’m going to need a location, though.”
“We’ll be at the corner of 12th and Gary,” Marco said, shooting a small smile to Tim, “Thank you so much.”
“Not a problem, Marco. Thank you for calling. He should be there in twenty minutes or so.”
“Awesome. Thanks again,” Marco hung up. He looked at Tim, “12th is that way,” he pointed down a dark street. “You want to piggyback or…?”
Tim shook his head, his legs were fine. Even so, Marco hovered beside him as he shuffled down the street. It took fifteen minutes to reach the intersection, and when they turned the corner, Tim’s ride was already waiting. Marco threw an arm in front of him and drew his gun.
Tim stumbled back and fell, hitting the pavement hard. His vision flashed white, and he sucked in air to keep from shouting. He heard Marco yelling, a mechanized voice answering. Then Marco was kneeling at his side, shaking his shoulder, “Shit, are you alright?”
Tim pushed the man’s hand away. “Fine,” he groaned, “Ride?”
Marco shook his head, “We’re going to have to figure something else out, this isn’t going to work.”
There was a very dramatic sigh behind Marco. Tim’s blood chilled. He peeked over Marco’s shoulder, and a polished red helmet stared back at him.
“I heard you need a lift?” Red Hood gestured to his motorcycle. “I’m not going to hurt anybody. That includes you, as long as you put the gun away.” He pointed at Marco.
This was the first time he and Jason had been together without Bruce or Dick to mediate. Marco turned to face Hood, keeping himself firmly planted between Tim and Hood. Tim was unreasonably grateful for the barrier. “How do I know you won’t hurt him?”
“It’s fine,” Tim spoke up, causing both men to turn to stare at him, “Really, it’s alright, I’ll go.” If Tim didn’t go quietly, Hood would have no problem killing Marco to get to him.
Hood nodded, “See, the kid wants to go. He gets medical attention, you get back to work so I can arrest you tomorrow night instead, everyone’s happy.”
Tim started to stand up, and Marco tucked his gun away to support him. “Are you sure?”
Tim nodded. He fought to keep his voice even as he said, “Mhm. Hood doesn’t hurt kids.” Tim was always the exception, and he had no illusions Hood’s rule would save him now, but it would soothe Marco.
“Kid knows his stuff, you should listen to him.”
Marco glanced between Tim and Hood, still not convinced.
Tim awkwardly patted his shoulder, “I’ll be fine. Thank you for all the help. You can go, it’s alright.”
Marco glanced between Hood and Tim one last time before nodding to himself, “Okay. Feel better, kid, and stay away from this area.” He turned and started down the street they just came from. As Tim turned to Hood, he heard Marco’s footsteps pick up pace into a steady jog.
Hood started towards him, and Tim took half a step back. Hood froze. He tilted his head, “You said it yourself, chum, I don’t hurt kids. You’re safe.”
Right. The condescending asshole was going to pretend like everything was peachy. Like Bruce wasn’t missing, Tim did not disappear off the face of the planet after an argument with Dick, and like Jason hadn’t tried to kill him the last time they were alone.
“I just need a ride.”
Jason nodded, took another step forward. “Leslie said. What’s your name, bud?”
Oh. Tim felt like he was submerged in water. He blinked, and Jason was right in front of him, holding out an extra helmet. “No name is fine too. Let’s go.”
Tim took it with numb hands.
---
Jason didn't speak the whole way to the clinic. It gave Tim the chance to run through possible explanations for Jason's apparent memory loss.
The man could have been hit with a toxin of some sort, but he seemed to remember Leslie perfectly fine. Maybe a villain caught him and erased specific memories, but to what end, Tim didn't know. It was possible that he just suffered a brain injury. They were depressingly common in their line of work.
All of those theories went out the window when Leslie greeted them at the backdoor of the clinic. She looked him up and down, eyes catching on the blood that had begun to stain the front of his shirt through the bandage, "That doesn’t look good. You must be the one Marco called about."
Tim stiffened. He glanced up to search Leslie’s face, hoping to find relief, or maybe a scowl that heralded a lecture on how irresponsible he was to disappear without backup or trackers. Any sense of familiarity. Her expression was soft, but clinical. Tim was a patient, and nothing more.
Someone nudged him forward. Red Hood—not Jason, at least not Tim’s Jason. Something was wrong here, and it was Tim.
Tim stepped into the clinic, Dr. Thompson right behind him. She said a brief thank you and farewell to Red Hood, and then guided Tim to an exam room. He climbed onto the cushioned exam table when prompted.
Leslie grabbed a clipboard and asked Tim his name.
“Alvin.”
“Last name?”
“Draper.”
“Is there anyone I can call for you, Alvin?”
Tim shook his head.
Leslie frowned. She marked something on the sheet. She asked a few more standard questions, to which Tim gave standard answers, then she gestured to his shirt, “Let’s have a look.”
Tim pulled his arms through his sleeves, and tugged the shirt over his head. Leslie inhaled sharply. He followed her eyes to his chest, then averted his gaze to the corner. Of course, whoever this Leslie was, she’d never seen his scars. Tim knew how suspicious they looked to someone without context.
Like the professional she was, she didn’t comment. She took a deep breath and moved on. For now, at least. “It looks like you reopened whatever is underneath that bandage. I’m going to take a look.”
She peeled the bandage back, revealing a long line of bruised stitches. Surgical stitches, too neat to be done by himself. Four of them had been torn. Tim should probably be concerned that he’d undergone a surgery he didn’t remember needing, but he had more pressing matters right now. Namely, the fact that nobody remembered him.
Leslie’s eyebrows shot up, “You had a splenectomy.” It was a statement, not a question.
Tim nodded hesitantly. What did spleens do again? He couldn’t remember. He was a highschool dropout, and he definitely did not take anatomy.
“Are you taking your antibiotics?” she asked.
Tim hesitated long enough that she sighed and shook her head, “I’ll write you a new prescription—and don’t worry about money, the clinic will cover it. Without your spleen, your body can’t fight off infections. You’re much more vulnerable than you were before. I know the surgeon explained that to you.”
Her tone was just accusatory enough that Tim felt guilty for not taking medication for a surgery he didn’t even remember having. It felt like the dentist revealing that she knew he hadn’t flossed since his last appointment.
Leslie jotted a couple notes down, then gestured to the busted stitches, “We can take care of those. I’ll numb the area before I fix the stitches, and get you some painkillers for afterwards. You’ll have to promise not to go running around until you're fully healed.”
“Okay.”
The doctor hummed in a way that Tim had heard it as Robin plenty of times. It meant she didn’t believe his bullshit. She was always right, of course.
-
Fixing the stitches didn’t take long. When she was finished, Leslie grabbed him some sweat pants and a magenta t-shirt that had “Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic 10th Annual 5k” written in big letters across the back. She wrote him a script for his antibiotics, and asked him to change and wait in the room for a moment while she took care of something. That was Tim’s que to leave.
He tugged on the fresh clothes. He bundled his uniform pants into the shirt he had been wearing, shoved the prescription into his pocket, and poked his head into the hallway. The coast was clear, so he ducked out of the room and headed for the back exit where he’d come in. He slipped into the cool midnight air, and glanced around for any trace of Hood. The alleyway was empty.
He had a different problem now. The temperature outside felt a lot cooler now that he’d left the warmth of the clinic. While he didn’t necessarily need a safe place to sleep tonight—that could wait for a while—he definitely needed to get out of the cold.
He considered his options. Contacting Dick was out of the question—even though a part of him wanted nothing more than to go home, he had to figure out the extent of his situation before he made contact with anyone he knew again. Besides, Dick wouldn’t let a random person into the manor, especially not when he had Damian to protect. Tim didn’t want to think about that. There was a 24 hour convenience store two blocks away, and a condemned apartment building not too far past that. In the morning, he could catch a bus to get to a library, so he could do a little more research.
He stepped onto the main street, hands tucked into his sweatpant pockets to keep them warm while goosebumps covered his arms. A few minutes later he pushed open the door to the convenience store. The cashier sat behind the counter with an earbud in, scrolling through something on his phone. He glanced up as Tim walked in, dropping his phone into his lap to watch him enter the aisles. Tim gave him a short nod and headed to the back of the store where they kept the drinks. He grabbed a Dunkin Donuts iced coffee, then considered the water bottles for a moment before grabbing another coffee. He grabbed a pack of beef jerky as well, then headed for the counter.
At the front of the store, they had an array of cheap cold weather gear and touristy apparel. Tim picked up the smallest hoodie—Grey, with “Gotham” written in black across the front. After a second of hesitation, he snagged a black beanie as well. He dumped his load on the counter.
The cashier raised an eyebrow, “You got money?”
Um. Tim hadn’t thought that far. He didn’t have his belt or wallet on him, where he usually kept his money, but sometimes he kept cash in one of the hidden pockets in his pants. He fumbled with his bundle of clothes until he found one of the pockets. He unzipped it, and pulled out three twenties. Sixty bucks. That’s all he had.
He shifted the jerky to the side, “I won’t get that.”
The cashier pulled the food behind the counter and began to ring up the remaining merchandise. Thirty eight dollars. That left him with twenty two for the foreseeable future.
“You want a bag?” The cashier asked.
Tim nodded. The cashier shoved the coffee into the bag, while Tim pulled the hoodie on, ripping the tags off and dropping them in the trash. He did the same to the beanie before grabbing the grocery bag and heading outside.
He started up the street towards the building he knew was empty. It didn’t pass any of its inspections last year, the owner sold the property and the building has been waiting for demolition since.
From a block away, he could tell this plan was not going to work out. Half the rooms in the building were lit up, clearly occupied. Fuck. Tim’s stomach twisted as the weight of the situation sank in. The reason Jason and Leslie didn’t recognize him was much larger than a memory problem. There were key differences between his Gotham and wherever he was now—the apartment building, the territory by the docks. The pieces were falling into place to form a horrific picture. He might be stranded in a different universe entirely.